Ottoman

by Christopher Nicole

  Aimée clasped her hands to her neck in dismay.

  “Where can we go?”

  “Algiers — or Tunis, after I have retaken it. Somewhere I alone command. In the name of the Padishah, to be sure, but where his executioners cannot reach me.”

  *

  He acted with the greatest caution, concerned that were Suleiman to suspect his plan, he might force him to leave the women here as hostages. As long as his wife and child remained, he would eventually have to return to Constantinople.

  But was he really planning to abandon the Sultan? He could never do that: his roots were too firmly planted in Turkish soil. He could only distance himself from the present danger until the situation changed — until Roxelana died or Suleiman ceased from his infatuation with her. Surely she would overreach herself in her ambition before long?

  *

  Aimée, Felicity and their immediate attendants boarded the fleet just half an hour before it was due to sail. Aimée was apprehensive, but Felicity was happy to be at sea again.

  “Will we make our home there now?” she asked. “In Tunis?”

  “Algiers for the beginning. About Tunis we will have to see.”

  Barbarossa was less ebullient. He had enjoyed his nine months in Constantinople. “I am getting old, Harry,” he confessed. “I had forgotten how pleasant luxury can be.”

  Harry realised that the old pirate must now be well past seventy. He had recently spent a fortune in the slave market, filling his palace in Constantinople with every beautiful girl he could find.

  “I should have brought some of them with me,” he remarked, “But we are here to fight, not make love.”

  “I am here to make a new home for myself,” Harry reminded himself.

  *

  They traversed the Mediterranean without seeing more than the occasional sail. Harry gave all land a wide berth, since he wanted to reach Algiers without a fight.

  They found the city basking peacefully beneath the summer sun. Al-Rashid told them that, although Spanish ships had been often sighted there had been no attacks on the port. The Emperor clearly considered that Turkish seapower had been shattered off Tunis.

  Barbarossa brought all his ships inside the moles, and made them strike their masts so that no one at sea could even guess at the numbers he had at his command.

  By now it was too late for a campaign; the winter gales would soon be upon them. So it was possible to spend an untroubled six months during which Felicity gave birth to a son, a lusty, pale-skinned, blue-eyed boy whom Harry named Anthony after the greatest of the Hawkwoods.

  Felicity was delighted — and so was Aimée. Both women were also pleased with Algiers. If their residence was not so grand as that in Constantinople, the weather was so much better, especially in winter — and here Hawk Pasha ruled supreme.

  He bought a young Arab girl named Ayesha, about the same age as Felicity, to help nurse the baby Anthony, and to be a loyal companion for her.

  *

  But Harry was also there to avenge what had happened at Tunis, so the following spring he and Barbarossa took their fleet to sea. They encountered no opposition, but by now there could be no doubt that the presence of such a large number of Turkish galleys in the western Mediterranean had been reported in Genoa and Madrid.

  The following year, as they rounded the toe of Italy on one of their great sweeps, they learned the Genoese fleet had been seen patrolling these same waters only a week previously.

  “They sailed north into the Adriatic,” said the captain who had brought them the news.

  “They will be raiding among the Ionian Islands,” Barbarossa suggested. “There we will bring them to battle.”

  They sailed in three columns, for Harry was determined not to let the enemy escape. Barbarossa commanded the centre, Harry the right, closest to the shore, and Dragut the left.

  A week later they saw a cluster of ships emerging from behind the shelter of the islands that lined the west coast of mainland Greece. Instantly the battle flags were hoisted to Barbarossa’s masthead, and the tabalcans began to beat.

  Harry was conscious of a distinct quickening of the pulse. Although he had campaigned since the age of fifteen, this would be the first full-scale naval battle in which he had taken part.

  Barbarossa’s flagship was already increasing the stroke of its oars. Harry gave the orders for his own men to do likewise, and the great ship, two hundred feet in length from its protruding gilded beak to its castellated stern, began to hurtle through the smooth water. The slaves strained and sweated, chewing on their wooden gags.

