The Guns of Ivrea

by Clifford Beal

  “Clever, clever boy!”

  Ramus, took half a step backwards, not knowing whether his commander was angry or amused.

  Tetch looked down at the message again.

  Uncle, will you not come out and play? I will be waiting for you with open arms a league from Palestro on the Feast of Aloysius.

  Tetch reached over and grabbed Ramus by his collar of his doublet. “When is Aloysius? The feast day?”

  Ramus stuttered. “It is in two days’ time, my lord.”

  Tetch crumpled the letter in his fist. “Send word for my captains! We are going to sea!”

  Ramus looked as if he’d swallowed a fly. The word “why” was on his lips but yet unspoken. Tetch clapped a grimy paw on his shoulder and shot him a rotten, gap-toothed grin. “To slay a ghost, my friend!”

  Thirty-Eight

  THE SEA WAS a patchwork of grey and blue as the boiling sky sent low clouds drifting past. In the far distance, a great waterspout stretched upwards, the squall around it a dirty white swirling mass against an approaching clear blue sky. Danamis watched as some of his men pointed and jabbered. For them it was an omen. But he knew the morning’s storms were now passing. The afternoon would be clear and, God willing, the stiff breeze would continue. If he was becalmed in the next few hours, he would be ripped to pieces by Tetch.

  The Vendetta had dropped some sail, but was yet pushing ahead east against an oncoming wind, a slow steady run. In her lee followed Royal Grace, packed with as many swordsmen, pole arms, and crossbowmen as Danamis could pack onto her deck. Danamis saw his own personal standard whipping furiously from her mainmast top, a strange sight since he was not on her deck. For the Grace was to be a ruse, a goat tied to a stake to lure the wolves in. Bassinio was now her captain, and having lost Salamander at Palestro, as well as being burned and maimed, he was itching to take his satisfaction against Tetch no matter what the odds. He would fight his ship with every ounce of cunning he possessed. Danamis heard a long low holler ring out from the crow’s nest and his eyes moved to see where the crewman was pointing. He saw the sails on the larboard bow: five vessels, perhaps more behind and all moving towards them. Long odds indeed. A ripple of excited voices echoed from bow to stern as the enemy hove into view.

  Danamis tasted blood. He had bitten through his lip without realizing it. He shifted his red leather brigantine, its rivets now blooming with green from the dunking it had suffered, and cinched his sword-belt a notch tighter. His crew trusted him. They trusted him when he said the mer would fight for them. But the mer had not as yet surfaced. Were they even there at all? Gregorvero joined him on the quarterdeck, his face an island of peaceful calm despite the impending battle.

  “Your course, Captain?”

  Danamis turned to him and smiled. “Raise all sail. Steer us a few points east by northeast. I want to run wide past them if we can and then come about with the wind on our quarter.”

  Gregorvero raised an eyebrow. “Aye, well, I hope that the Grace can keep up. She’s sailing about as close to this wind as she can now.”

  Danamis nodded. “Bassinio will do his best.”

  The master barked his orders down to the helm and sailors scurried to hoist the great lateen sails. Danamis looked behind to see the Grace respond with her own men scrambling up top. The dance had now begun. Bassinio knew that the Grace would have to try to avoid direct engagement if it could. He also knew that the mer would play their part when the time came—if Citala had convinced them.

  Danamis looked forward out over the wide foredeck of the Vendetta. It was full of Strykar’s rondelieri, many carrying spears with which to repel boarders if it came to that. But amidships was taken up by his six great guns and their crews. Though there were many crossbowmen cranking their bows as he watched, they would be joining him up on the quarterdeck, leaving the main deck to the gunners. And being the lowest part of his ship, that would be the likeliest place for Tetch to try boarding him. Everything depended upon the Vendetta avoiding that outcome.

  “Remember,” said Danamis, “we concentrate our fire on Firedrake alone if possible. I want you to take me within a cable length of them and we’ll give fire as we run by. We’ll then come about smartly after we pass their stern so we may strike them with our starboard guns as the larboard crews reload theirs. We will have a following wind at our backs then.”

