Authors: Martin Archer
Tags: #Historical Fiction
And I am a lord even though I still find it hard to believe and a lot of people still aren’t sure. I may have been born a serf but I bought my title fair and square with the coins we took off that thieving bishop - so here I am, by the grace of God and a couple of bloody daggers.
It is not until later that night, after George and the boys are in bed and a place has been found for Helen and me, that Thomas and I finally have an opportunity to share some ale and talk without anyone else listening. I bring him up to date about our affairs in the east and explain why we need to send galleys and men back to Cyprus as soon as possible. He laughs uproariously when I tell him how Helen arrived as a gift from the merchants - and a very fine one indeed, he agrees.
Then Thomas gets serious and leans forward over his bowl of ale.
“Trouble is brewing, little brother, big trouble. The German who claims to be the Holy Roman Emperor is holding Richard for ransom, a big ransom. We’ve received parchments from the church and Longchamp demanding that we help pay it and parchments from both Prince John and his man in London demanding that we do not.”
“We don’t owe anything to Richard or to the church or Longchamp,” is my response. “Don’t give them a single penny, not one.”
“Of course not, I’m not that daft am I? I told them all that we already spent all our coins by either giving them to the Pope for his prayers or using them to pay sailors and fighting men to rescue Christians fleeing the Saracens.”
Thomas smiled as he thought about what to tell me. He is obviously proud of himself and is going to enjoy the telling of his tale. Then he laughed out loud and continued.
“It’s an excuse they’ve never heard before so they probably don’t know how to respond. I also told them that our biggest fief is on the sea and was granted to us by the Pope so that he has been getting our taxes.”
“Actually, what I did, little brother, was send a parchment to each of them reminding them that Cornwall is a seafaring place and that, except for the tin mines whose revenues all go to the crown, it produces no revenues because its lands are sparsely populated and it has only poor churches and monasteries.”
“To placate John I added that we are sending not one pennyweight for Richard’s ransom; to placate Longchamp and the Nuncio I added that Cornwall’s Lord, that’s you, has recently impoverished himself by sending all the coins you’ve taken from the heathen pirates directly to the Pope at the demand of his papal nuncio in Cyprus. I also added that you have already pressed the tin miners to produce more tin and tin revenues for the realm.”
“Did we really do all that?” I ask Thomas a bit incredulously.
“Well, not really; but it sounds good don’t your think? Actually I did tell the overseers of the tin mines that they had to increase their output at the same time I told them they had to free their slaves. I told them they’d get more tin from their slaves if they are freed and paid decently. But of course I didn’t send any coins to the Pope or anyone else in your name. I’m not that daft am I? He’d probably never see it and, if he did, he’d just piss it away on his entertainments and whores.”
Thomas continued after a pause for a sip of ale.
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Longchamp and the Pope’s man won’t know that you didn’t send your coins to the Pope and they’ll not be able to ask him or the Cyprus nuncio, will they?”
Or will they? It’s a pity we’re not the ones carrying the parchments and people between London and the east.
“William, we’d know who is saying what and to whom if were our ships that were carrying the messages and messengers between London and Rome. Maybe we should be putting some of our men and our galleys and cogs in London and hereabouts instead of all around the Holy Land. What do you think?”
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The sun shining in my eyes and the calls of the roosters wake me up the next morning. Restormel is a huge castle with a splendid stone keep consisting of three perfectly round rooms stacked on top of each other and a fine stone staircase connecting the top two rooms to the great hall below them. And, of course, we have a cellar extending under the great hall and part of the bailey. That’s where our food supplies are stored and there are cells for the keeping of felons and such.
The top floor is where the coin and treasure chests are stored and we keep extra bales of arrows and other weapons in case of a siege. Thomas and the boys sleep on string beds on the second floor. Helen and I joined them on the second floor last night.
It’s quite comfy even though Autumn has arrived and the nights are chilly. Helen and I have our own string bed in a cheery corner and a piss pot all to ourselves with two archers’ slits to let in the sun. There are even wooden plugs we can put into the slits to keep out the cold and dangerous night air. But best of all, at least according to Helen, an old leather galley sail has been hung to divide the room and give us some privacy.
Helen is quite peculiar about our privacy and accommodations, yes she is. Even before we went to sleep last night she asked if a shite pot is available and if there are any carpets or skins she can put on the floor to hide its cold
Helen gave the sweetest little snore as I rolled off the bed, rubbed my eyes, scratched my balls, and thought about putting on my chain mail. I think not; here I’m safe even if I don’t wear it. So I gather up my clothes from where I threw them last night when Helen got playful, hoist my balls and dingle into my codpiece, slip on my leather shoes and pants, and put my tunic back on without my chain mail under it.
While I am getting dressed I can hear the boys whispering and giggling on the other side of the leather sail and can’t keep myself from smiling. It’s a wonderful morning and I’m so glad to be back with all the comforts and pleasures of home.
Helen’s still asleep so I think I’ll piss and shite outside this morning so as not to wake her.
And who would have ever thought I’d be the lord of such a fine place without even having to buy prayers and such to get it - all Thomas and I had to do was kill that thieving bishop and start using his coins. Then one thing led to another and here we are.
So down the stairs and out the door I go, and then I walk through the bailey and climb the three steps up to the stone chute in the curtain wall. That where Thomas insists everyone inside the walls piss and shite. It’s a useless bother, of course, but it makes him happy. It’s probably why the moat is so slimy and the fish taste so bad.