  The Genoese approached confidently beneath a multitude of floating flags and pennants, but that their admiral was surprised both by the numbers of the Turks and by the size of their ships was evident in a last-minute attempt to change his order of battle. Indeed, Harry got the impression that Doria would rather avoid battle, if he could on this occasion.

  The Turks hurtled into their adversaries. The cannon on the foredecks exploded and round shot smashed into the opposing hulls, severing oars, causing the ships to veer about out of control. The Genoese replied, but less accurately.

  Harry had ordered every Turkish vessel to reload with grape after the initial discharge, and this was now done, the round shot being replaced with the canisters of deadly iron balls. None was larger than an inch in diameter, but in a cloud they were capable of sweeping an enemy’s deck clear of living men.

  Now these exploded again, and the hail of small shot burst over the Genoese fleet. But the Genoese also had cannon, and Harry was aware of flying shot all around him. Some of the men on his foredeck were struck down, and then the two fleets met with a crash like opposing cavalry at the charge.

  Harry’s helm went over as a Genoese galley surged by, and his rowers hastily shipped their oars, dragging them inboard as far as they could. The Genoese were slower, and several of their blades were sheered off. Both ships slewed sideways, exchanging a hail of missiles that even included pots of burning oil hurled by small trebuchets. Before Harry’s galley was back under control he had rammed a second Genoese, but now with full force. Men scrambled over his bows, firing their pistols before coming to close quarters.

  He drew his scimitar and let his marines forward, and for a few moments there was a fierce mêlée until the Genoese were all killed or forced to jump into the sea; their own vessel had drifted away.

  The din of battle was now tremendous as some three hundred ships engaged. Harry saw Turkish vessels to every side and realised, as he had earlier suspected, that the Genoese were endeavouring merely to fight their way through their adversaries so as to escape into the open sea. He had his cannon reloaded and fired again, as quickly as could be managed, and then hoisted the signal for pursuit as the enemy made off to the south, out of the Adriatic and into the Mediterranean.

  Diniz touched his arm. “The order is countermanded, Hawk Pasha.”

  Harry turned towards the flagship and saw Barbarossa’s flags signalling the fleet to reform. He looked left and right. There were perhaps a dozen galleys in the process of sinking, their crews swimming frantically and their chained slaves screaming as they drowned. Of these, eight were Genoese and four Turkish. Another dozen galleys lay dead in the water, their oars sheered off. These were more evenly divided: six from each side. The Genoese ships were now being boarded by Turkish crews, and would be made prisoner.

  Presumably it was a victory, but hardly a decisive one — and certainly not yet any adequate revenge for the sack of Tunis. And the Genoese fleet was now nearly out of sight.

  Harry had a boat put down, and was rowed across to the flagship. There he found Barbarossa sitting in a chair on the after-deck, his arm being bandaged by his surgeon.

  “Are you badly wounded?” he asked.

  “A sword slice. It is painful, but it is clean.”

  “We should be pursuing those fellows.”

  “I know — but I am tired. I am too old to fight these battles. Still, we have won a vi
ctory.” He pointed at the distant land. “Over there is the town of Prevesa. We will call this the victory of Prevesa.”

  “Hardly one to shout about.”

  “Do you not think so? Our men would not agree with you.”

  From all around them there came the blowing of bugles and loud cheering as the Turks decided they had gained the day.

  “A victory is what Suleiman wanted, and a victory is what he has got,” Barbarossa said. “A victory is what I needed to complete my career, and a victory is what I have achieved. I am now going back to Constantinople.”

  “But why? We will have to fight Doria again — and the Spaniards.”

  “Young man’s work,” Barbarossa said. “I will soon be eighty; it is time I enjoyed life.” He pointed at Dragut’s ship approaching. “There is your fleet commander, Hawk Pasha. He is hardly less talented than I. Meanwhile I will report your victory to the Porte.”

  He would not be dissuaded, nor did Harry feel he could press the matter. His friend was undoubtedly old and very tired.

