by John Norman
“They fly distress signals on the stem-castle lines,” said the officer.
“Bring her about,” called Callimachus.
“It can mean but one thing,” said the officer.
Callimachus snapped shut the glass of the Builders.
I could now hear the sound of the horns drifting towards us.
“Acknowledge,” said Callimachus. Flags were run on the stern-castle lines.
I could not interpret the horns.
“What is it?” I called up to Callimachus.
“It had to happen,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“It happened to the north,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“The chain has been broken,” he said. I held the rail, looking astern.
The Sita and the Tais were now clearly visible.
“Where are the Talia, the Thenta, the Midice, the Ina, the Tia?” asked the officer.
“I did not see them,” said Callimachus. He handed the glass of the Builders back to the officer. “Do you see them?” he asked.
“No,” said the man. “No.”
“Quarter stroke,” said Callimachus.
“Quarter stroke!” called the officer to the oar master.
“Quarter stroke!” he called to his men.
The Sita and the Tais were now abeam, to port.
We moved southward, along the chain.
Callimachus descended from the stem castle and made his way back, between the benches, to the stern castle. I accompanied him. He carried the glass of the Builders.
“There were seven ships,” I said. I stood beside Callimachus on the stern castle.
“Perhaps some survived,” he said.
“I see ships,” I said, pointing astern. There were specks at the horizon line, marshaled specks.
Callimachus handed me the glass of the Builders. “Ships of the Voskjard,” I said.
“Yes,” said Callimachus.
“Apparently the Voskjard has more than fifty ships,” I said. I had counted at least forty. And there were several others, I knew, here and there at the chain.
“The information of Callisthenes was apparently mistaken,” said Callimachus. “That is a sore and unwelcome flaw in our intelligence.”
“How many can there be?” I asked.
“I do not know,” said Callimachus. “Sixty, a hundred?”
“We can never match such ships in open battle,” I said.
“Port Cos must fight as she has never fought before,” skid Callimachus.
“They are not hurrying,” I said to Callimachus. I had been counting the strokes per Ehn.
“They do not wish to tire their oarsmen,” said Callimachus. I handed the glass of the Builders back to him.
“Port Cos is the hope of the Vosk,” said Callimachus. “We of Ar’s Station and of the independent ships must support her in her battle.”
“The odds are overwhelming,” I said. “Can she win?”
“She must,” said Callimachus.
“At least she is commanded by men such as Callisthenes,” I said.
“His twenty ships, summoned from the south guard station, will be crucial,” said Callimachus.
“We shall need each of them if we are to make a showing,” I said.
“Without them,” I said, “it would be a slaughter.”
“With them, in spite of the odds,” said Callimachus, “the tide might be turned in our favor.”
“You seem troubled,” I said.
“I am only hoping,” he said, “that the chain has not been cut south of us.”
“We have protected it as well, and as long, as we could,” I said.
“Let us hope that the time which we have invested in that work will prove itself to have been well spent,” he said.
I shuddered. “I shall hope so,” I said. If our fleet did not have time to group, or if our flank were turned, it would be indeed a tragic day for our forces upon the Vosk. The planks of our fleet might litter the river to the wharves of Turmus.
“Have you orders for me?” I asked.
“Sharpen your sword,” he said. “And get what rest you can.
“Yes, Captain,” I said. I turned away from Callimachus.
“Do you look forward to the fight?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, not turning to regard him.
“That is interesting,” said Callimachus.
“Is it significant?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” said Callimachus.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“Do you think you will be able to sleep before the engagement?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said. “Why? Are these things significant?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Sharpen your sword,” said he, “and get what rest you can.”
“Yes, Captain,” I said, and then descended the steps of the stern castle. I made my way toward the bow. The rowers were working only at quarter stroke. I sat down near my gear and, for a time, with a stone, whetted the blade on the weapon I carried. When I was finished I set a light coat of oil on the steel, that it might be protected from rust. Then I lay down on the smoothed deck, near the starboard rail, and, near a coil of mooring rope, fell soon asleep.
