Bernard Knight - Crowner's Crusade

Later that day, the two ships anchored together in the bay off Kerkyra on the side of Corfu facing the mainland, while the bargaining and then transfer of supplies took place. The home port of the Franche Nef was Limassol, but the shipmaster was not going to risk taking her back there in mid-November and decided to winter in Corfu. The king’s clerk paid him the remainder of the passage money from Acre and next morning all the belongings of the passengers and most of their provisions were moved across to the galley.

‘We’re going to be sleeping with our feet in the next man’s mouth!’ grumbled de Wolfe to Gwyn, as they clambered aboard the narrow vessel and surveyed the limited space for their eighteen men. The oarsmen were on a lower deck, not far above water level and above this was a flat main deck with a single mast carrying a triangular sail on a long sloping yard. Towards the stern, there was a wooden canopy arching over the deck to form a rudimentary shelter.

‘I suppose this is where we must live for a week or so,’ said Richard cheerfully, revelling in the discomfort and the glum expressions on the faces of his retainers. He marched ahead of them and bent his big body to peer into the low deckhouse. ‘Come on, sirs, think of the adventures you will be able to relate to your grandchildren!’ he chided them, ignoring the fact that the Templars were celibate monks.

They managed to squeeze a dozen mattresses into the shelter and the remaining Templars elected to go to the lower deck and find somewhere to lodge right at the stern, near where the two steersmen manoeuvred the long steering oar.

The haggling with the corsair’s master for their hire of the galley was carried out partly through the buss’s captain, who spoke a little of the Dalmatian language and also through the galley’s mate, a villainous-looking Sicilian. He could speak fair Norman-French, so the king, Philip his clerk and Baldwin hammered out an agreement that for two hundred lira, the galley would deliver them to the Hungarian port of Zara, halfway up the Adriatic. These silver coins from Richard’s treasure chest were minted in the Italian city state of Lucca and were used all over the Mediterranean lands, especially by Crusaders who used them as a common currency.

After Anselm had said prayers that evening, the new passengers had a remarkably good meal as the vessel sat in the calm anchorage. On the deck below, there was a gap halfway down the rowing benches where on one side the ship’s skiff was stored. On the other was a large cooking brazier, where several of the pirate crew grilled scores of skewers carrying hunks of meat, onions and garlic. A couple of these, eaten with olives and flatbread made a satisfying meal, washed down with water and a local wine brought from ashore with the rest of the food.

As darkness fell, they crawled into the deck house to lie on the straw palliasses, squeezed in side by side. Even the king had the same meagre space, as there was no cabin for him on this vessel. With Baldwin on one side and de L’Etang on the other, all royal protocol was banished in the circumstances which had been thrust upon them. However, Richard seemed quite happy to be treated like one of his fellow soldiers and, as he had often done on campaign in Palestine, he shared their discomforts without complaint. Indeed, he seemed to revel in them, as if this was a welcome respite from the cares which had plagued him in the Holy Land and the travails that would face him at home.

John de Wolfe and Gwyn of Polruan were right at the open mouth of the shelter, but driving rain seemed unlikely that night and covered by their cloaks, they were soon sound asleep. When they awoke at dawn, the motion of the ship told them that they were already under way and the unfamiliar rhythmic swish of the oars and the thump of the drum seemed strange after being under sail for so long on the Franche Nef . The galley moved rapidly northwards, hugging the barren coast for many miles. Once out of the lee of Corfu island, the motion of the sea increased, but it was nothing like as rough as they had experienced on the trip to Sicily and back. The corsair captain, a sly-looking man with greasy black hair and a dark complexion which defied any guess as to his origins, wanted to follow the usual habit and pull into a bay to spend each night ashore, but the king dipped into his travel fund once more and bribed the man with a few more lira to keep going. They had lost over a week in the futile diversion beyond Sicily and the Lionheart had recurring visions of Philip of France advancing into Normandy in his absence. They were now in the first days of December and he had originally hoped to be home sometime in January, a hope that was now utterly unrealistic.

During the third day, a fresh wind blew from the south-east and the rowers shipped their oars, as the great sail was unfurled and they made just as good progress as from the efforts of the men on the benches below. After two nights spent at sea, the captain flatly refused to again forego their usual practice of going ashore, claiming that the crew would mutiny if made to spend another night on the benches. At dusk, the galley pulled into the shelter of a small bay. The captain was obviously quite familiar with this inlet and at dusk the galley was rowed up on to a soft sandy beach behind the headland. The crew disembarked and at the top of the beach they began building a fire to cook a meal. There were a few fishermen’s huts nearby with some small boats drawn up into the bushes. The Sicilian vanished into one of the huts and soon came out to invite the passengers to use some outhouses as shelter for the night. These sheds stank of fish, but at least were stationary, not bobbing up and down and rolling as on the previous two nights when few of the travellers could get much sleep.

On the instructions of the Sicilian, the king’s clerk distributed a few Lucca coins to the fishermen for their accommodation and for an ample supply of fresh fish. This was grilled on the fire and with some coarse bread, olives and dried figs, made a welcome meal before settling down to sleep. Next morning the galley was slid back into the sea and they set off northwards once again. Though the sea had become more choppy the previous day, a strong easterly wind now churned it even more and to avoid being blown out to sea, the sail was lowered and they resorted to the oars.

By noon, the weather worsened as the wind shifted more to the north-east and brought a chill with it that warned them that warm Mediterranean days were now well behind them. The Sicilian and the galley master were becoming more animated as they argued and gesticulated towards the land, now about seven miles away on their starboard side. Eventually, the mate came across to speak in his tortured French to Richard and his admiral.

‘It is the bora , sirs, and it is getting worse. We cannot carry on, or we will founder. We must seek shelter until it dies down.’

‘And how long might that be?’ demanded the king, anxious to get to their landfall in Hungarian territory.

The Sicilian shrugged. ‘Maybe a day — maybe a week. But we must make for Ragusa 3and hope that God preserves us that far.’

‘How distant is that?’ bellowed the Lionheart, his now luxuriant golden beard bristling in his frustration.

‘A few leagues further, sire. A safe harbour, if we can get into it in this weather.’

‘And if not?’ demanded Richard.

For answer, the Sicilian crossed himself.

The bora worsened during the afternoon and the galley laboured against it, the oarsmen weakening with the sustained effort. The master steered much further towards the coast to try to gain some shelter, but de Wolfe failed to notice much advantage. He was beginning to fear for his life as the rolling and pitching increased and the cries of the rowers below became more strident as they struggled with oars that were deep below water one moment and pointing at the sky the next, water pouring over the low bulwarks as the hull corkscrewed along.