Gulling The Kings Page 14

  We ate fresh bread, cheese, and burnt meat strips on the Peter’s galley that evening and I spent the night with Peter and John in the galley’s forward castle. The crew was on high alert with their weapons and shields laid out and the bales of extra arrows untied and ready to be used.

  John wasn’t taking any chances; his archers slept on the deck with their weapons all night, and there was an entire file of men and their file sergeant on deck assigned to guard each of the mooring lines. Their orders were to cast off or cut the mooring lines immediately and use their pikes to push the galley away from shore at the soonest sign of trouble. John prowled the deck all night long and constantly checked with the additional watchers he posted on the shore to make sure everyone was ready and we would not be surprised. I felt very secure and slept soundly.

  Early the next morning John had his crew awakened and at their fighting stations even before the sun even appeared on its endless trip around the world. Nothing; everything was peaceful. There had been a few minor false alarms in the night when boats were heard or seen passing on the river, but nothing of consequence. We may have been overly ready to defend the galley but, as the good book says, we were better safe than sorry with so many bezant coins and gold bars on board.

  There was similarly no sign of trouble when Peter assembled the archers who were to march with us to the Holy Father’s residence. I myself carried the pouch of prayer coins for the Pope, every one of them a gold bezant.

  Five files of archers accompanying us, thirty-five men, and every one of them ready for a fight. So, of course, were Peter and I and our apprentices, Oliver and Freddy. Every man except the drummer was carrying a long bow as well as a big land-fighting shield and either a galley sword or a pike; and even the drummer had a longbow and a couple of quivers of arrows slung over his shoulder.

  Our little army was quite a sight as we marched them three abreast into the city to the beat of the rowing drum and headed down one of the streets leading to the Pope’s fortified palace. The people in the crowded street and all sorts of hand carts and horse carts scurried to get out of our way, and we weaved around those who didn’t. Everyone turned to look at us as we marched past.

  We looked formidable and ready to fight, probably because we were.

  ******

  Our column of marching men reached the big gate in front of the Pope’s home without anyone attempting to stop us or even so much as call out to us with a hostile voice. The gate was closed and there were a rather large number of men standing in the cobblestoned courtyard on the other side of the gate, many more than Peter and I remembered from our previous visits. Many of them were wearing papal livery and carrying swords.

  Peter halted our marching men and dismissed them with instructions to rest in the shade of a nearby building until we returned. Then he and I, accompanied by Freddy and Oliver, walked alone for the last few paces to the gate after leaving all of our weapons with our archers, even my wrist knives. We were immediately recognized and admitted even though I didn’t remember a single one of the men we saw at the gate.

  It was a nice morning in late summer. Even so, I was warm and sweating in my chain and archer’s tunic. The coins I was carrying were heavy and the pouch I was carrying was starting to take its toll. I was glad to finally reach the guard room of the Pope’s residence and put them down whilst we were being searched. It was a very thorough search.

  Yes, I could have let one of the archers or apprentices carry the coins; but I didn’t. Doing it myself seemed like the right thing to do, although to this day I’m not sure why I felt that way.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  We are surprised.

  A smiling and jocular priest who introduced himself in French as Father Bosselli watched as several young priests searched Peter and me very carefully, especially my arms and wrists and under my chain mail shirt, and found nothing. He smiled knowingly and made a little bow with his head when they finished. Hmm. Someone has obviously told him that I often wear hidden wrist knives under the sleeves of my tunic—I usually do, but not today because I knew I’d be carefully searched; I’m not that stupid. But who could have told him?

  “Father Bosselli,” I inquired of the smiling priest as his assistants backed away, “can you tell us who is in charge of the Pope’s guards and personal safety these days? Lieutenant Peter and I would like to have a private word with him if that is possible.”

  I thought it was likely to be Father Bosselli himself, but I wasn’t sure. I inquired in French because that was the only language we all three had in common. Bosselli spoke no English; Peter no Latin.

  A look of concern crossed Father Bosselli’s face and he became very serious.

  “You are looking at him, Father George; I have that honour. Why do you ask? Is there a problem I should know about?” Father George? He knows Uncle Thomas made me a priest and he knows about my wrist knives. Who is his source?

  I gave a look towards the two young priests who were assisting him in such a way as to suggest that we would prefer to speak with him privately. He immediately understood and asked them to leave. Then he looked toward our two apprentice sergeants and, without saying a word, asked the same question with his eyes. I responded with a slight shake of my head and a lifted hand to let him know that it was alright for them to listen. Then I explained why I asked.

  “We are here today, as you know, to deliver this year’s prayer coins to the Holy Father. We have also brought a very substantial amount of additional coins to Rome, mostly gold bezants, six large chests of them as a matter of fact, for the Holy Father. We didn’t bring them with us; they are on our galley which is anchored on the river and away from the shore for safety’s sake.” I didn’t tell him why I had brought them and he didn’t ask.

