Pip Vaughan-Hughes - Relics

You mean Nizam,' said the Captain. 'Another giant, but he must be, to handle the tiller. Come, let us meet him.' And before I could decline, he was leading me up the sloping deck.

Without the sun in my eyes, I saw that Nizam was human after all, bigger than myself or the Captain and powerful, but no monster. And he was a Moor, the first I had seen. I was face to face with one of the Infidel demons loosed upon the world, devourers of children, worshipers of the idols of Mahomet, defilers of the Holy Places. I had seen their images on tavern signs and the like: coal-black gargoyles with red eyes and sharp, white teeth. Here, though, was a man with light brown skin, almond eyes, a strong, curved nose and ordinary-sized teeth. His hair was short and black, a small ruby hung from each ear, and he wore a close-cropped beard that came to a point below his chin. We were introduced, and he nodded solemnly and touched his right hand lightly to his chest, his lips and then his forehead. 'Peace be with you,' he said.

'The same to you, sir,' I replied. To my horror, the man barked with laughter, leaned over the tiller and slapped my good arm.

'My dear young fellow, you must have a Moslem soul,' he cried. 'Salaam aleikum is our greeting – the reply is wa'aleikum salaam… "and with you"… Where did you find this prodigal?' he asked the Captain. 'The usual Frankish dolt would have thanked me or invoked his Christ or some other nonsense. This one thinks. I like him.'

'No talk of souls until after the noon bell, old friend,' said de Montalhac. As to where I found Master Petroc, the truth is he found me. And looked death in the face to do it.'

'I have heard a little of your story, my young friend,' Nizam said, turning to me, 'but perhaps you can tell it yourself Seeing my face fall, he quickly added, 'In a few days, of course – after you are a little more at home. These long watches are lonely. Your company would place me in your debt.'

'I will gladly keep you company, sir, and no more talk of debts,' I said. 'Gallant, very gallant,' said the Captain. 'But beware, lad you have fallen into a nest of storytellers. My advice is to demand a tale before you part with your own. Most of them are wild and bloody, but you will find that yours will hold its own with the wildest.'

He turned and made his way back down to the main deck, and I murmured a farewell to Nizam and tripped down the ladder at the Captain's heels. I cannot deny that my new home, with its armed, scowling denizens, was beginning to fill me with misgivings, especially as I could see that what I assumed to be dry land was but a long blue blur on the horizon. De Montalhac, Gilles and Rassoul I counted as allies, and Nizam was by no means the ogre I had at first taken him to be, but I was painfully aware that I was more or less alone, hurt, in surroundings that at the very least were unfamiliar and in fact downright outlandish. Even the ship's cat seemed a furry titan. My best chance for survival, then, must be to keep a tight hold on the hem of the Captain's cloak.

That morning, however, de Montalhac had, unbidden, appointed himself my guide and protector. One by one he introduced me to his crew, each man seemingly happy to turn away from whatever task occupied him to make my acquaintance. At first I felt myself shrinking back behind the Captain, but to my great surprise I soon found that the crew were by no means as menacing as their countenances might suggest. Each gravely bowed to me, some taking my hand, others saluting me in the manner of their own country. Several favoured me with the gesture which Nizam had used, although, strange as it seemed to me then, there were no other blackamoors aboard.

The next introduction was the most terrifying. The Captain had mentioned Dimitri, the monstrous master-at-arms, and now he led me towards the odd little fortress that sprang from the front of the ship – 'She is a ship, Petroc, never a boat,' he told me firmly – where a hulking figure was sharpening halberds on a stone wheel, sending sparks flying in the scant shade of the wooden wall. I saw that he was passing the sharpened blades to another man, who packed them into rough wooden chests filled with what looked like tallow.

Hearing the Captain call his name, the man at the wheel looked up from his work, showing me a face that seemed a jumble of bumps and crags, as if sharp pebbles had been worked into dough. Smallpox had ravaged it, and one cheek had been sliced flat to leave a shining plane of scar-thickened flesh. The fleshy nose had been broken high up between the eyes, which were small and brown. The man's close-cropped hair was iron-grey. As he turned towards us, I saw that the razor-keen blade which had removed his cheek had also carried away his right ear.

'This is Dimitri the Bulgar, who carries us all upon his shoulders,' said the Captain. The monster shrugged and fixed his gaze on me. It was bright and alive, and stabbed like an awl.

'This is Petroc. I'd be delighted if you could put him under your eye,' the Captain went on. 'I would have him learn our ways and the ways of the ship. You will find him promising, I think.'

'Petroc?' said Dimitri. His voice was hoarse, and his accent guttural. He leered, and I realised that this was how a grin appeared on a face that lacked a cheek. I took his proffered hand, as big as one of his halberds, and as hard. 'I have seen you.'

That was all. My presence noted, Dimitri went back to his whetstone. I glanced at the Captain for an explanation, but he was already introducing me to the man packing the blades in grease, a thin, sunburned man whose blue eyes twinkled as he told me his name was Istvan, from the island of Split in Dalmatia, and that he was overjoyed to make my acquaintance, a stream of words which poured out in barely intelligible English in an accent close to, yet oddly different from that of Dimitri. I stammered and bowed in return, and Istvan winked, holding out a tallow-daubed hand to me and cackling when I hesitated to take it in my own. I blushed furiously.

'A smart one, this one, Captain,' the man laughed. 'Looks out for tricks. I like him.'

I bade Dimitri and Istvan farewell, and the Captain led me towards a group of men sitting cross-legged on the deck, sewing patches into a great expanse of sailcloth. 'It is well that you are in favour with those two,' he murmured. 'Dimitri looks fierce, does he not? And he is even fiercer than his countenance promises. But Istvan too is a great warrior. Those two fear nothing, but are clever enough to keep blood and breath in their bodies. Listen to what they tell you, be grateful if they teach you a little of what they know and stay close to them in a fight – should occasion arise,' he added quickly, seeing the look I darted at him.

And thus we spent the morning, de Montalhac taking care that I met every man aboard the Cormaran. I learned that not all – indeed almost none – of the evil-visaged crew were as forbidding as they appeared, but were happy or at least curious to make my acquaintance, knowing that I came to them trailing dark clouds of some sort and so, in that way at least, already one of them. I still remember every face and every name, although there is no time in my story to dwell on all of them. Men like Zianni the Venetian; Horst the German, who had been no less than a knight of the Teutonic Order; Isaac the surgeon and his friend the poet and cook Abu, Jews of Valencia; and Pavlos, the swordsman from the White Swan at Dartmouth, who had been a guard of the Despot of Epirus -a Greek princeling of whom I had never heard, to my embarrassment – but had run foul of a palace intrigue and been lucky to escape with his life. Then there were Elia and Panayoti, brothers from Crete, Rassoul, who was a Sicilian Moor; Snorri the Dane and Guthlaf the dour ship's carpenter, also a Dane; and scores more besides, from every nook and corner of Christendom and many places beyond.