Free A Templar's Apprentice by Kat Black Page A

whose duty it was to tar and retar, caulk and recaulk the planks all over the ship. This ensured that the wood remained strong and the seawater stayed out.
    â€œWhat say, Geordie? D’ye think we’ll be seeing the sun again this season?”
    Geordie was bent low, and I dropped to the deck beside him. He dipped his brush and expertly sealed the space between the boards. “I don’t know as we’ll ever see her again, lad. My bones are surely not liking this cold damp.”
    Across the deck, the Templar stood at the wheel. “We’ll be making land before nightfall, Tormod. I’ve sent Seamus to his pallet. Ye will accompany me.”
    I couldn’t believe my ears. He was taking me ashore and leaving Seamus behind.
    The afternoon passed like the slow drip of Geordie’s tar. Excitement bubbled within me, but I was fearful as well. I recalled the conversation between the Templar and Seamus when first we’d boarded. We were going to the Archbishop to tell him the map had been taken. The thought nearly made me ill, especially as I was responsible.

LAND HO!
    T he Templar was correct in his calculations. The day was gray. A fine mist painted the decking where I huddled, watching and waiting. Finally the call came.
    â€œLand ho!” the Templar shouted. “Tormod, ring the bell.”
    I scrambled to my feet and tugged strongly on the bell we used to announce the candle marks of the day. Deckhands came quickly from below.
    â€œOars, hard to starboard,” the Templar shouted.
    The ocean was wild and unsettled. As we closed the distance to shore, the ship rocked, fighting the direction of the crew’s oars. I felt the Templar behind me at the rail, watching the ominous darkness crest beneath the waves. The rocks were still far below the surface, but they bore watching. It would be awful to come all this way and tear open the hull on a jut of rock.
    The Templar took the wheel and fought to keep us on course. The two-ton wooden ship bucked and lunged, riding each wave and crashing through the trough with such force I had to grip the rail to keep from being thrown across the slippery deck. At first it didn’t appearas if we were making any headway, but then, gradually, we began to turn and inch our way past the rough water and rocks into the calmer surf of an inlet.
    My first view of English soil was a bit disappointing. The beach looked much like the one I’d left, and the trees and land far too similar to be such a vast distance as we had traveled from my home.
    There was a great deal to be done and I, as much as anyone aboard, was eager to set my feet once again on solid land. I was coiling the rope to the sail when the Templar called over to me. “Go below and get ready to leave.”
    The loud clang of the iron links rumbling across the winch made the deck tremble as I crossed it.

    Within a candle mark we were ready to disembark. The mist had turned to a steady rain. I huddled within my plaid as a coracle was lowered down to the water. The Templar came up behind me. “Come. ’Tis time.”
    I feared this opportunity would never come. The rope ladder on the side of the ship was an easy feat. I was first into the boat, steadying myself as it rocked, and dropped quickly to sit. The Templar followed. We each took an oar and began to pull toward the rocky shore.
    The wind picked up as we fought the waves, blowing spray into my face and down my neck. I ducked deeper into my plaid, pulling hard on the oars.
    The boat was shallow and we were able to row in close. “I’ll go first an’ drag ye to the beach, so ye can jump to the sand.” He bared his feet and rolled up his breeks to the knee. “No point in the both o’ us freezing.”
    I was grateful. I was cold just being on the water. In the water would not be good at all. I grabbed his boots when the boat’s hide scraped the sandy bottom and jumped ashore.
    We dragged the boat up