Curse of Acre : the homecoming

Chapter One

The convoy of ships sailed across the channel in the darkness, racing the dawn. Three warships protected the flanks and rear of the convoy whilst two small ships, much faster than the large ponderous cargo ships, raced forward to scout the way. A small lantern hung at the front and rear, port and starboard and high in the crows nest of each ship. Red glass lanterns identified the seven cargo ships, each hold full with silks, spices, incense worth twice its weight in gold and other treasures plundered during the four years of the third crusade. Twenty Knights, fifty archers and their horses and tools of war littered the deck of each ship and along with the sailors, oarsmen and craftsmen, the sea splashed perilously close to the portholes.

Green glass glowed from the lanterns of the scout ships, with no cargo and only necessary crew to sail them these small ships led the way, spurring off into the darkness, searching for any enemy before speeding back into the view of the convoy to show the passage was safe. Clear glass hung from the warships. Three huge double decked ships made specifically for the protection of convoys. Each one carried three dozen battle hardened archers practised in the use of fire arrows which they lit from a dozen fire braziers spread around the top deck. These braziers would only be fired in the event of battle but when attacked the archers could light them and send the first volley of arrows in less than a minute. On each side of the second deck were two ballistas, huge crossbows that fired a bolt the length of a grown man. Four men crewed each one and could fire two bolts every minute. On the prow, secured into the deck stood a trebuchet, smaller than the ones used by the Lionheart King Richard on land but powerful enough to fling a boulder the size of a mans head several hundred feet. Any Captain and crew foolish enough to attack one of these ships would be pummelled by fire, bolt and stone long before they could come within range to board.
The convoy had been at sea for weeks, sent home to signal the return of the King after four long years of warfare. Now the end of the journey was in sight, the high cliffs of England somewhere ahead in the darkness. The Crusader given charge of the convoy stood at the prow of the lead cargo ship, for the first time he allowed himself to believe that his mission was to be a success.

The Crusader was Sir Guillaume de la Fossa, a Marshall of the Knights Templar. He was a stocky man of average height, his premature grey hair was cropped short and his beard neatly trimmed. His arms were thick with muscle, earned from years of training with wooden swords and shields weighted with lead so that they were twice the weight of the weapons he carried into battle. A scar ran vertically from his forehead, across his left eye and into his cheek. A gift from a Saracen warrior. The foe had been amongst the first enemy that he had slain during the holy war, four years since at the very first clash of arms.  Guillaume ran his finger across the scar tissue and thought back to that day.

The Lionhearts army had been outnumbered three to one. Hundreds of heavily armoured Knights in the white habit and Red Cross and Sergeants in the black habits, sweated in the desert heat. They were flanked by lightly armoured archers and two hundred armoured Knights on horseback waited to the rear of the archers on the right. Opposite stood a horde, covering the horizon. Some wore boiled leather breastplates for protection, most wore only robes, all were heavily armed. Mounted archers, lightly armoured and armed with the smaller bows, waited at the left flank, their horses whinnying and bucking. It was these that spurred forward first, hundreds of horsemen galloped towards the army, the vibrations from their hooves reaching the lionhearts army, a shout from the rear turned the horsemen when they were within bow shot and the horde passed along the front of the crusaders. A second order was given and the archers began to fire from horseback. The men raised their shields and most of the arrows thudded harmlessly into the iron bossed wood yet some pierced flesh of those unlucky or too slow to react. Several more volleys struck and here and there men fell. One arrow thudded into a the horse of a mounted knight and the rider was almost spilled to the ground as the beast bucked and thrashed with the sudden pain. Grimly the rider held on, arrows piercing the ground around him, and eventually calmed the horse to the cheers of the other men. The knight bowed his head in mock thanks  to the applause.