City of Ships

by Mary Hoffman

  Once the Giglian force was in sight of Classe’s walls, they spread out and set up camp with efficient discipline. Siege-engines were trundled forward, cooking fires were lit and tents set up so that it was only a matter of hours before the army was ready to attack whenever the General gave the signal.

  Inside the city, Duke Germano was encouraging his men. He had a General too, but, unlike the Giglians, the army of Classe had a great deal of respect for their Duke. He was a much-loved ruler and they appreciated the fact that he was out there with them, instead of staying safely inside his palace.

  Perhaps only he knew how much danger the city was in, threatened simultaneously by land and sea. There was nothing he could do now about the fleet; he had to trust in the two admirals and the bravery of their men. And in the strength of their ships.

  *

  On the decks of the Talian fleet the fighting men prepared to raise their banners. Admiral Borca was standing by his flagman, as conspicuous in his glittering armour and purple plumed helmet as the Gate Admiral was across the water.

  They gave the signal almost simultaneously: the Gate people set light to the touch-holes and the Talian galleasses fired their heavy bronze cannon.

  The devastation was immediate.

  Isabel, on the gun deck of the Tiger, thought she had become deaf and blind. The noise of the cannon was like nothing she had ever heard, a hundred times louder than she had expected. And the smoke quickly enveloped both fleets.

  How on earth am I going to see the flags in all this? she thought.

  Then she remembered her training. She flung herself at the rigging and climbed to the crow’s nest. At the beginning of the morning, there had been a lookout there, as there had on every Talian ship, but now there was no need and Isabel had it to herself.

  The noise wasn’t much less at that height but it did lift her a bit clear of the smoke and she could see the Admiral’s flag. It was still green – ‘Advance’. Isabel clung on to the mast and tried to stop trembling. She could see that the four great galleasses were making a quarter-turn and readying to fire again and it was obvious from her new vantage point that the Gate people had come off worse last time.

  Up here, so far above the deck, she felt a bit safer but she knew that was an illusion. If a cannonball smashed into the mast, she would be hurled into the sea or into the mass of arquebusiers and bowmen. She tried to thrust the thought down.

  The Talian cannon boomed again and now Isabel could hear the cries of wounded men and the splash of bodies falling into the sea as well as the noise of the great guns firing. And the appalling noise of galleys being split in half and breaking up.

  From her high viewpoint, Isabel could see that the Gate people’s galleys were getting closer; she could hear the incessant throb of the drums they used to help the oarsmen keep time. And now she could hear the shouting of their leaders urging the men on and the snapping of their oars as Talian cannonballs raked the length of the enemy’s galleys along the side.

  It was clear that the Gate people didn’t have such heavy guns as the Talians. They were straining at their oars with all their might; clearly their strategy was to get close enough to board the Talian ships and let the armed men fight hand to hand.

  Isabel swallowed hard. What would happen to her if – when – the Tiger was boarded?

  And then she felt ashamed and wondered whether the men on board were thinking the same thing. Surely to be a fighter you had to forget about your own personal safety and just hurl yourself at the enemy?

  The ships were close enough now for the arquebusiers and bowmen to start firing. Isabel could hear the whip of arrows and the rattling sound of small gunfire. How on earth did the fighting men manage not to kill the people on their own side? The air on the deck below must be full of flying arrows and shot.

  Friendly fire. That’s what it was called when a soldier got killed by someone on their own side.

  The awful TV news phrase came back to Isabel as she swayed dangerously at the top of the mainmast. She promised herself that if she ever got back safely to her comfortable twenty-first-century life, she would never use those words.

  And then there came an almighty crash and the sound of splintering closer than any other; the Tiger had been rammed.

  *

  The Giglian army was firing on the walls of Classe, doing considerable damage. Under the cover of fire, soldiers were running forward with scaling-ladders. The Classe army was firing back valiantly but the shortage of men and ammunition was hampering them.

  Duke Germano, up on the walls, raised his visor to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He wondered how the fighting was going out at sea.

  Better than here, I hope, he thought, and sent up a prayer to whatever divinity might be listening.

