The Templar’s Bowl
by
Peter “Lou” D’Alessio
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 20: To Sleep; Perchance to Dream
It is in the quickest of blinks of an eye that the human soul can leave the body and be carried by angels into the void. The deeds of bravery, sins of the flesh, acts of charity, and courageous conduct lose all meaning as a man stares into infinity. Such was the end of a very old and dear friend.
We had spent weeks following U-boats up and down the river by night, and our days hiding anywhere cover was available to us. Once we even followed a U-boat down the coast that came very close to the cave, turning away only at the last moment. Following an insight as the U-boat left our waters, I chanced a harboring of our boats in our bay in the early evening and took Halamin into the cave. I learned that day that friendship, once established, transcends the gap between youth and old age. As if they had grown both old and young together, there was a great rush of affection between Halamin and McCorvy, with tears and laughter and all the tales of the heroes of their youths. As we today would talk of ball players, they spoke of great men who had lived before them, and who obtained immortality through their actions. I was surprised at the admiration expressed by both the young sultan and elderly monk for Charlemagne. It spoke well for the greatness of a man... and the openness of other men.
Although I wished our little reunion to last, with the failing of the darkness I had to move the ships to a safer location. With a great dignity, Halamin turned to his old friend and said softly, “We will not meet again, forever, brother.”
McCorvy replied simply, “I know.”
I had a very strange feeling in the pit of my stomach which stayed with me all the way back to the ship.
During the Second World War, two types of deck guns were placed on German U-boats. On the Type VII boat, there were 8.8 cm guns, and on the Type IX, 10.5 cm guns were placed. In theory, they were plenty of firepower for U-boats to fend of small surface patrol boats; but the U-boat was designed primarily for stealth and firing torpedoes from the depths. The deck gun would be phased out as the war raged on because the U-boat rolled fairly badly on the ocean’s surface, making it hard to aim—but unfortunately, that was not so on a river.
The sub U-553 had done great damage in the Saint Lawrence. We had not yet figured out a way to get at the strange vessels that could live underwater like great ferocious fish. We came upon U-553 at twilight in a stretch of open water at a lonely run of river. Resting on the surface, we thought she might be making repairs. Regardless, we had slipped upon them unnoticed. We were quite a bit from the U-boat and I indicated to Helgi, waiting at the tiller, to quietly steer us alongside. My plan was to silently board the sleeping demon. We went in at a drift, pulling down our sail, hoping to allow us a lessened visibility. As we came closer, in the final rays of sunlight I could see the boat’s great searching eye twisting its long neck in hunt of life on the horizon. It felt like a good plan, and as I thought and rethought it through in an instant, I grew more certain this would be the way.
Halamin had another idea.
All of a sudden, I saw a strange doorway atop the tower rising from the deck of the floating cylinder open, and three strangely-uniformed men scrambled out. They ran to the deck gun and began to load and prepare it. I could see no sense to this. We were still far enough away that, with sail lowered, we must appear as little more than floating debris in the evening’s gloom. Then I felt the charge of water hurrying past us as Halamin’s dhow rushed by. He was hanging off the bow swinging his scimitar as pots of Greek fire glowed at the ready in the gloom. All oars down, the dhow was moving in like a tiger chasing its prey.
Several other men had climbed from the innards of the extraordinary craft and stood on the deck, weapons at the ready. As I had seen their German ancestors do centuries before them, they stood as a line without fear. A thousand years and ten thousand lifetimes ago, the sight of a ship of Islam charging full tilt toward you would strike a note of sheer terror in even the bravest of hearts. Not these men. They held their grounds as if they were Lords of all Time and Space.
I heard Halamin call for ramming speed and, as God is my judge, I’d swear the ship was flying over the water, not through it! Halamin was now less than a hundred yards away, and the German guns were bearing down as the crew of the dhow screamed war cries and beseeched the name of Allah. The Vikings were beginning to feel the soul of attack and they were adding their voices to those of the Muslims. Oars were lifting, waiting for the command to row into the breach. And while my spirit was more than willing, something inside told my flesh to hold back. Perhaps because I knew what a cannon could do—even without the power of the Spear—I held back. What could they do with the power of the Spear?
