Read Online The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Jecks
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haul Hamo to his side, loop his arms over it, and then allow his own exhausted frame to cling to the other side, not knowing where they might end up, nor whether there was a hope of their survival, while the black storm raged.
Thus had Simon spent himself, his strength supporting both of them until the breaking dawn, when suddenly the wind’s rage died and the foul weather passed by. As it did so, Simon looked up and saw that they were drifting slowly towards a group of islands. Kicking with renewed energy he helped them on their journey until they came to the shore.
Butnow Simon gazed helplessly at the boy, and suddenly his eyes filled with tears. He was all alone here. The only companion he had was this cabin-boy, and if he should die, Simon had no one. It was a selfish wish, but he wanted the lad to live just so that he had some company. Especially since Baldwin …
A wracking sob burst from him, as though a giant had taken his chest in his hand and squeezed. It was entirely unexpected, but Simon could not prevent himself from falling to his knees, a hand going over his face as he began to give himself up to his loss. Baldwin, his friend, the man with whom he had gone on pilgrimage, was dead.
‘Christ! Brother Jan!’
Simon felt a hand on his back, but he remained as he was, his face covered, while the sobs choked his throat, ashamed of the tears that flowed. Gentle hands prised his head up until he found himself surveyed by a friendly face, through the haze of exhaustion, tears and his salt-filled eyes.
‘Christ’s wounds, master – you need warmth. What of your friend?’
Vaguely Simon was aware of the man grabbing Hamo, turning him over and muttering a swift prayer.
‘Save your tears, master. He’ll live.’
There was a damp scratching at his cheek when Baldwin moved. The world was filled with noise, when all he wanted was peace.
An idea was floating near his consciousness, but he couldn’t quite get hold of it. He didn’t mind. The most important thing was Jeanne. She was lovely; she had given him Richalda. They were all to him. There was nothing without them. His life depended upon them both, and it was somehow important that he concentrated on them.
There had been a fight, he recalled. On a ship. They had repelled the pirates, but then the storm struck them again, the rain beating down from all sides. The wind was vicious, sending them tearing along at a terrifying speed, the cog rolling fearsomely, bucketing down over the crests and diving into the next wave. It was terrible, a scene from hell.
Hecould remember a crack. A rippling series of explosions like detonating gunpowder that seemed to go off directly over his head, and then the sail was nothing more than a series of shreds. He vaguely recalled one sailor falling to his knees and weeping inconsolably; another climbed up to try to do something to the wreckage of the sail, but he was almost immediately flung from the yard. The helmsman’s body was there one moment, gone the next. Throughout it all the master remained sitting on his arse, trying to hold his belly together, his face grey with pain as his narrowed eyes darted hither and thither. Simon and Sir Charles were clinging to a rope near the stern, both silent and fearful, while Hamo cowered on the deck between them. Sir Charles’s man, Paul, sat impassively near the rail. He was resigned to whatever fate God had in store.
A cold wash flowed past Baldwin’s face, up into his mouth, and he choked on the chilly salt. It made him retch, and he felt warm water shoot out from his nostrils.
It was too difficult. Better to remember his wife and daughter. Easier, too. They were something to hold on to, to recall with pleasure and pride. Better that than worrying about the present. There was no point. He was probably asleep. This was all a dream.
The noise washed over him like water, constant but ever-changing. It was like a series of pebbles being rolled around a breastplate of armour,
Thus had Simon spent himself, his strength supporting both of them until the breaking dawn, when suddenly the wind’s rage died and the foul weather passed by. As it did so, Simon looked up and saw that they were drifting slowly towards a group of islands. Kicking with renewed energy he helped them on their journey until they came to the shore.
Butnow Simon gazed helplessly at the boy, and suddenly his eyes filled with tears. He was all alone here. The only companion he had was this cabin-boy, and if he should die, Simon had no one. It was a selfish wish, but he wanted the lad to live just so that he had some company. Especially since Baldwin …
A wracking sob burst from him, as though a giant had taken his chest in his hand and squeezed. It was entirely unexpected, but Simon could not prevent himself from falling to his knees, a hand going over his face as he began to give himself up to his loss. Baldwin, his friend, the man with whom he had gone on pilgrimage, was dead.
‘Christ! Brother Jan!’
Simon felt a hand on his back, but he remained as he was, his face covered, while the sobs choked his throat, ashamed of the tears that flowed. Gentle hands prised his head up until he found himself surveyed by a friendly face, through the haze of exhaustion, tears and his salt-filled eyes.
‘Christ’s wounds, master – you need warmth. What of your friend?’
Vaguely Simon was aware of the man grabbing Hamo, turning him over and muttering a swift prayer.
‘Save your tears, master. He’ll live.’
There was a damp scratching at his cheek when Baldwin moved. The world was filled with noise, when all he wanted was peace.
An idea was floating near his consciousness, but he couldn’t quite get hold of it. He didn’t mind. The most important thing was Jeanne. She was lovely; she had given him Richalda. They were all to him. There was nothing without them. His life depended upon them both, and it was somehow important that he concentrated on them.
There had been a fight, he recalled. On a ship. They had repelled the pirates, but then the storm struck them again, the rain beating down from all sides. The wind was vicious, sending them tearing along at a terrifying speed, the cog rolling fearsomely, bucketing down over the crests and diving into the next wave. It was terrible, a scene from hell.
Hecould remember a crack. A rippling series of explosions like detonating gunpowder that seemed to go off directly over his head, and then the sail was nothing more than a series of shreds. He vaguely recalled one sailor falling to his knees and weeping inconsolably; another climbed up to try to do something to the wreckage of the sail, but he was almost immediately flung from the yard. The helmsman’s body was there one moment, gone the next. Throughout it all the master remained sitting on his arse, trying to hold his belly together, his face grey with pain as his narrowed eyes darted hither and thither. Simon and Sir Charles were clinging to a rope near the stern, both silent and fearful, while Hamo cowered on the deck between them. Sir Charles’s man, Paul, sat impassively near the rail. He was resigned to whatever fate God had in store.
A cold wash flowed past Baldwin’s face, up into his mouth, and he choked on the chilly salt. It made him retch, and he felt warm water shoot out from his nostrils.
It was too difficult. Better to remember his wife and daughter. Easier, too. They were something to hold on to, to recall with pleasure and pride. Better that than worrying about the present. There was no point. He was probably asleep. This was all a dream.
The noise washed over him like water, constant but ever-changing. It was like a series of pebbles being rolled around a breastplate of armour,
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