  “At the moment, the chests with the Pope’s additional coins are safe because they are very well guarded by the galley’s crew which includes a large number of our veteran archers. We have been warned, however, that an attempt might be made to take them when we bring them into the city to deliver them to the Holy Father. It concerns us because we know there has been unrest and fighting in the city.

  “Should we discuss this with the Holy Father when we deliver the prayer coins or with someone else? And to whom should we deliver them? What is your advice?” I asked.

  Father Bosselli pondered my question for a moment, then he shook his head and said “unlike the coins for his prayers, the coins from the relics are for the entire church, not for the Holy Father personally, “so there is no need to bother him with such a routine matter; just bring them here tomorrow.”

  Strangely enough, he knew about the relics, but didn’t ask who had warned us.

  ****** George.

  Peter and I waited for most of the day to deliver the coins that had been donated by our passengers for the Pope’s personal prayers. The Pope was with several of his priests when we were finally admitted to his presence. They stopped talking when we entered and knelt to receive his blessing after Peter placed the pouch on the little table next to his chair.

  The Pope seemed quite distracted and merely nodded when Peter mentioned, through me as his interpreter, that we had also brought the coins from the sale of the relics the emperor had donated to the church and would be delivering them tomorrow.

  “Well that didn’t take long, did it?” was Peter’s only comment as we walked across the rough bricks and flagstones of courtyard towards the gate and our waiting men.

  “You’re right; the Holy Father seemed preoccupied. Usually he talks with us about small matters. And did you notice that this time our men were not allowed into the bailey and offered water.”

  “Aye, I did. But I wasn’t at all surprised. We’ve never before brought so many men, or had them so heavily armed, at least not when I’ve been here to help deliver the coins.”

  “You’re right; that’s probably it,” I agreed.

  We followed our marching men and their booming drum and walked in silence back to the galle
y moored to the riverbank. No one bothered us, but the streets somehow didn’t seem as warm and festive as I remembered them from years past.

  We found the galley moored along the side of the river where we had left it and were immediately told that nothing of importance had occurred in our absence. As had become our custom after visits to the Pope, Peter gave the alewife of the tavern nearest our galley some coins and bought a bowl of wine and some food for each of the men who had accompanied us.

  Peter and I and our apprentices then settled ourselves down under the shade of one of the great trees between the river and the wall to enjoy a few bowls of wine of our own and eat some bread and olives. After a while, John and Edward came and joined us. They had nothing special to report and there was nothing we had to do until tomorrow when we took the chests to the Pope. We watched the constant passage of boats of all sizes on the river, talked about the weather and our meeting with the Pope, and enjoyed our ease.

  The bread was in the Italian style of small loaves and uncommonly good when dipped into bowls of olive oil and salt.

  ****** George

  Our return trip to the Holy Father’s residence the next morning with the chests of coins from the sale of the relics was impressive, and resulted in the largest number of heavily armed English archers marching through the streets of Rome that had ever occurred in all our years of delivering coins to the Pope.

  It was quite a procession with three horse carts carrying the heavy coin chests in the middle of it. Little wonder in that—because of Cardinal Bertoli’s warning, we were accompanied by every archer on John’s galley, all one hundred and forty or so of them, and every one of them was carrying his bow, a shield, and either a sword or a pike. There was no need to leave any of the archers with the galley as there was nothing left on it that needed guarding. The sailors were quite capable of fending for themselves under the command of John’s sailing sergeant and his pilot.

  Everything went well, at least at first, and everyone was quite cheerful as we formed up in the area between the city wall and the river and then marched into the city through the nearby gate. It was the same route we’d taken yesterday to deliver the Pope’s prayer coins. Once again Edward and his post’s interpreter, an Englishman who had somehow reached Rome many years earlier and never left, led us to make sure we didn’t get lost.

  We were deep into the city and marching down a narrow lane with our bows slung over our shoulders and our swords sheathed when everything suddenly changed.

  Peter and I and our apprentices, Freddy and Oliver, were walking along next to the first horse cart when the marching drum stopped beating and the archers in front of us slowed down to a stop and began walking in place. We could hear noise up ahead but we couldn’t tell what was causing it or even what it was.

  “Oliver, run up to the front of the column and find out what caused the delay,” Peter told his apprentice, who promptly darted forward.

  Oliver had barely taken ten steps when we heard a distant order being given and then it was loudly repeated by the file sergeants and chosen men who had been marching in front of us.

  “String your bows and draw swords; string your bows and draw swords.”

  ****** George

  Peter and I drew our swords and ran as fast as we could to the head of the column. Our men had stopped just as they were entering a large square, a square that we could see was absolutely packed with people, thousands and thousands of them—and over the heads of our archers I could see that they all seemed to be looking towards us and angrily shouting and screaming. An order must have been given for, a moment later, they began running towards us with fire in their eyes and clubs and sticks in their hands.

  John immediately pulled his men back into the narrow lane to shorten his front. But within seconds they were being slowly but surely pushed back by the weight of the great mob of people pressing towards them from the square. When we reached John, we found him holding a bloody sword in his hand and walking up and down behind his archers who were using their swords and shields in a desperate effort trying to hold back the surging crowd.