Halamin hung off the bow like the great dragon’s head on our ship. His dhow swung in to ram the sub amidships when the first round exploded. It was not meant for the sail as a fire pot would be, but cut through the bow, traveled through the ship, and tore out most of the stern as it passed unexploded. But damage had been done, pots of fire crashing all over the deck. The dhow, though at full speed, reacted as if it had struck a wall, collapsing on itself, its front end lifting high above the submarine less than ten feet away. As the front end rose, the Great and Noble Sultan launched himself towards the deck gun. Halamin was in mid-air as the second shot was fired. Whether as happenstance or intent, the round cut him in half, ripped the bow, and caught the sail as the great ship rose higher into the air.
I had reflected on the dead being able to die again. On impact, Halamin’s body seem to shatter into a million flakes of stardust, glistening and glowing until they burned out like so many dying cinders flying through the heavens. As if by signal at the sound of the deck gun’s first round exploding, there was the sound of small automatic weapons strafing across the oars and as the bullets struck those on the dhow’s deck. The darkness of the falling night lit up as if the very stars themselves had been ripped from the cold northern sky and dashed upon the deck. With a great moan, the ancient vessel dropped atop the floating monster. With a crack of splitting timbers, it too went out in flash, leaving several Germans stunned but unhurt.
With the first report of the deck gun, the Viking voices had been stilled. As we watched in astonished silence, our sail-less craft had drifted into the shore and melded into the darkness out of sight. And while it was not in the Viking nature to avoid a fight, we did nothing—for in truth, we knew not what to do! So we sat and watched. In a matter of seconds, the distraught Germans scrambled back inside the great beast. We sat there in the darkness and watched the U-boat move into the deep channel. With a wave, the hull began to sink below the waters and soon was almost out of sight. But with a tremendous shudder and the flurry of a strange, loud whooping siren, it shot to the surface and drove to the shallows where it came to rest. We watched in amazement as crewmen with lighting frantically rose from the depths of the vessel and seem to be as ants scurrying about some business.
“Now wat you suppose they be doin?” Askold pressed in.
I peered into the darkness at the swarming sailors. “I don’t know,” I muttered half to myself, “why don’t we go and visit them?”
Askold reached out, firmly grasped, then shook my Templar mail, which tended to clink with the blade and axe on my belt. “I think maybe you need go Viking on dis trip.”
I nodded.
We slid down the sidelines of our dragonship, careful to avoid landing in the water at land’s end. On my first voyage I had learned Guthrumsson could be as a cat when it was needed, silent and quick. I found it difficult to keep up with the blonde giant, but stayed with him fair closely. The forests of France and England were mild compared to these, especially with the thinnest slice of moon to see by. Although we tried to stay in view of the river, in the darkness and with the thick clustering of trees and some remarkably dense bushes, it took us some time to cover the one hundred and fifty yards betwixt our craft and theirs. We were damned near lost ourselves more than once, disorienting in the Canadian night.
When we were but a stone’s toss away, we took shelter in a heavy thicket and peered into the artificial brightness of the lights on the deck, but that brightness was overwhelmed by a flurry of sparks and the brilliant glow of a welding torch. Askold floated his words out as a wisp rather than even a whisper. “I don’t see for nuttin’ wrong! Wat they be doin’?” I patted him lightly on the back and motioned to him that I knew and to return to the ship with me.
When we reached the ship, we climbed quickly aboard and signaled the crew to pole us out to deep water, then draw us far enough back down the river to turn about and not be seen. And, in great and careful silence (for even a voice in a hush may carry great distances and betray you over quiet waters such as these), we sailed away. When safely out of sight, sail was set and oars banked. As we floated through the darkness, I went astern and stared out into the water.