Chapter 4 - THE WEDGE; RAMS AND SHEARING BLADES
“How many are there?” I heard an officer inquire of Callimachus, above and behind me, on the deck of the stem castle.
“Forty-two,” said he.
We lay to, twenty-two ships, in a double line. Our oars were inboard.
“The chain held,” said a man near me.
“Yes,” I said. It had been broken in the north, but here, closer to the southern shore of the Vosk, it had held. This had permitted us to group. Too, the left flank of our position was protected, still, by the mighty links of the Cosian chain, transported to the Vosk, slung between its pylons.
“Where are the ships of Callisthenes?” inquired an officer of Callimachus.
“They will join us shortly,” said Callimachus. “We must hold our lines until they arrive.”
Even this far south, and from the height of the stem castle, one could not see the southern shore of the Vosk.
“They are forming the wedge,” said an officer beside Callimachus.
Our right flank was protected by seven ships of Port Cos, seven of the ten which had been originally abroad on the river. The Midice and Tia had been lost. The Ira, her starboard oars sheared, had been boarded and taken as a prize. The Talia and Thenta, the first of Point Alfred and the second of Jort’s Ferry, had been lost in the same action. Both had been merchant ships, acting in support of the ships of Port Cos. Of the group the Sita, of Jort’s Ferry, and the Tais of Port Cos, had escaped. In this first engagement, in the north, we had lost five of seven ships. The Voskjard, as we had learned, had lost four.
“Yes,” said Callimachus, handing the glass of the Builders back to one of the officers, “it is the wedge.”
From my position at the starboard rail, near the bow, below the stem castle, I could not well see the arrangement of the Voskjard’s formation.
“There are other ships of the Voskjard west of the chain,” said a man, glumly.
These were the ships which, for better than a full day and night, beginning with yesterday’s dawn, had been essaying the chain in our sector.
“We can no longer keep them out,” said a man.
“True,” I admitted.
The chain could now be cut with impunity, behind the shield of the Voskjard’s northern fleet, that now some half pasang off our bows.
We had not been able to make a determination on the ships west of the chain in our sector. It was speculated, however, that the southern fleet was larger even than the northern, which had been successful in its strike against the chain.
Acting on the information supplied by Callisthenes we had conjectured that the Voskjard commanded in the neighborhood of
fifty ships. This intelligence had now been revealed as substantially in error, perhaps by a factor of two.
“By now,” said a man, “the chain has probably been cut.”
I recalled the yellow paint, splashed on the pylon. Doubtless, too, other points of weakness had been similarly marked. Even now, behind the shield of the northern fleet, it was not improbable that the ships of the southern fleet were proceeding unimpeded between the pylons. The chain had held long enough, however, to permit us to draw southward along the chain and group. Too, of course, it held, still, protecting our left flank, in our immediate area.
“We have little hope,” said a man.
“They are forming the wedge,” said another.
“Where are the ships of Callisthenes?” asked someone.
“They will be here,” said another man.
“Captain,” said one of the officers to Callimachus.
“Yes,” said he.
“Shall I order that the ships be chained together?”
These signals could be conveyed by flags and horns.
“No,” said Callimachus.
“How else can we withstand the weight of such a wedge?” inquired the officer.
“We will not impair our mobility,” said Callimachus. “We will not render our rams and shearing blades useless.”
“We must be a floating fortress of wood,” said the officer. “At such a citadel the wedge must pound in vain.”
“The ships of our interior line would be prevented from engaging,” said Callimachus. “We would be then nothing but a tethered, placid target, one impossible to miss. If our flank were turned, too, we could no longer protect ourselves. Only our undefended strakes could be presented to the rams of the enemy. In an Ahn your floating fortress of wood could be a wreckage, awash, of timbers and chains.”