  Gregorvero shook his head and sighed loudly. “And getting onto that port tack means we will slow to a crawl before the wind fills our sails. Risky. I would be a little more confident if we’d practiced that some, Nico.” He fiddled with the buckle of his steel corselet, trying to hook the clasp, but his pudgy fingers were hindering him and he muttered a curse.

  Danamis smiled. “Let me,” he said, and cinched him in, slapping him on the back. “I believe in Citala. She will come through.”

  Gregorvero looked at him. “Nico, I understand why you’re doing it this way. You’re right; making war on your own people is no way to make friends. And you can’t force a man into loyalty by splitting his skull. I just pray that God rewards your restraint. And that the merfolk do as you bid.”

  Danamis placed a gauntleted hand on the master’s shoulder. “I seem to remember when we were fleeing Palestro with barely half a ship under us, you told me some hard truths. One of them was that you can’t guarantee loyalty by merely paying for it. If we can kill Tetch, the battle is ours. The fleet will come back to me.”

  “You’re starting to look old these days,” said Gregorvero. “But you wear it well upon you. I even see a little wisdom showing. Your father would indeed have been proud, so never think otherwise.” And he suddenly clapped his arms around Danamis in a bear hug. “Now let us find the one-eyed bald bastard son of a whore and send him to hell.” Gregorvero laughed awkwardly. “I think our helmsman will need all the help he can get on this run. I’m going down now to make sure he keeps both hands on the whipstaff.”

  Danamis followed him down and strode the main deck. Words were cheap but he offered them anyway. A clap on the shoulder, a laugh, a smile. He looked into the faces of his men: sweaty, unshaven, scarred, broken-nosed, confident, worried. And even as he cajoled, joked, and praised, his own thoughts were filled with gnawing anxiety. Before he reached the steps to the foredeck, he glanced out over the larboard side. The five ships were growing closer, having altered their course to intercept him. And still, he had not a clue whether the mer were out there, ready to engage. As he ascended the steps onto the fore deck, the rondelieri broke into a ragged cheer. He acknowledged their salute with a deep bow.

  “God save the Black Rose!” he cried out, raising both his arms high. The armoured men roared their approval, stamped their spear butts on the deck and clapped their round shields with their steel gauntlets. Danamis seized Strykar’s shoulder and gave him a shake.

  “My dear friend, I give you joy! And I would rather have no one else to fight by my side this day.”

  “I’ll be damned if I know how you manage it, my boy,” replied Strykar, his eyes bright, “but let us pray to the saints your luck holds this day too.”

  There was a shout from a gun crew behind them and Danamis turned to see the men crowding the gunwale and jostling excitedly. He sprang to the railing and seized a stay line, hauling himself up on the railing. He saw what had been spotted, less than a hundred yards away and moving towards them. It was a small pilot whale, glistening and as black as night. Upon its back was a figure, sitting high. Danamis could just discern the flowing white mane of hair of the rider as the whale rose and fell, slicing through the swell. It was Citala.

  His heart leapt as he watched her close on them. As the crew recognized the mermaid, a great cheer rose up from stem to stern. She drew near, and he saw that she was in a saddle of sorts, sea grass harness and reins upon the grampus. A great explosion of spray erupted from the creature’s blowhole and Citala waved to him, shaking her swordfish-bill weapon in her fist. He waved madly back, like some overexcited boy at a fair. She and her mount
drew alongside, pacing the ship as it cut through the water. He looked down at her, her mouth wide in a near rapturous smile, and their eyes locked together. Danamis gave her a deep nod as he clung to the stay, his body leaning out over the side. Citala dipped her own head, and then gave a jerk to her reins. The whale turned away and dove, taking them both down under in a splash of foaming white spray. Danamis exhaled loudly and breathed in a lungful of salt-laden air. Now, now he had a chance.

