Keeper of the Grail by Michael P. Spradlin Page A

pointed, I could see the white cliffs of Dover behind us. I’d never before viewed anything so beautiful in my life. The chalk-white cliffs were bathed in the soft light of the sun. Rising up out of the ocean with no warning, it was as if God had reached down from heaven to pull the cleanest and purest part of the earth out of the ground for all to see. They towered over the city like a heavenly fortress, and I soon forgot all about pirates while I drank in the sight.
    I watched the cliffs retreat from us as we turned south in the channel. Here the water was rougher, but the wind was stronger, and we picked up speed.
    Shortly after daybreak we reached Portsmouth. There we were greeted by the King’s fleet. The Lionheart’s flagship sailed out of the harbor, leading a line of twenty vessels. His banner with the three golden lions on a crimson background was attached to the main mast, flapping proudly in the breeze.
    At least that is what I was told. I saw none of it, for I lay in my hammock belowdecks, thrashing, vomiting and clutching my stomach, wishing that I were dead.
    I’ve always been healthy and seldom caught the sicknesses or fevers that would strike the monks at the abbey. On that day, however, I believed that I was making up for it all. I had never felt so ill. Each movement of the ship sent my stomach reeling and rolled my eyes back in my head. I lay in the swinging hammock promising to do anything God asked if he would just make the ship stop moving up and down and side to side.
    It was Quincy who told me of the rendezvous and the impressive array of ships that now sailed toward Outremer. The motion of the ship didn’t seem to bother him at all. He visited me often in the hold, where I could scarcely lift my head, keeping me apprised of events as they happened on the ship.
    Finally, on the third day, my stomach settled somewhat and I made my way to the deck, squinting in the sun like a mole. As the deck heaved to and fro, I thought I would be sick again. I held fast to the deck railing until the wave of nausea passed. It felt good to breathe in the fresh air. The life of a sailor was definitely not for me.
    Sir Thomas found me on the deck, desperately clutching the railing.
    “Feeling better?” he asked.
    “I’ll be happy to never sail again,” I said.
    “Ha. Be glad we’re not taking the land route. It takes months. Riding along, choking in the dust, burning in the sun, freezing in the rain. Saddle sores. Believe me, this is much better,” he said.
    “If you say so, sire,” I answered, still feeling miserable. Sir Thomas chuckled again at my discomfort and moved off.
    Most of the time on the ship I was bored beyond belief. We were often out of sight of land, with nothing to look at but water. And more water. There was little to do except sleep and pace about the deck. Some days I even took a turn at the oars just to have something to do.
    Once in the Mediterranean the wind was stronger and the ship moved over the water at a quicker pace. Passing through the Strait of Gibraltar I saw the mighty rock that had guarded the passage since time began. A few days past the rock, we sailed around the Isle of Cyprus, not stopping, for the King wished to reach Acre as soon as possible.
    Three weeks to the day after leaving Dover, the ships made landfall a day’s ride to the west of Acre, at a spot where the coast leveled out to form a natural harbor. We had to swim the horses to shore, and it took two full days to move all of the cargo and supplies off the ships. My legs felt as if they were made of stone columns when I first stepped on land after nearly three weeks at sea. I wanted to kiss the ground, but merely rejoiced that it didn’t move as I walked upon it.
    I wasn’t sure what I had expected of Outremer, but the land surprised me. Having heard the knights speak of the arid desert, I was surprised to find the coastal area, although rocky, to be full of green trees and shrubs. The climate was warmer