His young squires, Jehan and Saer, were awaiting Richard in their tent, and hurried to help him don his gambeson, the padded tunic worn under his hauberk. Other knights were crowding into the tent to retrieve their armor, carefully packed away in coffers to protect it from the corrosive sea air. Once he’d buckled his scabbard and fastened his helmet strap, Richard snatched up his crossbow and hastened back on deck.
The anchors had been hauled up and the sailors were unfurling the sails; on the beach, the stranded crewmen were dragging the longboat onto the shore, apparently hoping to hide from the pirates if the Holy Rood was taken or sunk. Richard’s arbalesters were awaiting his orders, their crossbows spanned and bolts aligned. Some of the knights had not taken the time to put on the mail chausses that protected their legs, although all were wearing their hauberks and helmets. They were combat veterans, but unlike his sailors, they had no experience in sea warfare. Glancing around at their tense faces, he pitched his voice so all could hear. “Defending a ship is no different from defending a castle, lads . . . aside from the risk of drowning, of course.” As he’d hoped, that dispersed some of the tension; soldiers usually responded well to gallows humor.
Morgan pushed his way toward the king. He was still fumbling with his ventail, seeking to draw it across his throat. He usually felt more secure once he was clad in mail; now, though, he could not help thinking that if he slipped on the wet deck, it would drag him down like an anchor. Richard was studying the pirate ships as intently as he studied battlefields, and Morgan hoped he was formulating a strategy for another unlikely victory; the odds were not in their favor.
He reached his cousin just as Richard beckoned to the ship’s master, saying that he needed a man who spoke Greek. The Pisan nodded, for that was the native tongue of half a dozen members of the seventy-five-man crew. Before he could summon any of them, Hugh de Neville offered another candidate. “What of Petros, sire? You remember—the sailor from Messina. He acted as translator when your ladies were shipwrecked on Cyprus and proved to be very useful. He might even know some of those cutthroats, for I heard him boasting that he has a cousin on a pirate ship out of Kassiopi.”
“Get him.”
The words were no sooner out of Richard’s mouth than a youth materialized as if by magic before him. Petros’s black eyes were shining, for he was never happier than when he was the center of attention. “You ask for me, lord king? I speak Greek from the cradle, but my French . . . it is very good. When we were in Cyprus—”
“I need information about these pirates. Do they know about Saladin? The war in the Holy Land?”
“Of course they do, lord! They care about the recovery of Jerusalem, too. Why, some have even taken the cross. A man can be a pirate and a good Christian.”
“Have they heard of me?”
Petros grinned. “I daresay they’ve heard of you in Cathay, lord. After what you did at Jaffa—”
Richard usually enjoyed hearing his battlefield prowess lauded, but now he cut off the sailor’s effusive praise with a gesture. “I hope you are right, Petros. I want you to tell them that this is the Holy Rood out of Acre, commanded by the English king.”
Petros blinked in surprise. He obeyed at once, though, calling out to the closest of the pirate galleys. A reply soon came echoing across the waves. “They ask why they should believe that, lord.”
Richard had expected as much. Turning to the ship’s master, he told the man to raise his banner and, within moments, the royal lion of England was fluttering proudly from the masthead. The knights were murmuring among themselves, uneasy about the king’s decision to reveal his identity. “Now tell them this, Petros. Say the English king is called Lionheart because he does not know how to surrender. He will never yield to them. To take this ship, they will have to fight to the death.”
For the first time, Petros hesitated. “They are proud men, lord. I do not think they can be—”
“Tell them,” Richard said, and Petros did. His message appeared to stir up a lively debate among the pirates. Richard waited a few moments, and then nodded again to Petros. “Now tell them this—that it need not come to that. There is a way by which we both benefit and with no blood being shed. Tell their chieftain that I would speak with him.”