Harold is just coming down the stairs as I’m going up.
“How do things look?” I stop to ask and then continue on up to piss and look over my shoulder at him while he answers.
Some things wait for no man.
“Well we’ve already got more than enough supplies and livestock off the manors to feed ourselves on the way back to Cyprus. The problem is that we’ve only five galleys that are useable and maybe a couple of more if we have a week or two to caulk them. But that’s about it. William Forester’s came in with a badly cracked rib just off the keel. He’s lucky it didn’t give way and sink him.”
“What about the training galley. What shape is it in? Can you take it and leave one of the three being repaired for training?”
Harold and Thomas and I talk about many such important matters as we walk down the muddy cart path to the boat camp. We’ve got more archers in camp than I expected - a surprising number of archers; almost three hundred and fifty who are good enough with long bows to be sent out to Cyprus for Yoram and Henry. That would still leave well over a hundred partially trained men here to guard the place while they finish their training and their arms get stronger.
There are also a couple of archers from among the slaves we freed from the Cadiz galleys and thirty or forty more who will probably sign up to train as archers if the past is any guide; maybe more than that if we push them.
Freed galley slaves make good archers if they’re still healthy. They got strong arms from all the rowing, don’t they?
It seems word has gotten out that we’re a good company for archers and would-be archers to join; according to what Thomas told me last night, we’re getting more and more men who show up wanting to join us. Some are walking for days to get here.
As I was told last night while we were supping, the weather was good a while back so one of the cogs, the little one with one mast, went off to London some days ago to pick up any archers our recruiting parties might have sent to the ports along the way. According to Thomas it should be back any day now.
“Well,” I tell Harold, “plan on all the seaworthy galleys leaving as soon as possible. We’re not going to wait for the galleys that need repairs. They can come out on their own later.”
It’s safe enough for war galleys like ours to travel on their own; everyone knows they’re looking for valuable cargos to seize, not carrying them.
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Later that morning the sun came out and took the chill out off the air. That’s when I got to thinking about all the troubles and fighting that happened last year. I start to think about it as I walk back along the cart path for the first meal of the day at the castle.
For some reason I am uneasy, almost worried, about the future. I suddenly have a feeling Thomas and I should change our plans – send some and maybe even all of our new recruits to Henry in Cyprus for their training and keep more of the experienced and partially trained archers here for protection, maybe all of them.
By the time I cross the drawbridge and head for the cook shed a misting and chilly drizzle has started and I’ve reached a decision as to what to do – I’m going to keep all the archers and archer trainees here and intensify their training.
And my head is so addled with thinking that I don’t watch where I’m stepping and almost take a fall; the stones in the courtyard are certainly slick.
And that’s what I tell Thomas.
“Thomas, I’ve been thinking and I think we need to change our plans. I’m concerned about that murderous lady, or whatever she is, Isabel, Baldwin’s wife. Think about it. She’s a countess living a good life right here in Restormel Castle with Baldwin - and she gets him to attack her widowed sister and nieces in Trematon Castle so he can evict them and add Trematon to their holdings. Then, after we kill Baldwin and take Restormel, she betroths herself to Baldwin’s cousin, FitzCount of Launceston - and she goes right back after her sister and her little nieces once again. And this time she’s able to get them killed before we can finish off FitzCount and add his keep at Launceston to our holdings.”
Thomas nods his head in agreement and motions for me to continue.
I’m pretty sure Thomas knows where I’m going with this but he wants to hear me say it.
“Isabel’s totally mad, that’s what she is; so what worries me is what she’s going to do next? Will she be satisfied now that her sister and nieces are dead? I hope so but it’s starting to worry me. So I’m going to send our untrained men out to Cyprus and keep all of our archers and all the men Henry trained to use the new pikes here with us in Cornwall over the winter. We’ll replace the archers on the Cyprus-bound galleys with the new recruits. Henry can train them to be archers in Cyprus; and the archers who haven’t been through Henry’s pike training can learn how to walk together and use the new pikes here instead of from Henry on Cyprus.”
We brought almost all of our newfangled pikes to England because we don’t need them on the galleys and it’s not likely we’ll need them in the Holy Land. If we have to fight out there we’ll be fighting on our ships or behind our walls rather than facing charging knights. It’s here in Cornwall, marching to relieve a besieged castle is where we’re likely to be caught in the open and need them.
“I agree, William, I really do. You’re right that we need to stay strong here - what with that devil woman probably wanting Restormel and Launceston back and all the kings and would-be kings arguing and fighting about who should pay for their ransoms and wars.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Thomas, I really am. Besides, the archers really aren’t needed on our galleys if all we’re going to do is carry refugees for a while – not even pirates want to chance a fight with one of our galleys, both because it is not likely to be carrying anything of value and for fear it will have some of our Marines and their longbows on board and take them instead of the other way around.”
Then Thomas smiled and added something to which I could only smile back and nod my head to show my agreement.
“And most of all I’m glad you’re going to keep the archers here because keeping George safe and educating him and the boys to scribe and sum is much more important than earning more coins in the Holy Land. It’s the only way our plan can succeed.”
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Later in the afternoon Thomas and I stand on the bank of the river and wave farewell as the first of our galleys rows down the river heading for Cyprus with a skeleton crew of sailors and three dozen or so of our new recruits and former slaves doing the rowing - and then watch in amazement a few hours later when it comes right back up the river towing the cargo cog coming in from London with almost a hundred new archers and archer recruits, and an important rumor.