by Sam Barone
After he’d mastered the basics of manufacturing gunpowder, Antonio studied the Venetian gunners’ cannons. Nicolo’s techniques matched what Antonio witnessed. The process of melting the ore, creating the molds, pouring the molten iron, and joining the barrel segments together was so close to his father’s procedures that Antonio knew he would learn little. What impressed him was the standard sizes cast, with every gun manufactured to the same specification.
The Venetians had taken standardization to new heights, as evidenced by the speed at which they could construct galleys. Despite the myriad individual craftsmen, the Masters of the Arsenal insisted that each gun be as alike as possible. In England, a gun that deviated slightly from another was still sold. Not here.
Back home, Antonio’s father had started his own standardization procedures for manufacturing cannonballs. With some of the other gun makers, they’d begun naming cannons according to weight of projectiles – thus six, twelve, eighteen, and twenty-four pound projectiles were becoming the accepted names for new guns. The older practice of using specific names – falcon, saker, demi-culverin, culverin, culverin-royal – was falling out of favor with gunsmiths.
Using standard weights for the projectiles allowed easier calculation of bore sizes, barrel length, pressure, and trajectory. Antonio’s teacher of mathematics had worked with father and son to develop several formulas.
After two days helping and observing in the Arsenal’s foundry, Antonio moved on to his newest interest.
The galleys that bobbed in the inner harbor had worked their magic on him. He started with the vast warehouse that stored the individual pieces. Sealed as much as possible from the weather, the storage place held keels, rams, decking, oars, nails, masts, sails – everything needed to assemble a galley. Each component matched its companions, and a vessel could be put together with parts taken randomly.
Even the instructions for construction had been meticulously drafted, including occasional sketches. A shipwright with a list in his hand selected each piece in the proper order. This insured that the dry dock had only the sections on hand that it needed at any given moment.
One day, just after the noon meal, he watched as a shift of 30 carpenters and their assistants started assembling a galley. By the end of the day, the ship was more than half built. When Antonio returned the next day at the noon hour, the crew was pushing the galley into the water. The dockside already held the cannons and smaller guns that would arm the vessel.
“Would you care to go aboard?”
Master Stefano, a rotund man in his middle forties, supervised the dockyard, and had responsibility for every ship that splashed into the water from the yard. Antonio had met the dock master yesterday, and told him of his reason for observing.
“Yes, Master Stefano. I’ve never been on board a galley before.”
“What kind of ships have you sailed on?”
That led to the story of the Pinnace, and to Antonio’s surprise, Master Stefano showed keen interest in the workings of a galleon. “We see only a few of them each year. The winds in this part of the Mediterranean are fickle for sailing ships, and when the wind dies down or turns foul, they are too slow to fend off attacks from the pirate galleys. When galleons or carracks do arrive, they’re accompanied by galleys to protect them.”
They continued their discussion as they walked to the edge of the slip. Workers still moved about the ship, finishing final touches and supervising the installation of the guns. As Antonio and Master Stefano watched, a crowd of men wandered into the dockyard, all talking loudly, some still eating their lunches, most carrying small sacks over their shoulders.
“Ah, the rowers are late, as usual,” Stefano said. “They won’t row unless they’ve been fed. Let’s go aboard. The ship is nearly ready for its trial run.”
Antonio stepped from the dock onto the galley’s rear deck. The pungent smell of fresh wood floated over the vessel. The benches, oars, even the planks that formed the gangway down the center of the vessel were all new, unmarked from their storage in the Arsenal. He moved close to the steersman’s position, and looked down the length of the craft, while Master Stefano spoke with the temporary captain.
Antonio needed little imagination to see himself back in Greece, fighting the Persian fleet at Salamis, or sailing with young Caesar Augustus at Actium. Their triremes no doubt looked much the same as the vessel beneath his feet, though no one knew for certain what the ancient Greek craft looked like. This one had two banks of oars on each side, with three rowers to each oar, the configuration most popular in Venice. Antonio knew that a ship such as this required at least 120 men just to man the oars.
