The weather was abating a little. In place of the initial heavy downpour, there was now only a faint drizzle, but the deck was as treacherous as ice.
There was another cry, and Baldwin heard the dull thudding of poles striking the ship’s side. They were long boat hooks. Baldwin went to the first and hacked at it with his sword, but the thing was more than an inch thick. He could cut only partway through it, and as he did so he was aware of a raucous bellow of exultation from the Bretons. Glancing down, he saw that more grapnels had been hurled, and now men were swarming up the ropes. He couldn’t see the leader of the pirates.
Leaping back, Baldwin retreated a short distance to give himself space. On either side, he saw that Simon and Sir Charles were ready. A sixth sense made him throw a look over his shoulder, and there, to his horror, he saw two men clambering over the sheer. With a roar of defiance, he ran at them, knocking the first bodily against the timbers at the edge and hearing a satisfying grunt of pain. Then he was on the second, whom he recognised as the leader. Somehow these two must have clung onto the ship’s outer skin and climbed around until they could attack the defenders from the rear. Baldwin had no idea how they could have managed such a feat, but perhaps it was while the crew rushed to remove the grappling iron and the sailor was shot. Few eyes would have been on the front of the attacking ship during those moments. Like Baldwin, all the men on board were watching the man falling from the yard.
No matter. There was no time to waste; for now his concern was to prevent an attempt to board the Anne.
Baldwin was no dull-witted hacker. He had been trained in combat from his youth, and his skills had been honed by his years as a Knight Templar. It was natural in the Order for men to practise daily at their weapons, and now he stood warily while the Breton leader circled him, an axe in one hand, a long-bladed knife in the other. Baldwin was sure that he was trying to get to the other side of the ship, so that he could return to his comrades. He would also be hoping that the man whom Baldwin had knocked down would recover and stab Baldwin in the back while he fought the leader.
Casually, while the Breton leader moved crab-like across the deck, Baldwin took a step backwards and stabbed downwards, twice. There was a hissed curse, then a bubbling sob, and a rattling of bare heels as the man’s soul fled his body. Baldwin’s attention was on the leader, and now he could see the doubt in the man’s eyes. He hadn’t expected Baldwin to be as ruthless in his defence as the Bretons would be in their attack.
That made Baldwin’s grim temper fall away. He grinned, then laughed aloud, and sprang forward, his sword making a bright blue arc. The leader of the Bretons pulled back, his face registering alarm. He had a slight cast in one eye, which Baldwin thought made him look more vulnerable. It was as though the man had defective vision. He might miss Baldwin’s more elaborate attacks. It was worth noting.
Baldwin stamped his foot, then made an elementary lunge. The pirate’s eyes narrowed slightly and he slipped to the side. Baldwin stamped again, stabbed again, and the pirate slipped to the other side. So be it, Baldwin thought to himself, and stamped his foot once more, but this time the ship rolled, and as he made his move, instead of running the man through the breast, his blade merely caught the Breton a glancing blow over the chest.
The man looked down at the blood staining the long slash. When he looked up at Baldwin again, the glittering in his eyes told of no fear, only rage. He stood easily on the balls of his feet, waiting, and Baldwin made as though to attack — but before he could strike, the Breton moved.
His axe rose high over his head before he swung it directly at Baldwin’s head. Baldwin had thought that it was a feint, had kept his attention on the dagger as well, but when he lifted his blade to block the axe, he was beaten back by the power of the blow. It was a heavy weapon, and its mass was bearing down upon him with the full intensity of the pirate’s hatred behind it. Baldwin had only time to slip his sword away and bring it down, striking away the dagger as it aimed for his lower belly. Immediately the axe swung down and to Baldwin’s right. It was an error, for it left him an opening, and he used his blade to knock the arm up and away, then turned it to stab at the man’s breast.
It would have been perfect, but at that moment the ship lurched, and Baldwin’s foot slipped away from under him. He felt his head hit the deck, and a dull ache smothered his conscious thoughts.
Is this how I am to die? he wondered dumbly as he saw the axe lift and begin to plunge towards him. He rolled away, heard the axe strike the deck a short distance from his neck, and then lunged upwards.
He missed his mark. Aimed below the ribcage to tear into the man’s viscera and heart, the blade caught on a bone, skittered across, and dived in under the man’s armpit, slicing through the soft flesh. A minor wound, but painful.
The Breton reached down and pulled his axe free as Baldwin lifted his foot; he was about to dash out the knight’s brains, when the ship moved once more. This time it was the weakened Breton who was unbalanced, and Baldwin’s booted foot caught him as he was leaning too far backwards. One hard shove, and the man was sent hurtling across the deck. Even as Baldwin rose to a crouch and took stock, he saw the man hit the side of the ship. Immediately Gervase, who was fighting with another sailor, punched him viciously in the belly and pushed his head back. The pirate balanced a moment with eyes and mouth wide in astonished horror, and then he fell overboard.
Baldwin climbed to his feet, taking in the scene, and saw that the Bretons were falling back. Sir Charles was wielding his sword like a berserker, while Simon stood before two bodies, his sword dancing in the greyness like a sliver of glass. The helmsman was bellowing, but even as Baldwin began to move towards him, a great gout of blood shot from his lips, and he fell, coughing, almost crushing the cabin-boy, Hamo. A man had crept behind him and stabbed him between the shoulder-blades with a short, wide blade. Now the reddened blade was turned towards the boy. Hamo stared up at the pirate with wide, agonised eyes, his hands held tightly over his ears, as though by blocking the noise he could protect himself.
His terror was the spur. Baldwin rushed at the man and beat at him, the blood-rage settling on him. It was like a veil of crimson: he saw no one except the man before him, and he advanced steadily, his peacock-blue blade flashing and glittering, darting from one side to another, sweeping in a great arc, and then slipping quickly upwards, taking the man across the neck and all but removing his head.
The boat rolled again as the man fell, and now there was a shout and all the Bretons retreated, piling back over the side of the Anne. Baldwin stood gripping the sword, his hands turned red with the blood of his attackers. He looked down at them and sighed as the fighting spirit left his soul. He felt utterly drained. At least Hamo was alive. The boy was pale and shivering, but unwounded, clinging to a rope at the mast, staring at the captain, Gervase, who was sitting holding a large cut in his belly from which the blood seeped. That, Baldwin told himself, was a deadly wound.
‘What now?’ he said to himself.
‘God’s ballocks! Don’t ask me,’ Simon snapped. ‘We’ve no helmsman and the master’s wounded! Even if St Nicholas himself knew where we were going, I doubt whether he’d be able to tell us how to guide this old tub on our own!’
Chapter Three
There was nothing but emptiness in his heart as Isok reached the cottage north-east of his own. He threw open the door and pulled it to behind him quickly, keeping the weather out so far as he could.
‘So you’ve decided, have you?’ a voice asked quietly.