The Archer's Return: Medieval story in feudal times about knights, Templars, crusaders, Marines, and naval warfare during the Middle Ages in England in the reign of King Richard the lionhearted Read Online Free PDF Page A

are winding up to throw with the grapples they are swinging around and around over their heads.  “Don’t throw, Goddamnit.” …  “Steer to that one.”  … “Yes, that’s the one.”
           One of the grapplers suddenly drops like he’s been axed as we go past the bow of the big cog.  Then another staggers and sits down on the deck with an arrow in his thigh.  Damn.  Those bastards up there are good.
          One of our galleys is coming towards us with a cog in tow.  Other galleys, clearly prizes, are rowing for the harbor entrance along with some of our own galleys.  And one of our galleys seems to be stuck on the beach with fighting going on all around it. 
           “Harold, over there,” I shout as I point at the fighting going on around one of our galleys that has somehow gotten itself turned sideways to the beach.  “Phillip’s galley is still on the beach.  It looks stuck.  Head there and we’ll try to pull him off.”
           A few minutes of hard rowing is all it takes before we approach Phillip’s stricken galley.  Its stern has floated around so that it is lying broadside up against the beach. There is a great horde of men on the beach around it and more in the shallow water trying to climb on board – and more men are running towards it from all over the beach.  Oh my God.
            Our besieged galley’s oars are not moving.  Every man must be on deck fighting the enemy boarders who are continuing to climb on board.  We can hear the shouts and screams and sound of the fighting on its deck coming to us over the water. 
           As we approach our archers begin loosing arrow after arrow at the men they can see in the water and on the beach.  So do Peter and I.  We reap a deadly harvest and everything is happening at once.  Two our sailors are in the very front of our bow with their grapples beginning to swing around their heads.  We’re going to try to pull Phillip’s galley out into the harbor to get it away from the Algerians rushing towards it. 
           Then more disaster.  One of the swinging grapple irons hits an archer in the head and down he goes.   The other grapple connects to the railing in the right rear near the stern.
           “Back oars.  Every man except the archers to the oars.”  … “Every man except archers to the oars.”  … Pull ….Pull…Pull…”
           Our oars literally froth the water as our drummer beats the rowing drum faster and faster – and nothing happens.  Finally, the stern of our stranded galley begins to slowly come around towards us.  Very slowly.  Too slowly.  The fighting and what’s left of Phillip’s crew is clearly visible.  Phillip is not among them.
           We fly our arrows whenever we get a clear shot but mostly we watch helplessly as the rapidly dwindling survivors of Phillip’s crew give ground backwards towards where our grapple is attached.  Someone still standing among our men on board is obviously smart enough to realize their only hope of escape is to prevent the grappling line from being cut.  He’s right - if we can pull Phillip’s galley out deep enough into the water no more of the Algerians on the beach will be able to climb on board to join the fight.
           Too late.  We’re starting to pull Phillip’s galley stern first away from the shore when the sound of the fighting on its deck dies away.  Suddenly the tow line goes slack and there is great cheering on the galley’s deck despite our arrows – and it isn’t in English.  Poor Phillip.  
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           Amidst the turmoil and confusion while we are trying to retrieve Phillip’s galley I can see some of our other galleys and more of what are obviously prizes rowing for the harbor entrance.  Others have already passed through the entrance and are disappearing into the distance.  I can also see smoke coming from one of the Algerian galleys anchored in the