  They embraced, and the admiral’s galley began to row for home. Harry and Dragut steered west, but there was little chance now of overtaking the Genoese.

  “What are your orders, Hawk Pasha?” Dragut asked.

  “Algiers first, to refit. And then Tunis.”

  *

  Barbarossa played his part well, and the entire Mediterranean soon resounded to the news that the great Andrea Doria had been defeated. As the old pirate had said, this set the seal on his career, and left himself a legend that would alarm men for years to come.

  That Doria — and his master the Emperor — would now be planning a counter-stroke could hardly be doubted. But Harry was determined to keep the initiative he had seized. In Algiers he strengthened the defences; he resolved to leave half his fleet there to defend the town. For him Algiers was more than simply the Ottoman bastion in the western Mediterranean; he had no intention of losing yet another family.

  The child, Anthony, was now a year old, and showing every sign of becoming a typical Hawkwood, at least in size.

  But Harry’s main preoccupation remained Tunis. It could be rendered more secure than Algiers — and he wanted it for personal reasons.

  As all the world supposed, with Barbarossa retired, that the Turks no longer posed an immediate threat, he determined on surprise. The following spring he and Dragut crept out of Algiers at dusk with fifty galleys. Two days later they were off the salt lakes and feeling their way through the narrow channel, before the Tunisians and their Spanish officers, as somnolent as ever, even realised what was happening.

  The outer fort hardly fired a single shot before it was overwhelmed by the marines Dragut had sent against it.

  In the city itself alarm bells rang, bugles blew, drums were beaten. Mulai-Hassan’s men swarmed to the walls.

  Each Turkish galley was loaded with soldiers and siege material; Harry had even shipped a regiment of sipahis and their horses. These were now landed and started their operations, Harry going along to oversee them. Meanwhile Dragut lined up his ships in the salt lakes and commenced a bombardment of the walls. The garrison replied vigorously, but their aim was not so accurate as that of the Ottomans.

  Meanwhile Harry sent his detachment of sipahis inland of the city to cut it off from the hinterland, and he formally summoned Mulai-Hassan to surrender. The Dey refused.

  Harry then began mining, and the digging of parallels to advance his siegeworks against the walls. Dragut landed artillery and these were dragged into position.

  The siege was proceeding exactly to plan, and Harry had no doubt at all that Tunis would fall within another month…until he was shaken awake one morning by Dragut himself.

  “What is the matter?” He sat up in surprise.

  “We have been caught napping,” Dragut said, his face the picture of dismay.

  Harry ran out of his tent on the shore, to gaze at the harbour. The Turkish fleet was drawn up as before — but outside the entrance channel was another fleet, flying the gold and red colours of Spain. There were ocean-going galleons as well as galleys; a quick count estimated some ninety ships, nearly twice as many as the Turks possessed. And they now commanded the narrow entrance, from which the Turks could emerge only one at a time.

  “Did you not have guard ships out at sea?” Harry demanded.

  “I did, Hawk Pasha. They must have somehow been surprised.”

  Bugles were blowing from the ramparts; the Tunisians had also seen the Spanish ships. Now the situation was reversed: the besiegers were themselves besieged, caught between the city and the enemy galleons. Dragut called a conference of his captains.

  “There is nothing else for it,” one of these said. “We must disembark our crews, burn our galleys, and march back to Algiers.”

  “March several hundred miles across the desert?”

  “To stay here is to starve. We cannot fight them.”

  Dragut pulled his beard and looked at Hawkwood.

  “There would seem to be no alternative, Hawk Pasha,” he muttered.

  Harry glanced at him and then stared across at the Spaniards again. So once again he would be defeated, outwitted by the Dons. He would crawl away from them across the desert like a whipped cur.

  Immediately he felt tears of anger and frustration seeping into his eyes. The margin was so very small. The sandbanks which enclosed the salt lakes were nowhere more than a few feet above water level, and nowhere more than a few yards wide. Were there tides, such as he had seen on the French and English coasts, it would be possible to send the whole fleet out, at once, at the top of the flood, and thus fight their way to freedom. But there were no tides, and therefore… He frowned as he studied the sandbanks.

