Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  “Why keep silent?” asked Delain, defeated.

  “It is our duty now to keep this out of the papers and gossip channels,” said Gorman. “If word gets out, our targets will flee. We must capture the culprits of these foul deeds and bring them to justice. Telling anyone outside of this room will jeopardize our efforts to catch them.”

  “Who are you, if I may now receive an answer?” asked Wilder.

  “Lord Wilder, allow me to introduce myself. I am Thomas Gorman, Marine Captain and special intelligence envoy to the king of England. Swear to me your allegiance to the Crown and aid us in proving your innocence!”

  Wilder, for the first time that night, saw a ray of hope. He looked up to Gorman and, struggling with the bindings on his legs, stood. He looked Gorman in the eye and said proudly, “I swear!”

  “Then we must look for our friends—” said Delain.

  “And capture our enemies,” added Gorman. “The whole lot!”

  “And I have just the idea!” said Wilder. “I know how to get them all in the same place and the same time!”

  The plans were made, parts rehearsed, and the final points agreed upon. Within the hour, Wilder was driven back home in the same carriage that had abducted him and set at the end of his drive. At this point, Delain Dowdeswell was put on her filly that had been in tow and headed through Van Patten, slowly, under the escort of Captain Gorman.

  Wilder quickly walked inside his home and told his wife of the horrifying mugging that he had been victim of as he walked home from a late business meeting. After a cool towel and a quick shot of brandy, he retired to his bedroom, and slept with one eye open.

  Outside the estate, in the dark shadows of the oaks, the spy Lupien had observed the entire scene: the odd carriage, the mysterious figure on the horse going into the woods with Gorman, and the faces of the two carriage men, Frey and Fairchild. He watched them park the carriage in the wood, then disappear into the shadows of the Wilder estate.

  25

  The Sea of Marmara

  After leaving Zadar, Jonathan and the crew of the Paladin spent the next week cruising the eastern edge of the Mediterranean Sea, repairing sail and spar, and becoming familiar to their new masters. Many of the crew were simply happy to be alive and to have their skills of value. After witnessing the murder of Fawcett by Kharitonov, they worked diligently for their new masters out of absolute fear. The ship, in more or less proper condition, headed swiftly southeast.

  The Echo had also been undergoing minor repairs and, almost immediately upon leaving Zadar, had left the Navarkhia for the eastern edge of the Adriatic to meet the Paladin. If all went as planned, the sister ships would reach Istanbul, the Turkish city at the western entrance of the Bosphorus Strait, by the evening of April the twenty-fourth.

  The single bright spot in this heavy, cold blanket of despair for the Englishmen aboard both ships was the fact that the Navarkhia, and therefore Commodore Kharitonov, was on her own somewhere, hunting, leaving Aggar and Cherepanyanko with their small squadron in relative peace. Aggar even seemed to brighten slightly, thought Jonathan, almost becoming human.

  Jonathan had successfully executed the ruse of being Southcott, and he even kept the stutter to his voice, except when privately speaking to Jenkins. Being the powder monkey, and being left alone for hours on end, Jonathan mostly remained in the magazine. He used this time to contemplate his position and attempt to develop a plan to return at least one of these ships and some of the crew to England. It was his responsibility, he reasoned. These were also his friends, his brothers, and he owed them his life. They had agreed to keep his identity secret, and any one of them could alert Aggar to his true identity and thereby gain favor. So far, they had not, and that gave him hope.

  As his thoughts turned to Delain Dowdeswell, he fumbled for the silver star-and-moon charm about his neck that she had given him. What would become of her if he could not return? he wondered as he examined the piece. Certainly, Delain needed no one to complete her life; she would excel at anything she desired, probably becoming the first woman ever to captain of one of His Majesty’s fighting frigates or somehow casting herself as an adventurer, continuing on her destined path to break the mold of what was expected of a lady in civilized society. And this is what he loved about the blond-haired girl: her independence meant that he too was independent. Delain Dowdeswell would understand his absences at sea, and he would understand her adventures, whatever they would be. Their reunions would be sweet. That would be, to say the very least, an agreeable future, though one that at this moment seemed in serious doubt. As he thought of her, his heart broke.