  The noise was so loud that I had to shout into John’s ear to be heard. People were being both cut down by the men in our front ranks and falling down and being trampled by the press of the crowd pushing in from behind them. Most of our attackers didn’t appear to be armed with anything but sticks and clubs, but they couldn’t escape and neither could we. The noise was overwhelming. Rocks and paving stones were being thrown at us from the crowd. They were falling on us, and on the crowd in front of us.

  “What happened?” I shouted into John’s ear.

  “I don’t know; they just suddenly all appeared and came at us as we started to walk into the square.”

  I started to say something and then stopped when I realized what was about to happen. The horse carts? We needed to turn them around before we got pushed back and the crowd engulfed them.

  “Hold the mob back as long as you can and give ground slowly. Tell your men to use their swords and cut them down. I’m going to try to get the horse carts turned around. We’ll fall back on the galley.”

  John nodded. I turned around and started back for the carts before he even finished repeating his orders back to me. Freddy and Edward followed me. I didn’t see Peter or his apprentice sergeant.

  ****** Archer Robert Samuel’s son

  We was marching by threes through the streets and lanes with old Jem pounding on his drum so our feet would come down all right and proper. I was up front in the fourth line back with my mates, Charlie and Tom. Our file sergeant, Robert Butcher, was in front of us with the rest of our file and I could see old John, our white-haired galley sergeant, at the very front piloting us towards wherever it was that we were going.

  Charlie says we’re going to see the Pope but he’s always trying to gull us by saying things like that; so I played along and asked Charlie if the Pope would be giving us an apple or a bowl of wine when we got there. Oh yes, says he; we’ll be having both being as the Pope is such a big man.

  Everything was right and proper until the narrow lane on which we was walking began going up a little hill. When we reached the top of the hill we could see a big open area in front of us. It was packed with people. We already knew they were there because we could smell them before those of us marching at the very front of the column even saw them. What we didn’t know was what they wanted.

  They was all standing there and looking at us as we came out of the narrow lane where we’d been walking and started marching into the square. I barely got into the square when they all of a sudden began a running and a screaming—and coming straight towards us waving clubs and throwing rocks.

  Old John he shouts for us to fall back into the lane, and to string our bows and draw our swords even though we were marching with our bows already strung.

  The mob was on us before you could say Bob’s your uncle and we was already backing up by the time I got my sword drawn. But I got it drawn and my shield off my back. And it was a damn good thing I did because some of the mob squeezed past the lads in front of me.

  I reached my sword between Tom and Charlie who were in front of me and stabbed one of them, a skinny man with a red beard. I got him in the belly and then Tom pushed him off my sword and down on to the street stones with his shield.

  For a moment I could see him shouting and screaming as he sat down and began holding his belly and looking at it all confused-like. But I couldn’t hear him for all the noise and confusion. And then I didn’t give him another look, and forgot about him, because there was more of the bastards pushing on us and we was backing up. They was throwing rocks at us too; so I held my shield up and was damn thankful to have it.

  It was all confusion. I saw Sergeant Butcher slash someone across the face, but as he did he was pushed back and fell over the man Tom had pushed off the end of my sword. I tried to catch the sergeant with my shield to hold him up, but he went down and I was forced to step backwards by the
press of the crowd. A shield behind me held me up or I would have gone down with him.

  ****** George

  It was hard for me to get back to the horse carts against the tide of archers pushing forward to reinforce their mates facing the mob. It seemed like it took a long time, but it actually didn’t take very long at all before I got some of them turned around by grabbing them and shouting “Guard the rear; turn back and guard the rear.”

  The men in the column back by the carts were not yet battle-crazed. They quickly turned around as the nearby sergeants and their chosen men picked up my order and loudly repeated it as they joined me in grabbing men and turning them around to face in the other direction.

  It’s a good thing I reached the horses pulling the carts when I did. They were already panicked and rearing in their traces and trying to bolt. Only the determined efforts of their drivers and the two men assigned to lead each cart’s horse was keeping them from bolting.

  Two things were instantly obvious. One was that we needed to turn the carts around; the other was that the lane on which we had been marching was too narrow to do it.

  “Cut the horses out of their traces and lead them to the rear. Turn them loose after you’re clear of our men.”

  Our handful of wounded men were already moving past the carts, and the back ranks of our slowly retreating men were just reaching us, when I lifted one of the wooden cart tongues and held it upright so I could swing the two-wheel cart around in the narrow alley. The sergeants and archers around me saw what I was doing and rushed to help me turn the carts and begin pulling them back the way we’d come. I didn’t know what might be coming from behind us but it couldn’t be more difficult to handle than the mob to our front.

  It seemed to take forever, but we turned the carts carrying the coin chests and began pulling them back away from the mob which was pressing against our men who were trying to hold them back. Thank God, it was downhill.