Ottoman

by Christopher Nicole

  Anthony grasped the tiller, while Kalil remained in the bow in an attempt to spot any unsuspected dangers which might lie between them and the Bosphorus. But Anthony knew the Golden Horn well enough to navigate it blindfold.

  With the wind in the north, the yacht creamed to the east, lying well over on her starboard side. From the cabin there came stifled exclamations of alarm as the women huddled together in the confined space, holding on to each other in desperate fear. The three boys were crowded into the hatchway, whispering excitedly.

  The Hawk shot out of the Golden Horn, and Anthony put the helm down. She swung away from the wind, and began to surge through the Bosphorus itself, surfing down the short seas.

  Kalil came aft. “Is there not still too much sail, Chelebi?” he inquired.

  “Perhaps. But we will not reduce it until Marmara. We cannot tell how much of a lead we have.”

  The speed was exhilarating, as was the motion of the yacht. Running free there was not even any great impression of wind or sea, although Anthony knew he would feel entirely different were he to be forced to come up into the gale. But things were different in Marmara, which they reached only half an hour after leaving the Golden Horn. As soon as they were away from the shelter of the land, the waves became larger, and the movement more considerable. Now it was a matter of slowing the yacht to prevent it from burying its bows in a wave and losing steerage way, and thus control; it was far safer to have the occasional wave break on the stern.

  Kalil reefed some more of the sail, and they settled down to ride out the storm. They took turn and turn about on the helm; it was exhausting work, for the yacht had to be steered through the waves, veering from side to side to save the stern from being picked up, but always being brought back before the wind to prevent any risk of yawing, which could leave them broadside to the seas with the consequent chance of being rolled over.

  It was a battle between their brains and muscles and the elements, and was for that reason exciting. They looked at each other and laughed aloud as one particularly skilful piece of helming saw a larger than usual sea slip by without a drop of water coming on board.

  Towards dawn Felicity came on deck to join them. “I think everyone is feeling better now,” she said. “More confident.” She gazed at the darkness, broken only by flashes of lightning and breaking crests. “Are we safe as yet?”

  “We have got ourselves away from Istanbul, at any rate,” Anthony said.

  “Your father told me, once,” Felicity said, “of how the first Hawkwoods tried to escape the city in just such a storm, and were cast away on the Anatolian shore. Indeed that was how your family came to serve the Ottomans in the first place. Has not history come full circle?”

  “That will not happen again this time,” he promised her.

  “That was a hundred and twenty-one years ago,” his mother mused. “Were they all wasted years?”

  “Perhaps my ancestors were misguided in their loyalty. And I, too, down to a week ago — as you have always recognised.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I knew this day would come.”

  His smile was grim. “We have just to reach tomorrow.”

  *

  Towards dawn the wind dropped, and though the seas remained lumpy, any real danger from the storm was past. To their great relief, Anthony was able to allow the women and boys on deck. The maidservants had been seasick, and the cabin was foetid. Barbara set the women to cleaning it up.

  Now the storm was over, Hawkwood had to concentrate on the real dangers of their position. With the wind still in the north, they were scudding across the Sea of Marmara, making a good six knots, he estimated. By noon they were already well within sight of the island of Marmara itself, which they would have to pass in order to gain the Dardanelles.

  There was regularly a squadron of galleys based on Marmara, and indeed one was out on patrol. Anthony hoisted his personal pennant. The Hawk was well known on the inland sea, and no news of what had happened the previous day in Istanbul would as yet have reached this far south. The war galley saluted as their yacht sailed by, and they gazed anxiously at the Turkish seamen watching the progress of the little ship.

  Soon Marmara fell behind, and with the evening they came in sight of the hills to either side of the Dardanelles.

  Here it was necessary to put in for water, but Anthony also sought to buy food, while he could. The hasty supplies Kalil had brought with them would hardly last much longer.

  They entered the little harbour of Gallipoli late that evening. Anthony roused one of the local merchants on the plea of urgent business for the Sultan, and bade him open his doors. No one was ready to disobey Hawk Pasha, and supplies were quickly obtained, while Kalil filled the water casks.

  They were away soon after midnight, and through the Dardanelles by dawn.

  *

  In the Aegean, the wind began to follow the normal summer pattern of relatively calm nights but quite strong daytime northerlies. The Hawk was able to make a hundred miles a day, thus within two days after leaving the Dardanelles they were passing between the island of Andros and the Euboea, and making south for Cape Malea at the southern extremity of the Peloponnesus. This they reached on the fourth morning from the Dardanelles, and the seventh day since leaving Istanbul.

  They stopped round the headland for food and water, readily supplied by peasants in return for a piece of Hawkwood’s gold.

  By now everyone on board, save for Ayesha, was in high spirits. Sea-sickness had been entirely forgotten, and the escape, which had once appeared so terrifying, had now become an exciting holiday, with their safety apparently assured. Only Anthony knew better. So long as they were sailing south, or south-west, and the breeze remained fresh, their yacht could travel faster than any horseman or any oared ship. Thus even if galleys had been despatched after them, they would maintain their advantage.