  For now, he would remain here, in the magazine, counting stores. At least he could sit quietly and think. On deck, or in the gunroom where he now slept, he was always being watched.

  Looking about the room, Jonathan saw that the Paladin’s store of gunpowder was made up of primarily English kegs from Harrison’s command, and a much smaller number of new, slightly larger, Russian kegs, most likely brought aboard from the Navarkhia. Like the men on board, he thought: some English and a few Russian.

  How many Englishmen had the Paladin sailed with from London? One hundred, he recalled. The Echo most likely had the same complement. Both ships had lost men from battles, in cutting-out attempts, and to stranded shore parties. After some calculation of these additions and subtractions, Jonathan figured that the Paladin and Echo must have approximately sixty men left of their original crews.

  However…how many Russians had he seen aboard? Twenty? Twenty-five? Yes, that was probably correct. The Echo must have a similar number.

  Jonathan smiled as he realized that right now, the Paladin and the Echo both had almost three times as many Englishmen aboard as Russians. Guns and swords were either locked up or in the hands of his captors; however, an advantage in numbers was an advantage.

  The next morning broke clear and warmer, the Echo and Paladin sailing in tight formation into the rising sun. Jonathan strolled the deck, casually looking about as if searching for a sunny place to sit. He made his way forward and to a spot just past the foremast and right behind Jenkins.

  “Jenkins,” he whispered from behind the man. “A word with you?”

  Jenkins simply nodded his head and continued his work, splicing together shorter strands of rope to make larger ones. Jonathan worked on his cloth.

  “Southcott,” said Jenkins, “you have no duty at this hour.”

  “I need to speak to you,” Jonathan whispered. “I believe I have developed a plan.”

  Jenkins paused from his work and stood as if stretching his back. He smiled ever so slightly.

  “I was wondering when you would have an idea.”

  Jonathan looked about to see if anyone was near, and seeing that the coast was clear, Jonathan began.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” asked Jonathan.

  “We have just entered the Sea of Marmara,” said Jenkins. “We are surely headed east to the Black Sea, where the Russian fleet is active.

  “Yes,” said Jonathan. “That would make sense. Jenkins, I believe that Aggar has taken this ship and the Echo for use in battle.”

  “Or he wants the treaty, at least to make sure it does not get delivered,” said Jenkins.

  “He will never find the treaty. I assume he will never even consider it,” interrupted Jonathan. “I found it on board right after we were boarded in Zadar. I opened it.”

  “You did? Jonathan—”

  “It was blank. It was a fake, and the fact that Aggar hasn’t asked for it means that he is not after the treaty, if there ever was one.”

  Jenkins held a look of puzzlement on his face for an instant, then nervously looked around. He returned to his work.

  “Yes,” continued Jonathan, “the treaty, delivered by Quinn, the traitor, the change of orders by Wilder and Spears, Gogomán’s letter—all were deceptions.”

  “They wanted the Paladin, pure and simple,” the old hand said, “and the Echo.”
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  “That was why the Echo was tailing us,” said Jonathan. “She had been taken long before we ever appeared in the Mediterranean.”

  “And the barge with explosives at Zadar?” said Jenkins.

  “Placed there to look as if the Paladin was destroyed. They jettisoned our supplies overboard, and our dead, to resemble flotsam,” said Jonathan.

  “Why?” asked Jenkins.

  “To make Harrison and the shore party believe the Echo was taken by the Turks and the Paladin destroyed,” said the young man.

  “Sweet mother of God!”

  “No one would think to look for a ship that had been destroyed,” said Jonathan. “But they will come for us.”

  “Jonathan,” he said, “how would Harrison and the others know it was all a deception?”

