Chapter 13: Sailing

(Robin Oaklea, son of Will Archer, narrates)

I have never sailed before.

“Nor I,” says the Lady Elinor.

Hugh has not been further away from than Bartown in his life and he was only there twice. We had all enjoyed the pleasant trip down the river, collectively our first venture on water. Feeling the uncertainty of movement under our feet, as soon as we board, was easy to cope with. There is the slightly tiring swaying as we try to counter the movements by swaying against it, only to find we swing too far and almost topple, is disconcerting, but not at all unpleasant. The easier way is to grab a bulwark and simply move our heads to keep it level. It is easy to cope with and we three all enjoyed our primary river trip.

Now we set sail upon the ocean and, oh how the noise is so deafening! On the river, the countryside slipped by with barely a whisper, only for the last hour or so had Captain Leofwine tied on the square sail to urge us more swiftly to the port, lest we miss the tide, and the river captain risk ire from his brother captain.

Here, I cannot understand a word of instruction and counter command the sailors are calling out to one another. However, the bewildering array of ropes appear to be untied in the correct order, pulled and manipulated in mysterious ways and retied, in presumably like fashion, with never an instruction needing to be shouted twice. We move, surprisingly quickly for such a large craft, through the still water and across the crowded harbour, full of other moving craft, each independent of the other, without collision. It is a marvel to behold.

Our attention is taken by a hue and cry from the shore. A body of Knights, heavily armed and above twenty in number, are dismounting from steaming horses and shaking their fists at us as we move away from the dock. One or two even loosen a couple of arrows at us but we are three hundred yards from the wharves by now and the ill-aimed darts from their short cavalry bows fall a long way short. I thought of fetching my longbow, presently safe unstrung and bound in cloth against the damp sea air, but it would have been futile to respond by the time I had the weapon ready for use.

Besides, the Lady Elinor is occupied in laughing at their antics, a spectacle herself, jumping up and down in her unconfined joy, making all sorts of hand gestures to them, no doubt some of them rather rude. She’s not always the Lady she should be, I have noticed. She calls to Hugh and I, “Look! It is the Count! We have beaten him to the boats! And the Captain says he cannot possibly sail for another 12 hours, we are a whole half day ahead of them!”

I look to where she is pointing. There indeed is the very Count, the only one still ahorse. While the others jump around, he is holding on tightly as his mount becomes jumpy at the excited crowd. As the horse turns, looking to flee inland, we can clearly see that he is riding high in the saddle atop a thick feather pillow!

We three laugh until the tears run down our faces, the sailors unaware of the reason for our mirth, but the ship starts to roll as we near the harbour exit, and ere long the ship crashes over the sea waves rolling in. It is as if the ship is trying to shake us off its back like a donkey spooked by a family of hornets.