  At last, Gregorvero put the caravel through its first turn a few points north by northeast, further filling the vessel’s three great sails. As it altered course, the Vendetta quickened with a side wind coming in over its beam. Danamis was amidships, near the main mast, looking to single-out Firedrake from the line of ships that were closing. He saw it, the second vessel in the procession, the Hammerblow in the van. His increased speed would give him the position he wanted. He would run past Hammerblow, and save his guns for Firedrake once in closer range. If he was lucky, Hammerblow might veer off to take on the Grace following in his wake while he engaged Tetch’s flagship. Firedrake sprang into clarity, her garishly decorated sterncastle gleaming in the now unhindered sunlight as the Vendetta gained on her. Danamis watched as crossbowmen leaned over the quarterdeck on Tetch’s ship and two falconets were swivelled to face them.

  Danamis allowed himself a small smile. We’ll not be close enough for that to prick us.

  He looked over to Tadeo Verano who was bracing himself in the roll of the ship, feet spread apart, a burning linstock in his hand whose saltpetre fuse was protected by a flap of soft leather against the spray of the sea.

  “Master Verano! At the ready, if you please. And fifty ducats to you if you take down a mast!”

  The gunner nodded and moved to his crews on the larboard. He ordered the three guns run forward, their muzzles just peeking out beyond the side of the ship. The Vendetta had nearly reached Firedrake. Gregorvero tapped the helmsman hard and the sailor grunted as he put his shoulder to the long whipstaff. The ship responded and angled left, bringing it parallel to Firedrake as it ran past. A heartbeat later and Verano levelled his linstock to the touch hole of the first gun while another gunner touched his linstock to the third. Two tremendous cracking thuds in quick succession and two tongues of yellow flame shot out. Verano jumped to the second gun and ignited it, sending the little truck recoiling back on the deck. The crews hauled on their lines bringing them back in to reload while Verano and the other firer moved to the starboard side.

  Through the white smoke, Danamis saw splinters and bits of deck and railing flying off of Tetch’s ship. A falconet fired at them impotently from their stern as Vendetta overtook them and he heard crossbow bolts tearing through his canvas overhead. He could see men running like ants around the decks of Firedrake and her mainsail lines were cut on one side, the great canvas flapping outwards, uncontrolled. As the Vendetta surged past it now began a tight turn to starboard. The canvas shuddered on the masts as the Vendetta went into irons, the wind hitting it fully on the bow. This ship slowed, only its earlier momentum sending it forward and into the turn. At last, the sails billowed anew, sending the ship surging ahead. Danamis caught sight of the third of Tetch’s ships—Swiftsure— passing off their starboard bow. They fired a few falconets at him, too far away to do any harm. As the Swiftsure sped past at distance, Strykar caught a glimpse of two dark figures clambering on the rudder mounts at the transom. They were mermen, and they were lashing the huge rudder with ropes, working rapidly to foul it completely. He swore softly. The luck of Danamis was shining through after all.

  Firedrake, her mainsail flapping uselessly, fumbled her turn to follow the Vendetta and was overtaken by Swiftsure. Danamis crouched near the starboard guns, biting his lip, as they completed their own turn and ran by for a second pass of Tetch’s ship. They were closer this time and a hail of iron-barbed shafts came raining in, striking the deck, deflecting off mens’ helms with a dull clang, or finding flesh. A few screams echoed around him. He watched as Verano waited for the moment, then signalled to the other gunner. The orichalcum guns sang out again, abrupt, crisp cracks of thunder and not the dull thuds of his old cast iron pieces on the Grace. He heard a slow rending sound of ripping canvas and the squeak of wood giving way, and then he caught sight of the Firedrake’s foremast starting to tilt and then topple. One of the other shots had cleared a bloody swath across the main deck, a pile of bodies lying stacked on one another as the iron ball had bowled through them. Just below her stern cabin, a huge hole had been blown through just above the waterline of the vessel.

  Even as their own stern passed the bow of Firedrake, a huge explosion rent the air. Danamis sprang up and looked backwards at Tetch’s ship, his eyes frantically looking for a view of his nemesis. One of Firedrake’s guns had blown up in the breech, sending pieces of iron across the deck, killing many. But Giacomo Tetch was nowhere to be seen.