  “Harrison knows the Paladin more than any other man alive. She is his love. If he inspected the wreckage, he will notice things. And if he sees Southcott in an officer’s coat, my coat, he will know we are alive.”

  Jenkins was visibly relieved and could not help but smile and slightly nod his head in satisfaction.

  “We have figured out the past, Jonathan. However, we now need a plan for the future. I assume you have one?”

  “I do,” said Jonathan. “I was sitting in the magazine and it came to me,” said Jonathan. “There are more Englishmen than Russians on the Paladin, and I assume the same is true of the Echo. Each time a ship is in battle and another ship is taken, the Russians will have no choice but to man the ships they take.”

  “That means fewer officers and fewer Russian crewmen,” said Jenkins.

  “On each ship,” added Jonathan. “So…we need to pick a fight with a Turk.”

  “That will be difficult, Jonathan,” said Jenkins. “The Ottoman Navy—the Turks, that is—are a shadow of what they once were. A few score frigates and a handful of small galliots are all they have to protect their waters. They have been neutral in these wars with France and Napoleon, content to hold on to what little they have. Finding a ship to attack will be difficult.”

  “There must be merchants, yes?” asked Jonathan.

  “Yes, that is our only hope.”

  “Then let us hope and pray we find one, Jenkins, and then, after we are victorious, we must get you to the Echo and coordinate a mutiny on both ships at the same time.”

  “How could we do that? Even with you here and me there, well, I can’t just yell across the waves,” said Jenkins. “We need a signal, an unmistakable sign.”

  “Where do they send us all before a battle?” asked Jonathan, smiling.

  “To the guns,” answered Jenkins.

  “Then our signal,” said Jonathan, “will be when they call for us to fire.”

  “That would work well,” said Jenkins, smiling. “During the fog of battle, many things happen fast and are unexpected. If we are successful, we may take both ships back. But it is very risky, Jonathan. If you fail to take the Paladin, they will use it to catch the Echo.”

  “I thought of that. I will arrange for some insurance against that possibility,” Jonathan said as he stood up and looked Jenkins in the eye. This man had become a close friend of Jonathan’s; they had been through much together. He deserved a better end after leading the life he did in service of his country. Leaving him, and all the Englishmen, aboard the Echo and the Paladin, stranded and practically enslaved, would not stand. “As long as I breathe, Jenkins, I will not allow them to take the Paladin!”

  Jenkins could not be sure how Jonathan would be able to offer such assurance, but weighing the choices and considering the circumstances, why not attempt this? The best-case scenario would be that they return both ships and what remained of the crews to England. If they failed completely, and there was good chance of that, they would remain in the hands of their enemies.

  “Well, then, Southcott,” Jenkins said, “we need to take part in a skirmish or two.”

  On the sixth day since leaving Zadar, the Paladin and the Echo sailed southeast through the Adriatic, then northeast through the Sea of Marmara, and they were now approaching the Turkish capital of Istanbul. These waters would surely contain a prize or two, and if the opportunity presented itself and the situation was right, Aggar could take a ship, and that would please Kharitonov.

  As the city was just becoming visible to Garvey in the crow’s nest, he saw it: a single sail.

  “Captain Aggar! A sail! No, two sails! Three points off the starboard bow! They have not seen us!”

  Aggar took up his glass and looked to starboard. Indeed, there was a ship, a galliot, either a rare one from the Ottoman Navy or a merchant. He surveyed the surrounding water in all directions and then smiled.

  “Ah!” he said. “She sails low in the water! Belly full of treasure! And no frigates to defend her! Set a course for her stern! Battle stations! Jenkins, get your men in position!”

  The Paladin led the charge, the Echo close behind with the wind at their backs as they approached their prey. Within minutes, they had closed to only a few hundred yards.

  The captain of the merchant had finally noticed them, and seeing he was outmatched and the incredible speed at which the pursuers were approaching, he knew his only hope was to head straight for the Golden Horn, the channel leading northward past the village of Egri. If he could make it before being caught, possibly the shore batteries might assist.