  *

  When the Tiger and the Samira collided, the noise was incredible. The two ships smashed together, then recoiled. It was the recoil that dislodged Isabel from the crow’s nest. As she fell, she instinctively curled into a ball, having just time to be terrified of all the possible fates she could suffer – breaking her back by falling on a spar, being trampled underfoot in the hand-to-hand fighting, being hit by a cannonball, arrow or shot from an arquebus, cut down by a sword . . .

  And then she hit the water.

  Isabel hadn’t learned to dive yet and the shock of the freezing water, together with the stinging where her back hit the surface, almost stopped her from turning round and cutting back up to the top of the water. It was so quiet and calm underneath the waves; she could hear nothing but a sort of gentle roaring in her ears. When she surfaced, shaking the wet hair out of her face, there was a scene of carnage all around her.

  The sea was full of men, dead and dying, oars, casks, barrels and bits of broken spars and rigging.

  And the water was red.

  This was a hell such as she had never envisaged. All along the line, ships were ramming into each other with splintering crashes and the air was filled with the shouts of warriors and the screams of wounded men. She couldn’t see anything clearly and the effort of staying above water and keeping herself away from some of the horrors floating around her was already exhausting.

  It can’t be going to end like this, she thought, spluttering and coughing as the unbearably polluted water went up her nose. Her wet skirts were dragging her down. And then, But why not? What’s so special about me when all these men are dying?

  And then the bulk of a ship loomed up in front of her through the smoke. It was a black galleon with a dolphin figurehead. It was the Revenge!

  Isabel manoeuvred herself round to the side of the ship and yelled up to the deck. She couldn’t see anyone and didn’t know if there was anyone on board left alive. The Revenge didn’t seem to be tangled up with any other vessel but it was hard to tell from the confusion in the water.

  A head appeared over the side then disappeared, but she recognised it as belonging to one of Andrea’s pirate crew. Could he possibly have recognised her too, all bedraggled as she was in the water?

  A rope ladder was thrown down over the side to her; the most beautiful sight Isabel could remember seeing for ages. In minutes she had swung herself on to it and grappled her way up the side, her dress streaming with sea water and blood.

  Andrea met her at the top and wrapped her in his cloak,

  ‘Oh, Andrea,’ she sobbed. ‘I . . . I’m so glad to see you!’

  ‘You’re not safe, even here,’ he said. But he put an arm round her and yelled to one of his men to fetch her some spirits. He held a leather bottle to her lips and poured into her some fiery nameless liquid that made her splutter almost as much as the foul seawater had. But it was warming and gave her heart.

  ‘Better?’ asked Andrea. ‘Now I think the best thing would be for me to get you out of here.’

  Privately Isabel agreed with him. She felt a coward for thinking it, but she was a hugely relieved that someone else was going to take matters out of her hands.

  Andrea ordered his m
en to slip the Revenge between the Talian ships and head for shore; the entire combined Talian fleet knew not to fire on his vessel.

  ‘Ay Adem knows I betrayed him,’ he told Isabel. ‘He saw that I didn’t fire on the Talians. He’d be out to get me but I suppose he has more important things to think of right now.’

  ‘So you are in danger too!’ said Isabel. ‘And I don’t even know if the Tiger is still afloat. I was in the crow’s nest when the Gate people rammed it.’

  ‘That was the Samira, Ay Adem’s ship,’ said Andrea. ‘The two flagships going head to head.’

  Then there was a blinding flash as if a meteor had struck and fire broke out in three places on the Revenge’s deck. Crewmen were on it straight away with buckets of seawater. But the fires did not go out and carried on burning fiercely.

  Andrea swore. ‘Look away, Isabella,’ he ordered, moving her to one side.

  He shouted more orders to his men, which Isabel didn’t catch. They all turned to face the fires. When she next looked, the fires were out.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked fearfully. She could see more fire eerily burning on the surface of the water.

  ‘Liquid fire,’ Andrea said, white-faced. ‘The Gate people have the secret of it. It can’t be put out by water.’