“Master Stefano, how many men can this ship carry?”
“In normal times, about 140 or so. Aside from the rowers, there are usually 20 men at arms, and the rest work the sails and man the guns. If we were putting out to sea for real, the soldiers would also be onboard, and most of the rowers would be armed with swords, pikes, and bows. That’s what makes our Venetian ships so dangerous. In a battle, our oarsmen can join the fight, unlike the slaves chained to the benches of the Turkish ships.”
Antonio marveled at the sheer number of men. The Pinnace had a crew of only 60 or so. A galley carried many more men, packed together.
Despite Stefano’s assertion that the galley was ready for sea, a problem arose with one of the sails, and half an hour passed before the boat pushed off from shore. Antonio stayed close to Master Stefano, who stood beside the temporary captain commanding the trial run.
With a final shout, the rowers took their position and at the captain’s command, one of the men struck a drum, and the oars took their first sweep. The galley moved a trifle, the first pull always the hardest, and the men grunted as they repeated the stroke. With each splash of the oars, the boat gathered speed. The drummer maintained the rowers’ beat and so controlled the galley’s speed. By the time it slid through the opening and into the sea, it moved crisply through the water.
“Only a 100 rowers today,” Stefano explained. “We’ve no cargo or water supplies on board, so the ship can be handled with less than the usual crew.”
Antonio, the sea breeze ruffling his hair, stared down the length of the ship. “How far will we go?”
“A mile or so out to sea, then we race back. That’s enough to see if she’s leaking. Or looks like she might break apart.”
“Could that happen?”
Stefano laughed. “Not one of my boats, Englishman. I build the strongest boats in the yard. Half my family sails in these galleys. I wouldn’t want to face them if one of my ships split in two. If all is well, a full crew will take this one out for a few days, perhaps with a cargo run down the coast.”
“Are the Turks’ ships as good as yours?”
“Renegades from Genoa and France help build them, along with more than a few Italians. So yes, they’re efficient enough, and a bit more sturdy in their construction, though slower through the water. In the last year the Sultan built many new vessels for his attack on Malta. With his fleet, and the addition of the Algerian pirates, he’ll put hundreds of ships in the water.”
All the western Mediterranean pirates, based in Algiers, had allied themselves with the Sultan, and no doubt had received orders to join forces for the invasion of Malta. That meant that the combined fleet that arrived off Malta’s shores would be the largest in the world.
The ship’s drum had increased in tempo. Antonio hadn’t thought the galley could move much faster, and he stared down at the rowers pulling smoothly, muscles rippling under loose shirts and baggy trousers.
The captain barked out another command, and the galley turned hard to port. The starboard oarsmen reversed their stroke for a few beats, to help turn the long craft. The ship spun in the water, and in moments had reversed its direction. The maneuvers gave the men no rest. Another order turned the ship hard to starboard.
As soon as the galley settled onto its new course, the inspection crew raced up and down the craf
t, checking for leaks or signs of damage from the two sharp turns. After about 15 minutes of careful examination, they signaled to the captain that all was well.
“See! I told you my ships are battle-ready,” Stefano said.
“Ramming speed,” the captain shouted before Antonio could reply. At once the drum pounded harder and the beat quickened.
Antonio stared in fascination as the men labored, the sweeps cutting through the water, each man extending his body upright and pulling back on the oar as much with his body weight as with his arms.
The rowers’ jests had ended. No one had extra breath to waste as each man yanked as hard as he could. Yet the strokes all came together, striking the water at the same moment, and digging into the sea with scarcely a splash to mark their entry. Antonio wondered what would happen if the oarsmen tangled the blades. Soon the galley had reached its top speed and tore through the water, gliding like a dolphin through the waves.