  “Position the men, Jenkins!” called Aggar.

  “Battle stations!” Jenkins called, and the men who were not already in position ran to their locations at the guns, in the tops, and on the deck.

  “Ready the starboard guns,” called Aggar. “Jenkins, have a gun fire a warning shot across their side!”

  Jenkins ran to the foremost starboard gun and assisted the men. As the Paladin began her turn to port, the merchant came into his view. Closer and closer they came, until the ships were aligned just so, and the sea had tilted Paladin to a perfect angle.

  “Fire!”

  The shot sailed true, skidding across the stern of the merchant galliot, just striking the rigging on the aft mast.

  “Roll out all guns!” called Aggar. “Show them we would like to dance!”

  As the captain of the merchant vessel witnessed the remaining guns rolling into position aboard the pursuing ship, he realized that his luck had failed him. The two sloops were upon him, the gunners had him in their sights, and he had nowhere, nor the amount of sea needed, to run to safety. He ordered his crew to strike colors and reduce sail in surrender.

  As the Paladin drew alongside the merchant, lines were tossed and the ships temporarily secured. From deck, the men could see the name of the ship: Umutlu. Aggar decided to send six of his men aboard—three from the Echo and three from the Paladin.

  “Kowalski! Command the Umutlu and get a full accounting of her cargo. Set anyone unneeded adrift in the boats. Make haste!”

  Jonathan, who had been watching the entire exchange from the ladder leading from the magazine to the top deck, smiled slightly. The odds were now greater in their favor. Now all that remained was to have Jenkins assigned to the Echo.

  As if in answer to his prayers, the call came from the tops. “Ships approaching!” called Garvey. “Astern! A frigate! No, two! They fly the flag of the Ottoman Empire!”

  “Turks! They are too large for us!” said Aggar. He was immediately aware that if he did not act quickly he would be boxed in, and escape would be difficult.

  “Set all sail!” Aggar cried, and the men performed with precision, as they had been trained. “Well done!” he called. “It will be close! To the strait!”

  The frigates were approaching fast, and though the Paladin, the Echo, and their prize had successfully made the turn, both frigates were now within range, and soon, with a slight turn, the guns were rolled out. It would be a close race to the Strait of Bosphorus, and the frigates could very well pursue them in there, but maneuvering for all would be difficult. Aggar was confident that once on the run, the Paladin and Echo
would fly away—if they avoided damage.

  Instinctively, Jonathan ran to the bow, calling to the gunners on deck.

  “Be ready! Be true! You fight for your lives! We escape and live—or we die! Fight, my English brothers! Fight!”

  The men cheered heartily, and the guns were prepared for firing.

  Aggar watched this, and seeing “Southcott,” he smiled.

  “That is no powder monkey,” he said.

  The frigates fired. The explosions were heard seconds after the bright flash of the Turkish guns lit the twilight sea. Balls screamed across the waves, and many were wide or shallow; however, two did reach the Echo, skidding across the deck, sending splinters and men about in a trail of destruction.

  “Captain, come fast to starboard!” called Jonathan from the bow. “We will answer with accuracy.”

  “To starboard!” yelled Aggar, and it was made so. The Paladin came quickly to the south, exposing her guns to the frigate.

  “Fire as she bears!” yelled Jonathan, and he and Jenkins ran aft, slapping the men on their backs, cheering them on.

  The rippling broadside of nine carronades tore through the twilight air, streaming hot and cruel iron toward the first frigate. Ball after ball violently struck her bow and deck. The foremast was severed and, creaking loudly, fell to her port side, then dipped into the waves, sail and spar dragging in the water, effectively spinning the frigate hard to port and almost turning her completely about. The first frigate was out of the fight.

  The second frigate was not deterred. She sailed on to take the lead and approached the Paladin and Echo with great speed. She turned to starboard to place her guns in position to fire.

  “We will not survive her guns should her aim be true!” called Aggar.