  “Will you give the order, Hawk Pasha?” Dragut asked.

  Harry stood up. “I will give the order to engage the Spaniards at dawn tomorrow morning.”

  The captains looked alarmed. Had their Pasha gone mad at this juncture?

  “We can hardly issue forth one at a time, Hawk Pasha,” Dragut protested. “They will merely sink us one by one.”

  “Were you ever told about the capture of Constantinople?” Harry asked.

  “Every Turkish warrior knows of that, Hawk Pasha.”

  “Then think how the Turkish galleys were introduced into the Golden Horn.”

  Dragut gave a yell. “By Allah! They were dragged across the land.”

  “It was my grandfather’s scheme,” Harry said.

  “But he built a wooden roadway, and greased it with fat,” said one of the captains. “We have no wood, and we have no fat. And the Byzantines were unable to interfere with your grandfather’s plans because they lacked the men. Here the Spaniards not only overlook our every move but outnumber us.”

  “I realise it is not practical for us to build a railway for our galleys,” Harry said. “But it should be practical for us to dig a canal deep enough for us to get our ships to sea.”

  The captains looked at one another in thought.

  “It can be done,” Dragut agreed.

  “But the enemy will still see what we are about,” the pessimistic captain objected, “and block that route as well.”

  “Then we must accomplish our task before the Spaniards can see what we are doing,” Harry said. “We muster seven thousand galley slaves, five thousand seamen, and four thousand soldiers. You will find the best place for a channel to be cut, Dragut, and then our men will get to work at dusk. We will have to dig ourselves a channel in one night.”

  “That is an immense proposition, Hawk Pasha,” the captain said.

  “So is death or captivity, Baspar. Which would you rather contemplate?”

  *

  It was essential to give the enemy — either in the city or on the ships — no inkling of what was intended. All that day the siegeworks were carried forward, and Dragut sent one or two of his ships down the channel to exchange shots with the nearest Spaniards — only to come limping back as though thoroughly
disheartened.

  That afternoon Dragut took a bow and arrow and had himself rowed into the marshes on the northern side of the salt lake, as if hunting the wildfowl which abounded. There he carefully sought the best place for their canal.

  Meanwhile the captains released the galley slaves from their benches and marched them ashore, allowing them to bathe in the shallows. This would make sense to the watching Spaniards, for it was obvious the Turkish galleys were now quite cooped up. The slaves were kept ashore until dusk, and then put to work. They were guarded by sailors with drawn swords and orders to cut down without hesitation any who made a noise.

  On shore, Harry withdrew all of his men save a few marksmen who had orders to keep firing at the walls and so occupy the minds of the defenders. With his people he then descended into the lake, and they also commenced the work of cutting into the sand.

  It was an immense undertaking to be completed in a single night, but Harry was determined that it would be done. He and Dragut ranged up and down the huge throng of labouring men, some digging and others carting the sand away. They watched and listened too, because it was impossible to achieve their task in complete silence. As an immense rustle spread across the evening, it was fortunate there was a land breeze out of the desert to blow the sound away from Tunis.

  Thus, it was blowing towards the Spaniards, but there was no sign of alarm in the enemy fleet. Undoubtedly they had no idea what the Turks were up to.

  The night drifted by far too quickly. Men cursed and swore, and slipped and fell. Several even drowned, trampled on by their fellows in the shallow water. But progress was made.

  An hour after midnight, Harry had the galley slaves assembled and returned to their benches. It would take time to lock all the chains.

  His soldiers and sailors continued working, now often waist-deep as the channel was hacked through the sandbank and the waters of the Mediterranean began to flow in.

  When there were only a few yards to go, Harry sent the sailors back to prepare their vessels, but kept the soldiers working. By the time the last barrier was removed, the first galley was already in the channel. And the breeze was turning chill with the hint of dawn.