Read The Archer's Return: Medieval story in feudal times about knights, Templars, crusaders, Marines, and naval warfare during the Middle Ages in England in the reign of King Richard the lionhearted for Free Online

there is no movement on the Algerian.  All we can see are bodies on the Algerians deck and neither galley dares send a man up its mast to see for fear he’ll be picked off by an archer.  Finally there is a loud hail in a foreign tongue and then in French. … “Quarter” … “Quarter.”  …  “We surrender.”
    @@@@@
           It is totally dark and the warm and sunny day has turned into a chilly and windy evening by the time we cast off the grappling lines and our prize crew and the Algerian’s released slaves begin rowing our third prize towards Malta. 
           All of the Algerian sailors except the most seriously wounded are chained to the lower rowing benches and food and water from our galley’s stores have been loaded.  The joyful Algerian slaves have been released and are enthusiastically helping to row.  The big difference is that the surviving Algerians have taken the place of their slaves as the principal rowers and the slaves are wolfing down bread and cheese from the food and water skins we hurriedly pass over to our prize while it’s still light enough to see what we are doing. 
           We’ve lost one man killed and three wounded, one quite seriously with a cracked skull.  Blood must have seeped into the water for we soon attract a large number of sharks.  They are undoubtedly feasting on the bodies we throw overboard.  The surviving Algerians are brave men who tried to recover from our surprise attack and fight us.  We’ve got them chained to the rowing benches and that’s where they’ll stay - but we’ll feed them, treat them well, and try to exchange them, even their wounded.  Hell, we’re the pirates; they’re our prey even though they didn’t know it until it was too late to escape.
     
     
                              Chapter Three
           Our arrival in Malta almost a week later is quite triumphant.  About half of our galleys and prizes are already here.  Their crews line their decks to cheer and wave as we row into the harbor and tie up at the city’s dock.  The day may be a bit murky and overcast but everyone’s spirits are high and rightly so. 
           Even Count Brindisi, Malta’s somewhat Roman Catholic ruler on behalf of the King of Sicily, is down from the stone watch tower on the hill that passes for his castle and standing at the dock to greet us as we tie up.  At his insistence he and I promptly walk to the nearest tavern so he can hear about the raid and, of course, get the latest news about Richard and the latest gossip about our betters.  He claims his fortune teller predicted our success and King Richard’s return. 
           Brindisi obviously admires Richard.  How surprising.  Are Thomas and I the only ones who despise him because he broke his word and murdered the thousands of Saracens who surrendered to us at Acre?
           I don’t suggest it, of course, but I think the old scoundrel is jealous; I think he misses his days as a pirate before he got made a noble for using his ships to help the king of Sicily steal its throne when the old king died childless.  
           I’m sure he is – living in a cold and drafty stone tower in your very own castle sounds great until you have one and have to live in it.  A nice comfy farmhouse with cattle and sheep packed into the lower room to keep it warm is much better.
    @@@@@
           Seven happy drunken days later the weather clears and we’re waiting to row out of Malta and on to Cyprus with big hangovers and Alfred Forester’s galley waiting to gather up any late arrivals.  On the bad side, the butcher’s bill is high even before we know the fate of the fifty or so men in our missing prize crews.  We have almost certainly lost at least one of our galleys - and at least ninety seven men including two of our sergeant captains, mostly from our lost galley.  We have forty seven wounded ranging from dying and seriously wounded