  But messengers would also have been sent to the west. It was not greatly more than five hundred miles from Istanbul to the Gulf of Corinth. Even making no more than seventy miles a day, a galloper would reach Lepanto and the Turkish fleet within a week.

  That time had already elapsed, and the yacht had not yet even begun its journey northwards up the Adriatic.

  Almost he was tempted to make straight for Italy and thence Messina, where the Christian fleet was reported to be gathering. But the risk was too great of his being seized and peremptorily hanged as a renegade — his name was far too well known to the Spaniards from his earlier exploits as one of Dragut’s captains.

  Only in Venice, and only by virtue of his wife’s name and powerful connections, would he stand any chance at all of being received as a friend. Whether they would still regard him as a friend when they learnt about Famagusta was another matter. But he had no other course of action open to him.

  *

  It took two days from Malea to Zante. Hawkwood, of course, eschewed the passage inside the Ionian islands, more sheltered from the boras — or fierce north-easterlies — which came out of the Balkan mountains to scream down the Adriatic: inside the islands was where he was likely to encounter Turkish patrols out of Lepanto.

  But Ali Pasha had also said there were patrols across the Strait of Otranto, separating the heel of Italy from Albania, and these would have to be negotiated.

  To add to these hazards, the wind now became fitful; when it did blow with any force, it came from the north, the direction in which they wished to go, so their passage necessitated a succession of tacks, at once time-consuming and exhausting.

  Fortunately, by now his odd crew had become a very able one. The boys had entirely taken over the deck duties, delighted to be “campaigning” with their illustrious father. The maids were prepared to haul on ropes, and his mother and Barbara, wearing the scantiest of clothing and with sun-reddened complexions, worked as hard as any.

  Only Ayesha, released from her bonds now, sat in sad silence on the deck and refused to show any pleasure in their progress. Anthony could only hope that sh
e would recover from her melancholia when she understood that they were finally beyond the reach of Turkish pursuit.

  It was at dusk on the day they first sighted Zante, when the mountains of Cephalonia were still high on the eastern horizon, that they saw a galley coming out from the shelter of the island and creeping across the calm water towards them. The breeze had dropped, and the little yacht was rolling gently, but making very little headway.

  The vessel was still a long way away, but that it would close very rapidly could not be doubted.

  Obviously there was no chance of bluffing their way through; the fleet at Lepanto would by now know all about the flight of Hawk Pasha, and would have the strictest orders to bring him back to face the wrath of the Sultan. Anthony broke out the sweeps. He took one, with Barbara and one of her maids; and Kalil took the other, with the other two maids. The huge oars went over the sides, through their rowlocks, and the slow and exhausting process began, of walking forward with the blade feathered, and then walking aft once it was dipped. This perambulation had to be done in exact unison with the other team, and caused some consternation at first, as each team in turn lost their rhythm and went stumbling to the deck.

  But gradually they got into step, and the Hawk did move through the water, although nowhere as fast as the galley could.

  “Will there be any wind?” Barbara asked in alarm. She did not have to inquire after their fate if they were overtaken.

  Hawkwood looked up at the sky. There were little puffs of brown cloud drifting across from the Albanian coast.

  “Yes,” he said. “I think there may well be. Much will depend on how soon.”

  *

  Darkness fell and, as they did not light their lantern, they soon hopefully disappeared from sight. But by dusk the galley had come very close, only some eight miles away, Hawkwood estimated. As she would be making six knots to their two, she would soon be upon them.

  And still the wind blew at no more than a gentle breeze.

  “What are we to do, Anthony?” his mother asked.

  “Get down on your knees and pray to Allah for the Sultan’s forgiveness,” Ayesha said, speaking for the first time that day.

  The rest of them endeavoured to ignore her.

  “Only boldness will save us,” Anthony assured them. “We are lost to sight for the moment, and the moon has not yet risen. Stop rowing and ship oars.”

  This the women were happy to do. They were all quite exhausted, and collapsed on the deck.

  Anthony took the steering oar. “Now bring her about, Kalil.”

  Kalil gazed at his master in consternation. Felicity raised her head, equally bemused.

  “It is the one thing they will not anticipate,” Hawkwood told them.

  Kalil manhandled the long lateen boom across the yacht as Anthony put the helm down. The little ship came about almost in her own length; as the wind was northerly, she immediately gathered speed, sailing back to the south.

  Now that they had shipped their sweeps, the night was utterly silent, the only noise the ripple of water away from their hull. But then they heard the sound of a distant drumbeat, and then the enormous splash of sixty oars entering the water together; a few minutes later the stench of the slaves drifted towards them…they would have no rest this night.

  Anthony heard the scratching of steel on tinder, and a spark flew. It was too dark to see who was endeavouring to light the lantern — but he did not have to guess.

  He and Kalil acted together. Hawkwood dropped the helm and hurled himself at the cabin hatch, where Ayesha crouched. He knocked the lantern from her hand, just as it began to glow, and Kalil tossed it over the side. Anthony held Ayesha tight against him, his hand over her mouth.

  “Did they see the light?” Barbara asked.

