Free Crowner's Crusade by Bernard Knight Page B

hopeless at sailing more than a few points off the wind. By mid-afternoon, the shipmaster admitted that they had no chance now of getting back into the archipelago that lay outside Zara.
    As they raced on out into the open sea before the relentless south wind, Richard’s admiral, who was best at understanding the captain’s garbled speech, relayed the bad news. ‘He says there is no hope of getting to Zara, unless you wish to wait for days to get back to it after this gale stops.’
    The Lionheart rapidly lost his recent good mood in his frustration at being repeatedly thwarted from getting back to his Norman dominions. After a string of choice oaths, he demanded to know where they were going now.
    â€˜The shipmaster says that there is another port called Pola further up the Adriatic, on the peninsula of Istria opposite Venice. It is still within the Kingdom of Hungary and in fact, would be nearer King Bela’s capital than Zara.’
    Slightly appeased, the king grunted a demand to know how long it would take to get there.
    â€˜If this wind holds, we should be there this time tomorrow,’ replied de Turnham. He decided it would be wiser not to repeat that the captain had added ‘If the vessel doesn’t founder on the way!’
    The rest of that day and the night were yet another miserable time for the weary travellers. The wind grew progressively stronger and as it was dead astern, the
Medusa
pitched rather than rolled, its blunt bow dipping into the waves, then hauling itself up to point at the sky. Big rollers coming up behind them in the narrowing funnel of the Adriatic constantly threatened to ‘poop’ the vessel. Poor Baldwin of Bethune had a return of his sickness and spent all his time hunched over the scuppers, retching until nothing came up except a trace of bile. At dawn, the cog still raced on, the gale not abating in the slightest, though its direction backed slightly so that it came from the south-east, which was even worse for them.
    â€˜If this keeps up, we’ll land in Venice, not Hungary,’ said de Turnham, as he squatted in the shelter of the aftercastle with the others. ‘Though the master has just admitted to me that he has no idea where we are at the moment, only that we are being driven northwards – which any ten-year-old deck boy could have told me!’
    â€˜So how are we going to find this Pola place?’ demanded de Wolfe.
    The admiral shrugged. ‘It’s in the hands of God and his angels – the shipmaster doesn’t know! He’s used to hugging the coastline and going ashore every night, so the open sea is a mystery to him.’
    Even though the crew had lashed up the sail closely to its yard, the
Medusa
was careering along under a bare pole from the pressure of the wind on its blunt stern and the relentless progress of the rollers that endlessly see-sawed the hull.
    Once again, few slept for more than a hour or two that night and Gwyn, with his fisherman’s senses, sat up in the early hours and listened for a moment. He knew from de Wolfe’s breathing that he too was awake and touched him on his shoulder. ‘The wind has dropped a little, but I can smell land!’
    Growling, John struggled to a sitting position and sniffed, but smelt nothing but the unwashed bodies around him.
    â€˜And I can hear something, too,’ grunted Gwyn. ‘It sounds like surf on a beach.’
    At that moment, there were shouts from the crew on watch and simultaneously, the pitching of the cog ceased and was replaced by a rapid careering motion as the hull was seized by breaking waves and hurled towards the land.
    Pandemonium broke out as sleepers awoke and the rest leaped to their feet as the ship was driven on to a muddy shore in the darkness. It heeled over slightly and as it came to rest, the door to the king’s cuddy banged open and a stentorian voice overcame even the sound of the gale.
    â€˜Jesus and Mary,