“That’s passing strange,” Richard said, “for I was just thinking the same thing about pirates.” When his reply was conveyed to Georgios, the pirate smiled, but it was a pale imitation of his usual cocky grin. Before he could respond, they heard a shout out on the deck. The other men stiffened, for although none of them understood Greek, they’d learned what that alarm meant—another monster wave was looming.
The ship shuddered, like an animal in its death throes. Its prow was pointing skyward, so steep was the wave, and the men desperately braced themselves, knowing the worst was to come. The galley was engulfed, white water breaking over both sides, flooding the deck. And then it was going down, plunging into the trough, and there was nothing in their world but seething, surging water. Richard heard terrified cries of “Jesu!” and “Holy Mother!” Beside him, Arne was whimpering in German. The bow was completely submerged and Richard was sure that the Sea-Wolf was doomed, heading for the bottom of the Adriatic Sea.
“Lord God, I entreat Thee to save us, Thy servants!” Richard’s voice rose above the roar of the storm, for he was used to shouting commands on the battlefield. “Let us reach a safe harbor and I pledge one hundred thousand ducats to build for Thee a church wherever we come ashore! Do not let men who’ve taken the cross die at sea and be denied Christian burial!”
Waves continued to crash onto the deck, soaking the men and stealing their breaths. But then the galley’s prow was coming up again, battling back to the surface, and they realized that they would not drown just yet. They slumped against one another, chests heaving as they sought to draw sweet air into their lungs. Petros tugged at Georgio’s arm, pointing at Richard and murmuring in Greek. The pirate’s eyes widened and then he began to laugh. “He says,” Petros reported, “that you have saved us, lord, for how could the Almighty resist such a vast sum, veritably a king’s ransom.”
Richard knew better than to claim a victory while the battle still hung in the balance. He didn’t bother to point that out to Georgios, though, for his stomach was roiling again. He had nothing left to vomit up, but he could taste bile in his mouth and fumbled for the wineskin at his belt, taking a swig and then flipping the wineskin to Arne, who looked as if he was greatly in need of it.
His clerk was staring after Georgios, his mouth set in a hard line. “That man,” he said coldly, “is a blasphemer.”
His disapproval gave Richard some grim amusement. “He’s a pirate, Fulk. They are not noted for their piety.”
Fulk did not see the humor. “They are damned, the lot of them,” he insisted and no one had the inclination or the energy to argue with him. The rain had eased up, but the sea continued to rage, tossing the galley violently. Through the rips in the tent, they could see the sky was beginning to lighten, shading from ink black to a dark leaden grey. And then Petros was back, his olive skin no longer blanched, his cheekbones flushed with color.
“Spyro has recognized a landmark—Mount Srd!” he cried. “He says we’re not far from the harbor at Ragusa!”
COMING OUT ON DECK, Richard was relieved to see the second pirate galley in the distance, for they’d been separated when the storm broke and he’d feared that his ten men aboard the Sea-Serpent had been lost. As the night retreated, the coast was coming into focus. Ahead lay a heavily wooded island that Petros said was called La Croma, and beyond it was the city of Ragusa. The sea was still churning and waves were pounding against the white cliffs of La Croma, sending spume high into the air. Richard’s knights had joined him at the gunwale, gazing yearningly toward the harbor that would be their salvation. But then one of Georgio’s crewmen pulled him aside, obviously agitated, and when the other pirates clustered around their chieftain, Richard felt a sudden disquiet.
“Petros! What is wrong?”
The young sailor hastened toward them, surefooted even though the deck was awash and bucking like an unbroken horse. “We’re taking on water in the bilge, lord. The helmsman says we cannot reach Ragusa, so he’s going to try to land on La Croma.”