  Hawkwood listened intently. The noise of the drum was growing louder, but it was also constantly changing direction; that meant the galley was crossing their stern — so it had not altered course towards them.

  “No,” he said at last. “They were looking to the west and north, not the south.”

  His mother came aft. “What is to be done with her?”

  “You will have to take her below and bind her again.”

  The Venetian maids bundled Ayesha back into the cabin, none too gently. Felicity followed.

  “I feel almost sorry for her,” Anthony said.

  Barbara did not reply to this. Instead she said, “When the galley does not overtake us, they will know we have altered course. Will they then not merely wait for daybreak, certain that we must eventually attempt to sail north?”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Then what have we gained?”

  “Pray for wind,” was all he could say.

  *

  He held his course until the drumbeat had entirely faded, which meant that the galley must have drawn away several miles to the north-west. Then he came about again. He knew that Barbara had been right, and were they to be sighted at daybreak, with the wind still light, they would then be lost — with some fourteen hours of daylight at her disposal, the galley could not help but overtake them, no matter where they headed.

  But the wind did come — just before dawn. Kalil was on the helm, Anthony sleeping on the deck at his feet. But he was instantly awake as the yacht trembled and gathered speed. The wind was from the north, and it was necessary to tack, but, providing it pushed them along faster than the galley could row, Anthony was content — the warship’s speed would drop in rough water, and her single square sail was only intended for running free, not making to windward.

  By daybreak the seas were lumpy, and the wind strong. On the port tack, the Hawk raced towards the islands, crashing into the waves, sending sheets of spray over her entire length. From the cabin there came the inevitable cries of alarm. But Barbara and his sons came on deck to enjoy the excitement.

  “There!”

  Anthony pointed, and they saw the galley, etched sharply against the western horizon. She was again twenty-odd miles off, but it was clear that her lookouts had seen the yacht.

  “Can she catch us?” Barbara asked.

  “Not on a straight run. But we must tack in another few miles. That is her best chance.” He looked from face to face. “It is one we must take.”

  He held on as long as he dared, until the north-eastern headland of Cephalonia seemed to hang above their heads; the risk here was that another galley would put out from the island to catch him between two fires. But, with the wind howling and the seas getting ever bigger, he felt fairly sure any craft would be reluctant to put to sea.

  When he looked back at his pursuer, he could see that she was making very heavy weather of it, indeed. If water was breaking over the yacht’s decks, it must equally be entering at the lower oar-ports of the warship. Soon she would have more on her mind than her quarry as she endeavoured to pump herself dry.

  He put the helm up, and the Hawk came round very smartly, while Kalil carried the boom to port. Now the yacht travelled faster than ever, close-hauled on the starboard tack, making north-west.

  The new course would carry her across the bows of the galley: at how great a distance depended on how fast the warship was able to move. That the Turks were aware that this was their best opportunity — and their last one — was evident from the bustle to be seen on her decks as the two ships closed. Hawkwood could make out men on the foredeck — constantly swept by driving spray — loading the cannon mounted there. Soon they would be within range. But the galley was rising and falling on the waves, and because of her huge gilded beak, now glowing in the morning sunlight, her guns could not fire straight ahead, which made the task of aiming them at a target so situated the more difficult — supposing they could keep their slow matches alight.

  They would also take half an hour to reload. It was all a matter of timing.

  The Hawk danced forward, and the gap between the two vessels narrowed. The galley was using its oars, as its sail was useless in these conditions, but the rowers
were having a hard time of it as the ship lurched from crest to trough. Anthony could imagine the slaves falling about as their blades inadvertently bit air instead of water; the boatswains ranging up and down, using their whips; the officers in the stern shouting orders which could not be obeyed.

  Yet it was going to be a close-run thing. The ships were now less than a mile apart, and the yacht had still to cross the galley’s bows.

  The first gun belched smoke, and the second. Hawkwood never saw where the balls went; they were certainly wide. And now, too, the yacht was directly ahead of the galley, at a distance of no more than half a mile; Anthony could clearly see the soldiers waiting to board him, if they could only close up.

  Beside him, Barbara gasped and clutched his arm.

  The port gun fired. At this range it was considerably more accurate, and the ball plunged into the sea only fifty yards away from the yacht’s bow, bringing shrieks of fear from the Venetian women. One shot striking them would send them to the bottom.

  But the last of the guns had been fired, and, although he could also see men reloading as fast as they could, the galley’s chance was gone. The Hawk was across her bows and streaking to the north-west, and the warship remained floundering in the increasingly heavy seas.

  “Saved!” Barbara cried, and embraced him.

  He kissed her. “Tell your women to stop that yelling, and release Ayesha and allow her on deck. Surely even she will now realise we are going to escape.”

  There remained imponderables — for they had not yet reached the Straits of Otranto — but his confidence was growing every moment.

  Ayesha came quietly on deck, wearing her haik, which she clutched close against the wind. She stared at the galley, now already a mile away, and falling behind every moment.

  “There are our enemies, Ayesha,” Anthony said. “We have outsailed them.”

  Ayesha stared at him, then back at the galley. Then she gathered her haik around her and leapt over the side.