“They can’t keep this speed up for long,” Stefano shouted over the din of the oars. “In combat, the idea is to get the boat moving as fast as possible, then smash it into the enemy’s ship. If we were to strike an enemy galley amidships, it would be cut in half.”
Antonio lifted his eyes. The wall of the Arsenal loomed ever larger less than a quarter mile away, as the galley raced across the sea, faster than the wind had driven the Pinnace.
“Half speed,” the captain called out, and a sigh went up from the rowers’ benches. A few moments later, he gave the order for quarter speed. The ship now slid gracefully through the water, and the steersman lined up the vessel to pass through the center of the passage and back into the Arsenal’s dock.
From where Antonio stood, the Arsenal’s row of guns, all pointed out to sea, looked formidable. As they passed through the sea gate, he noticed 10 or 12 armed men watching their progress.
“Are there always guards there, Master Stefano?”
“Always. Their job is to shut the gate, should an enemy try to drive a ship into the Arsenal. That’s what the chain is for.” He pointed to a massive pile of rust-covered iron that rested near one edge of the passage. “And 30 men guard that gate day and night, with another hundred within call.”
“The city seems well secured.”
“We’re only safe as long as the sea is clear of pirates. And only as long as our fleet stands between the city and any who would try and take Venice by force. The Sultan is an old man, and they say he would like one more conquest before he dies.”
“I’ve only been here a few weeks, but already I feel as if this is my second home. I pray that you and Venice both remain safe.”
Stefano crossed himself. “Amen, Antonio. Amen.”
Chapter 18
“You went out to sea in a galley?”
“Freshly assembled,” Antonio said, enjoying the surprised looks on Martin’s face. “Just a test run to see if it leaked or needed repairs. We raced around the waters outside the lagoon. You should have seen the ship dash through the waves at ramming speed. And to think I watched them build that boat in a day and a half.”
“I think you should stay on shore,” Martin said, “at least until your wits return. Suppose the thing fell apart?”
Antonio laughed. “Then there would have been a hundred of us in the water. I doubt if Master Stefano at his age would risk his life in an unsafe boat.”
They were all sitting in Gianetta’s garden, relaxing after dinner. Over the last few weeks, they’d taken to returning to Marco’s house each evening to talk about Antonio’s day at the Arsenal or the latest city gossip. A pitcher of wine mixed with water helped everyone shed the cares of the day. The late spring sun still lit the western sky.
“I’ve been on a galley twice.” Gianetta had taken to joining the three companions when they returned to the house. “Uncle Marco took me years ago when I was a child, and again on my twelfth birthday. We went to Ancona to visit Uncle Marco’s cousin. And I’ve been all over the lagoon.”
Ancona was a small port about a hundred miles south of Venice, a safe enough trip. And boat rides were commonplace on the Venetian Lagoon and its surroundings. On any of the numerous holidays, boats carried sightseers across the harbor, and up or down the coast for a few hours’ pleasure. Unlike many in England, the Venetians felt at home in the sea surrounding their floating city.
“They’re planning to put the new galley into service as soon as possible,” Antonio said. “Venice is ramping up its fleet, and filling the warehouses to their rafters with everything needed for war.”
“Sailors were talking in the tavern today,” Will said. “They said the Sultan’s fleet is already at sea.”
“They won’t come to Venice, not yet.” Gianetta spoke with more than a child’s confidence. “The Sultan wants an easy victory. If he attacks Venice, all of Italy will be against him.”
“Milady, in war you have to prepare for what your enemy can do,” Martin said, “not what you think he will do.”
A distant bell rang, the sound echoing across the city. Antonio looked at Gianetta. “Isn’t it odd for this hour?”
The ringing continued, and another bell joined the first, then another.
“It’s the alarm,” Gianetta said, her eyes widening with excitement. “Some danger threatens the city.”
Martin was already on his feet. “Best stay inside, Gianetta,” he said.
Bruno appeared with the same idea. “Come inside at once,” he ordered the girl.
