He had his back to the poop-stairs and was wondering how he could climb them in full armour and harassed by a swarm of foes, when he was conscious of a bright flame that soared high overhead and a wild screaming from the galley. Simultaneously, the pressure in front slackened. He eased his sword by slaying the enemy nearest to him, and looked across the railing toward the galley. It was afire just under the stern-castle. Whilst he looked, the cog began slowly to forge ahead, and there was another flash of light above him. A flaming barrel curved down from the poop and fell amongst the galley's rowers, spitting fire to right and left.
"Shoot me that helmsman, Ralph!" he heard Matteo cry. "Ay, so!"
At the foot of the mizzenmast an isolated group of Saracens were struggling for their lives against the cog's crew, now fighting like men-at-arms. The rest of those who had boarded the cog were dead or thrown overboard. Hugh turned and climbed wearily to the poop, where Ralph was just loosing an arrow as he appeared.
"I have made amends, Messer Hugh," exclaimed the giant happily. "That is the third heathen I have shot at the galley's helm."
"He hath done wonders for a sick man," applauded Matteo, who stood beside him. "But where had we all been without your sword, Hugh?"
"Not so," said Hugh, bewildered. "'Twas your fire-trick beat them off. Where are they?"
Matteo pointed toward the galley, rolling broadside onto the waves, flames rising from her in two places.
"'Tis an old trick in Outremer," he exulted. "But like most old tricks it works. An they have no sand in their ballast or vinegar, I fear me the Paynims will all perish, Hugh. Water will not quench the flames I launched upon them."
Hugh looked his admiration.
"You should be a great captain some day, Matteo," he said.