“Then let us withdraw,” said the officer.
“It is too late for that,” said Callimachus.
The officer, white-faced, looked over the rail of the stem castle. “The fleet is moving,” he said.
“Yes,” said Callimachus.
“What can we do!” cried the officer.
“We must hold the line until the arrival of Callisthenes,” said Callimachus.
“We can never withstand the strike of the wedge,” said the officer.
“Here are my orders,” said Callimachus.
***
It was a galley, heavy class, fit for the open sea. It was the point of the wedge. I had never seen a galley move with such speed. There were two men to each oar. Our bow was aligned, as though to take its ram on the ram shield. The strike, should it occur, I feared would snap our keel.
To our port side, gunnels almost touching, lay the Mira, our sister ship, from Victoria.
I saw, some hundred yards away, on the stem castle of the speeding galley, her captain move his arm. Almost instantaneously the galley, responsive at that speed to the slightest rudder pressure, veered a point to her starboard. It was her intention not to be stopped at the Tina but to shatter between us and the Mira, opening the line. At her stern quarters, like running, heeling sleen, were two other galleys, to exploit the opening the point must make. Fanning out, too, behind the supporting galleys, were others. And, in the wake of the first galley, plowed several others. Our line, it seemed, must be cut. Our communications, it seemed, must be disrupted. Enemies would be among us. Flanks to be defended would be multiplied. We would be divided, handicapped in our attempts to reinforce and support one another. Divided, hunted, we could be herded, and surrounded. We might then make good sport for the pirates. The Voskjard had been held at the chain in the south. I did not think that this would have pleased him. I did not expect that prisoners would be taken.
“Now!” cried Callimachus.
There are three poles which, customarily, with Gorean ships are used in casting off, in thrusting away from the wharves. There were, of course, three such poles on the Tina and on the Mira. Our oars were inboard.
Suddenly, as the enemy galley veered to knife between us, and the Mira men with poles, and, too, with oars, on our ship, and on the Mira, thrust the ships apart. There was a shattering and a scraping but the enemy galley, which had thought with force to press us apart, meeting little resistance was, by her momentum, almost immediately astern of us.
Almost simultaneously other men, on the Tina and Mira, with ropes and grappling irons, drew the ships more closely together. The two ships following the first galley had intended to follow her into our line, exploiting the breach. But now there was no breach. The point of the wedge, harmlessly, save for splinters and paint torn from our hull, was behind us. The two supporting ships ground their hulls together. Burning pitch and arrows rained upon their decks.
I heard rams clash to port and starboard. Then one of the supporting galleys was struck in the stern by a following ship, unable to check its momentum. The pirate galleys began to back oars, frantically to extricate themselves, but, clumsily, half swung about, they must accept our fire. Two other ships from behind them, unable to slow themselves sufficiently, struck into the milling ships.
I turned about. The first galley, isolated behind our lines, was trying to swing to the southeast, to avoid the chain and find the open water to the cast. As she did so the Tais, come from our right flank to reinforce the line, circling about her, took her full in the port side. The strike was high, but water poured into her hold. I saw men dive from her decks. She lay then in the water, listing, unmanned. As she lay the rupture in her hull was lifted above the water line. I saw men from the Tais board her, moving about on the tilted deck. Then, in a short time, they returned to their ship.
“Run flags on the stem-castle lines,” called Callimachus. “Blood for Port Cos!”
There was a cheer from our benches.
I watched the Tais draw away from the disabled vessel. Then I saw the stern of the vessel swing eccentrically about.
“She is caught on a bar,” said a man near to me.
“Yes,” I said. No longer did she move sluggishly, turning, carried by the current, toward the chain.
“It is the Tuka,” said a man near me.
“Is that a well-known ship of the Voskjard?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“It is the wedge again!” cried a man.
I looked out, over the railing, northward. The enemy fleet had reformed.