Antonio followed the steward back into the house, then through the passage into their own quarters. They ran up the stairs and gathered their weapons.
As he buckled the sword around his waist, he wondered what was happening. Perhaps the Turks had sailed up the Adriatic to attack Venice.
They left the house, telling the housekeeper to stay within and keep the door bolted. The streets were crowded with people, everyone talking excitedly, many with weapons in hand. All of them moved in the same direction, toward the nearest sea wall. If an assault on the city came, it would have to come from the open sea. At night, the channels to the inner harbor were sealed and well-guarded, and surely the alarm would have sounded earlier.
Antonio had to push his way into one of the last open spaces on the wall. The calm sea showed nothing unusual, though the small fishing craft that ended their labors at this hour were racing back to the city. He saw no galleys approaching, and in 10 minutes the darkness grew too deep to see much of anything. Guards lit torches, and sailors and dock workers moved toward the galleys in the dockyard. Swearing soldiers pushed their way along the rampart, readying the cannons that lined the wall and ordering the gawkers out of their way.
“They can’t land in the dark, can they?” Martin asked the question as he gazed out over the water.
“I don’t think so,” Antonio said. “There wouldn’t be any way to see the rocks.”
Another bell began to toll, this one with a more stately tone. It rang three times, paused, then repeated itself.
A collective sigh went up from the crowd. Everyone started talking at once, in loud voices, and many were laughing.
“The all-clear signal,” Antonio explained. “It must have been a false alarm.”
Like the final curtain at the end of a play, the citizens moved toward the steps at the same time, pushing and jostling to get down off the wall. Antonio and his companions took their time, and were almost the last to leave.
They strolled back to the house, ignoring the temptations from the many taverns that lined the streets. Entering their quarters, Antonio walked through the passage to give Gianetta the news as Uncle Marco arrived. He saw their weapons and smiled.
“A patrolling galley saw three grain ships approaching and decided it was the Sultan’s fleet.”
“Gianetta said the Sultan was afraid to attack,” Antonio said.
“I’m glad that my niece is correct,” Marco said. “At least this time.”
“Is it true that the Sultan’s fleet has sailed?”
>
“So it appears, but we’ll talk more about that in the morning. Gianetta should be in bed and I have work to do.”
Antonio said good night to them both, and returned to his chamber. As he unbuckled the sword, Martin came in.
“It could have been a real attack. Maybe next time it will be. We should return to England.”
“Another week or two and I’ll have everything I need,” Antonio said. “Even if they should attack, we should be able to get to the mainland.”
“You have never seen a countryside under the threat of war. The land will be filled with looters and plunderers, not to mention refugees and cowards fleeing for their lives. At the first sign of danger, half the city will try to escape.”
“Nevertheless, we should have enough time,” Antonio said. “The last thing I want is to get involved in a war with the Turks. I will be grateful to see England again.”
Chapter 19
May 9
The next morning, Antonio’s usual routine at the Arsenal was disrupted. When he reported to Master Palino, he found the older man in a state of agitation.
“A ship arrived just after midnight, carrying one of our spies. The Sultan’s fleet has departed Constantinople. Our own ships must be readied as quickly as possible.”
“Where are the Turks headed?”
“The Signoria’s spies and contacts still don’t know. The enemy fleet will put into some port along the Greek coast, to inspect all the vessels and make sure they’re seaworthy. Then they will probably practice their maneuvers. All that will take time. Their admiral may have to wait for grain and supply ships as well. Everyone says the enemy’s final destination is Malta, but as usual, what everyone knows is often wrong.”
“How big is the Sultan’s fleet?”
Palino lifted his hands and shoulders, then let them drop, the standard Venetian response to a difficult question. “Over a hundred war galleys, and perhaps another hundred troop and supply vessels. If those numbers are true, then Venice is indeed in danger. At any rate, the Doge convened the Signoria last night. The order to prepare for a siege was promulgated at dawn.”