  ‘Is it magic?’ asked Isabel, feeling stupid for saying it.

  ‘No, it is science, but science not known to many,’ said Andrea.

  ‘How can it be put out then?’

  ‘Only three ways that I know,’ said Andrea. ‘Sand, which smothers it. Very strong vinegar. And urine.’

  ‘So . . . Oh, I see,’ said Isabel, embarrassed, then thought how stupid it was to care about a thing like that when they were in the middle of a battle and probably all going to die.

  ‘Old urine is best but we have to work with what we have,’ said Andrea.

  ‘TMI,’ said Isabel.

  He was still looking puzzled about this remark when the cannon struck.

  The first cannonball smashed into the middle of the ship, holing it below the waterline. The second, which was almost simultaneous, hit the mainmast, which fell on to the deck, crushing any crewman in its path.

  All was chaos. Isabel couldn’t see Andrea any more. There was shouting and swearing and screaming from men who had been injured. She couldn’t believe that she was upright and unscathed. She wasn’t even quite sure who had fired on the ship.

  The uninjured pirates had gathered on the main deck and were organising themselves to lift the mast. Isabel just looked on, miserable and useless. There were two dead crewmen under it – and Andrea.

  Isabel rushed to his side. He was very pale and there was blood on his face but he didn’t seem to have any head injury. His left leg was crushed and Isabel quickly looked away from it. She covered him with his own cloak; she had no idea what to do next.

  ‘Isabella,’ he croaked.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Tears were streaming down her face.

  ‘Someone has to tell the fleet about the liquid fire,’ he managed to say, grimacing with pain.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said. At last there was something she could do.

  ‘Tell them what I told you,’ said Andrea. ‘Get the men to lower the little boat for you. Take two of them with you to row.’

  One man for a spare, thought Isabel.

  ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Hang in there, Andrea. I’m sure you can be fixed if we get through the battle.’

  He smiled weakly. ‘Goodbye, Bella Isabella. I’m glad you came to Talia.’

  Isabel refused to let this be goodbye. ‘I’ll come back for you,’ she promised.

  But when she reached the little boat, the sailors shook their heads. It had been smashed to splinters by cannonfire. She looked back to where the first mate, Salvatore, had pulled Andrea to one side and propped him against the mizzenmast. The Black Raider was unconscious and no threat to anyone any more. And the whole ship had a dangerous list; it was taking in water fast.

  Isabel looked at Andrea and then at the sea. There was only one thing to do.

  *

  Arianna had quickly regretted her decision. She was caught on a death trap and couldn’t even see Luciano. The smoke was everywhere, a choking, stifling thickness that stung her eyes and throat. And the noise was unbelievable.

  The Goddess and the Duchessa had both been rammed by their opposite numbers from the Gate side. The Gate ship had hit the Duchessa bow to bow, its beaked prow running over the first few benches of rowers, like the maw of a sea monster; all the men on the front benches died instantly. Then Gate people poured on to the Duchessa and Talians on to the Gate ship.

  Arianna had time to notice the name painted on its side – the Yildiz – and to wonder what that meant. After the impact, time seemed to have slowed down and she could see things clearly: details like the scimitars and two-handed swords the Gate people were using to good effect at close quarters.

  I could die here and Luciano would never know, she thought.

  The arquebusiers had stayed on their own ships, along with the archers. It was only the sword-and-buckler men and the pikemen who had boarded each other’s vessels. But it was really hard to take aim in any effective way, especially with so many Talians in the path of the shot and arrows.

  Arianna had no idea whether she had killed anyone or not. Her entire attention was focused on staying alive. She rammed the metal-lined cap further down on her head and fired determinedly, unable to judge where her shots were going.

  The press of fighting men had pushed her to the side of the ship and she thought that if the worst came to the worst she would hurl herself into the sea. She glanced over the side between shots, attracted by a woman’s voice shouting. She had believed herself to be the only woman in the fleet.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes; it was Isabel!

  The Stravagante was thrashing around in the water, clearly at the end of her strength.

  ‘Isabella, Isabella!’ cried Arianna.