There were many unhappy things I’ve seen and done over my lifetimes, but telling Hamet of Halamin’s passing... or re-passing... would be the worst. Egil rarely allowed me more than a few feet, but he stood a respectful distance back and waited some time. In his time, he approached. And as a faithful servant he stood beside me, eventually confronting me directly. “Your friend... he sleeps. I know.”
I looked at him, my thoughts and emotions all tangling together. “To sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there’s the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...” I could see in Egil’s eyes that he had no clue what I was talking about. “It’s from a book I once read—something a very wise Saxon once said—and it ponders death,” I said. Egil grunted and motioned his head to indicate he wanted me off the stern to a better point of cover. I looked down the deck and saw Askold resting against the mast. He had his “I be waitin’ to find out wat be goin’ on” look on his face.
I walked over and stood against mast facing the leaning Viking. His eyebrows rose questioningly. “I know what happened. When the dhow dropped onto the U-boat, it made a crack in the upper hull. Probably the hatch or its seal.” I could see Guthrumsson turning it all over in his mind. “Think of it this way,” I said. “That machine is a giant bubble. In that bubble, they’re safe above and below the surface. Halamin’s vessel cracked the bubble when it fell. It cracked it only slightly, but enough to take away their ability to go under the water safely. As soon as they tried, the river must have started coming in...”
The Viking’s eyebrows rose again. “So we miss our chance to board dem when dey come up to fix?”
Shaking my head, I said no. “We’d have all been killed—well, I’d have been killed, you would have been re-killed—before we could get within a few feet. Their weapons are far better than ours. But I have an idea how to stop them. We’ve been going about this the wrong way. The place to have at them is below the water, not above!”
A small crowd had gathered around us, and now eyebrows were rising like overly yeasted dough. Egil was the first to speak. “We go... under der water?”
I snorted a single muffled laugh. “No underwater for us, but that’s where we need them to be, where they’re certain they’re safe. How many ships has Askold spotted that we merely sailed over because we didn’t know how to get at them? Well, now I know how to get at them.” Judging by the ripple of noise that went through the crowd, my crew believed I had found a way.
“Helgi!” I shouted to my pilot, “take us back to the bay by the cave. There’s labor to do on land!”
It was several days to return to the island bay, made worse by the unfriendliest of weather. I can make no account for what time was actually passing. I could have sworn it was still mid-summer, but it felt like autumn was fast upon us—or maybe it was just Canada. By the time we reached the place where the Saint Lawrence met the ocean, there were chunks of ice floating around us. Instead of hunting U-boats, we had begun to pick our way around them, not yet being rigged to fight.
It was adding time to the trip, but I did not mind. The longer it took, the longer it would be before I had to speak with McCorvy. Nor did the crew mind. They had realized again how good it felt to be alive, to feel the fresh, crisp air in your lungs again, to be hungry and eat—and to feel the warmth of human companionship all around. It brought out of them a great joy, but also a great sadness. One way or another, it must end. When I questioned them, they made no answer, leaving me to speculate again on what death was like. I began to wonder if heaven was that much greater than life. All things considered, it wasn’t a good way to be thinking. I’m sure my Templar mentors would not approve.
It needed to be that we stop first a bit before the bay. Giving certain men instructions on dimensions and types of wood, I sent them out to take trees of very middling size and of wood still a bit green, but aged enough to be worked. I set other men to work preparing a work place that could be used to convert these trees into lumber, to build hoists that would swing where directed. It all took several days, but all was done—and done well. We then moved on towards the bay.
I kept the sail tied down and ordered the crew to quietly row us in. What I needed now was but a short ways inland from where we would anchor. There were boulders we had dug up centuries ago when we first came to Nova Scotia, dug our well, and cut our long houses into the land. As much of a pain as they had been then, they were a blessing now.
As we pulled into the bay, I could see the earthly form of an old Monk standing on the beach waiting for us... and my heart sank. When the great Dragonship touched the beach, Hamet just waited, looking into my face for what I was going to do.
“Halamin has returned to the void,” I said, “...but you know that, don’t you!”
“What was it you said? To sleep, perchance to dream? Nice of my Arab brother to point the way, wasn’t it.”
