The warrior prince

Bermuda, the mouth of the West Indies. Normally a haven to privateers and lesser beings, it's an unavoidable stop for English vessels on their way to the British Colonies. My cross of the ocean has been long, and young William has been a little sea-sick on the first week of travel, but fortunately, the worst is over, and now the best part of the travel is next.

We are scheduled to stop here for three days, until our water and food stock are recharged, our sugar supplies increased (our captain's a merchant and he's quite aware that a little extra might wage another travel through the ocean), and the latest news collected.

On the second night, he had a pending visit to a friend of his, in the local tavern, the Golden Swan. They had served together as boatswains in the Royal Navy, he tells me, and they had both earned their freedom through extraordinary services.

As we entered, the tavernkeeper asked me name, which I was glad to lie about, and he enquired us about the news coming from the Mother Country.

We were glad to speak about the near-to-come expedition that Prince Harry would wage against the Moors. A small scale in portuguese waters, and he would cross the Mediterranean see to face them. The objective was no other than the plundering of Cairo, but many were skeptical about such prowess.
-"The Mediterranean belongs to the Turks" he says. Me captain showed disapproval.
-"But still we have to teach them".

Many in London had been worried that the very Prince could lose his life during such expedition, it was commented, but he decided to go anyway.

-"We shall get more of that in the years to come, my friends", the captain concluded, while sipping his glass of rhum.

Our next stop in the travel, would be my last: We'd be home!