  ‘Arianna?’ spluttered Isabel incredulously. ‘Is it you? Can you help me?’

  Arianna set her arquebus aside and lowered a ladder into the water. She clambered down it herself to help the bedraggled Isabel up on to the deck. It was hardly a safe place to be though.

  ‘Is this the Admiral’s ship?’ Isabel asked, disorientated. She didn’t know how she had managed to swim through the dreadful wreckage a second time.

  ‘No,’ said Arianna. ‘It’s his consort ship – the Duchessa.’

  Isabella had floated further to the left than she meant; she wanted Admiral Borca but had veered into the left squadron. But that still didn’t explain the presence of Arianna, dressed as an arquebusier.

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Isabel.

  ‘Luciano is on this ship,’ said Arianna. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here though. Why are you here?’

  ‘I have to get a message to the Admiral,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Let’s go and find the Captain then,’ said Arianna. ‘I’ll take you.’ They made their way back along the deck to the poop. The boards were slippery with blood and worse. But both of them were beyond caring what they saw.

  The Captain was on the poop deck, directing operations as well as he could. Arianna was thrilled to see that Luciano stood beside him, sword in hand. She couldn’t help herself. She dragged Isabel forward as the two men looked at them in astonishment.

  ‘Arianna?’ said Luciano, as if in a dream. ‘What happened to your hair?’

  ‘Who are these women?’ demanded the Captain. ‘And what are they doing on my ship?’

  ‘This is Isabella, who might just be our salvation,’ said Luciano. ‘And this is the Duchessa of Bellezza.’

  Chapter 24

  The Duke

  Isabel had just enough strength to tell the Captain about the liquid fire and how to put it out. Then she collapsed, completely spent. Arianna knelt beside her and put her arms round her.

  But the Captain and Luciano were deep in c
onsultation; Isabel heard the word ‘vinegar’ a few times.

  And then they came over to the women.

  ‘Your Grace,’ said the Captain, making his bow, even though all was carnage and chaos about them, ‘I shall keep you as safe as I can – but you have seen what it is like on board my ship.’

  Arianna waved an impatient hand. ‘Don’t worry about me. I issue you in advance a ducal pardon for anything that might happen to me. The Cavaliere and Isabella can be my witnesses.’

  ‘Then, with your leave, I should like to send the Cavaliere in a fast frigate behind the line here to warn all the ships about the liquid fire and how to combat it.’

  ‘Please, Arianna,’ asked Luciano, ‘don’t ask to come with me. I’ll be perfectly safe behind the line of fire.’

  ‘I cannot command you, Your Grace,’ said the Captain, ‘but I urge you to stay in my quarters with your friend for the time being. I must tell my own men about the devilish fire that could break out on my ship in a moment.’

  ‘How will you put it out?’ asked Arianna, who had not been listening very carefully to Isabel’s message but filling her eyes with the sight of Luciano, alive and uninjured.

  ‘Well, the Cavaliere has had an ingenious idea,’ said the Captain. ‘We have barrels of vinegar on board with onions and other vegetables pickled in them.’

  Arianna pulled a face; she had eaten some of this gruesome fare, which the Talian fleet insisted on their men eating every day with their salt meat and dry biscuit to avoid scurvy. Then her face brightened.

  ‘You could use the vinegar to put the liquid fire out?’ she said. ‘How clever!’

  ‘I must get the barrels up on deck in readiness,’ said the Captain.

  ‘And I must go and tell all the others,’ said Luciano.

  He allowed himself one kiss with Arianna, then hugged Isabel and left them.

  *

  Filippo Nucci was unhurt on the Tiger and astonished to see Luciano in the bow of a small fast frigate, tearing about behind the battle-line and shouting up to the Talian sailors. It was none too soon; as the barrels of pickles were being brought on deck, the little clay grenades with their load of liquid fire were cast from the enemy ships. Immediately the oarsmen, who had been unchained for the purpose, tipped the acrid vinegar out on to the little fires and doused them. The deck was soon covered with tiny onions, cauliflower florets and other incongruous sights.