The crew of the Tuka had swum west of the chain.
“They are approaching at only half stroke,” said a man.
“They will not repeat their first mistake,” said another.
This time it was their intention to force our line apart with consistent pressure, not as a shattering bolt, but as a flood, a pressing, an avalanche of wood and steel, regulated, controlled, responsive to the tactical situation instant by instant. Not again would the point of the wedge be lost fruitlessly behind our lines, spending itself in vain against emptiness and spray.
Flags, torn by the wind, snapping, sped to our stem-castle lines. Signal cloths, pennons and squares, in mixed colors and designs, acknowledging these commands, ran fluttering and streaming onto the stem-castle lines of the Tais.
“She is at full stroke!” said a man.
The Tais, her stern low in the water, her ram half lifted from it, knifed to the northeast.
“The wedge of the Voskjard approaches!” called an officer on our stem castle.
“Let us chain the ships together, while we may!” begged another officer.
“No,” said Callimachus.
“Look!” cried a man, miserably, clinging to a projection on our stem castle. “Look!” he cried. He was pointing to the east. “The Tais is leaving our lines! The ships of Port Cos attend her!”
“Our flank is unguarded!” cried a man in fear. There seemed consternation on our benches.
“The Voskjard is committed to the wedge!” I said to the man next to me.
“Our flank is in no immediate danger,” said he. He set an arrow to the string
of a short ship’s bow.
“No!” I cried laughing. “No! Look! It is the flank of the Voskjard which is now unguarded!”
The Tais and her swift, lean sisters, emerging unexpectedly, circling, from behind our lines, stern quarters low in the water, rams half lifted from the water, wet and glistening in the sun, at full stroke, oars beating, drums pounding, like loosened weapons, sped toward the wedge.
Our oarsmen stood on their benches cheering.
The lead ship of the wedge was trying to come about, swinging to starboard. Her immediate support ship, fifty yards astern, could not check her flight. Her ram took the lead ship in the stern, tearing away wood and breaking loose the starboard rudder. Almost at the same time the seven ships of Port Cos, fanning out, each choosing an undefended hull, exposed, helpless before the hurtling strike of the ram’s brutal spike, to the tearing of wood, the rushing of water, the screaming of men, made contact with the enemy. Efficiently did they address themselves to the harsh labors of war.
I did not see how Ar, in her disputes with Cos upon the Vosk, could hope to match such ships and men. The ships of Ar’s Station, with the fleet, seemed more round ships than long ships. Some lacked even rams and shearing blades. All were permanently masted. Few of these ships boasted more than twenty oars. All seemed undermanned. Ar, I thought, might be advised to tread lightly in her politics on the Vosk.
The ships of Port Cos, led by the Tais, backed from the subsiding, shattered hulks they had smitten. The Voskjard’s fleet was in confusion. Ship struck ship. Signal horns sounded frantically. Ships struggled, crowded together, trapped in the wedge, to come about. Again, and again, hunting as single marine predators, the Tais and her sisters, prowling the outskirts of that confused, sluggish city of wood, almost at will, almost fastidiously, selected their victims.
How could Ar, I asked myself, compete with such men and ships upon the mighty Vosk?
Laughable were the miserable, squat ships of Ar’s Station when compared with the sleek carnivores of Port Cos or, indeed, those of Ragnar Voskjard.
“The Tais has made her third kill!” cried a man.
There was cheering upon the Tina.
On each of the ships of Ar’s Station there were long, heavy sets of planks, fastened together by transverse crosspieces. These heavy constructions were some twenty-five feet in length, and some seven or eight feet in width. They were mounted on high platforms near the masts, one at each mast, and could be run out on rollers from the mast, to which they were fastened by adjustable lengths of chain. At the tops these constructions leaned back toward the masts, to which, at the top, they were secured by ropes. Projecting outwards from the top of each of these constructions there was, like a curved nail, a bent, gigantic, forged spike.