  There were other things to worry about. The carracks Fortuna and Bonaventura were bearing down on them under full sail, eager to join the battle. So too, he spied one of his old caravels, the Seafox, coming up on a different tack. Danamis sprang to the quarterdeck as the gunners worked furiously to reload under Verano’s ear-burning tirade. He saw a few of his men being pulled below, quarrels still protruding from leg or chest. Once on the higher deck he quickly took in his situation. The Grace had managed to outsail Hammerblow and was following now in his wake. She might have to be his last defence if they were run to ground and boarded as she had far more soldiers and bowmen than he did. As he watched, he saw that Hammerblow, in pursuing the Grace, had completed her turn and had kept turning, her rudder jammed. He nodded and smiled. Now the merfolk had to disable the others in the fleet if they could manage. He laughed as Hammerblow began to drop sail, her people hanging over the transom, a few sailors flailing their arms about madly. Firedrake was drifting too, fire having broken out on her main deck.

  Danamis leaned over the railing and called down to the master. “Gregor! Bring us about again! I want Tetch taken!”

  His gun crews were working furiously to swab out the long barrels, awkwardly leaning over the gunwales to ram the scrubbers through before handing a canvas bag of blackpowder to the loader to be poked down the muzzle and then seated home. The heavy iron shot was passed man to man and then awkwardly pushed in the muzzle and rammed down. Verano shoved his stiletto in and out of the touchhole of the guns as if he was dispatching a hated foe, ripping the canvas bag inside to spill the powder charge for his match.

  Two rolling booms sounded across the expanse of sapphire sea and Danamis raised his head to see Royal Grace coming under fire from the two carracks. Yet even as they reached firing distance, he saw Bonaventura lean away and veer off. No master would have ordered such by choice when closing on an enemy. Something had fouled their steering too. Another ship out of the fight—for the moment. Fortuna was still bearing down on the Grace, she in turn still faithfully sailing after his own ship on an easterly course again. The caravel Seafox had altered course directly for the Vendetta, leaving the pursuit of the Grace. Danamis jumped down to the main deck again and rushed forward. He would soon be in hailing distance on the next pass as his ship turned to starboard ready to come up on the starboard side of Firedrake. He could see men crowding the sterncastle and the main deck, smoke still billowing. She was also taking on water and was already sitting lower as every large swell sloshed more of the sea into the ragged hole torn in her hull. Danamis pushed in among the heaving rondelieri on the foredeck, making his way to the bow. Less than a hundred yards from her, Gregorvero ordered the sails slackened and the Vendetta began to slow as she closed. Danamis now had the option to fire again and then board if he chose. But Seafox would be upon him in minutes.

  Strykar and his men hunched down, awaiting a flurry of arrows or a cloud of stone shot from Firedrake. They reached her bow moving dead-slow. Danamis cupped his hands and bellowed across the distance.

  “Yield to me now!”

  A
voice cried out in reply from somewhere up on the stern. “Mercy!”

  And then others took up the cry, plaintive calls sounding across the ship. Danamis leaned over the gunwale.

  “Tetch! Show yourself to me!”

  The cries of “mercy” kept echoing, almost becoming a fervent chant, a group prayer. A cheer went up on the Vendetta as the Firedrake’s pennant came fluttering down, cut off by one sailor who had had enough.

  “Give me Tetch, damn you!”

  Danamis saw a sallet helm peek up higher than those around him.

  “Spare us, Lord Danamis! Our master is slain! Captain Tetch is not aboard.”

  “Where?” bellowed Danamis. “Where is he?”

  Another voice spoke up from somewhere on the sterncastle. “He captains the Seafox!”

  Danamis’s eyes met those of Strykar at the same moment. “Sweet God,” he muttered, falling back and pushing his way down to the main deck.

  “Gregor! Give us speed! Away!”

  Behind them, the Seafox had already overhauled the Grace, ignoring her and pushing on to catch Danamis, her bow throwing up a mighty wake of churning sea. She was a fast ship and just as capable of squeezing out speed in a headwind as was Vendetta. In her wake, she dragged a merman, a crossbow bolt through the top of his skull, a sea grass rope tangled about his ankle.

  Her lines hauled taut, the triangular sails of Vendetta billowed again as she pushed on east by northeast. But she had lost precious time. Gregorvero muttered a prayer to Aloysius as he urged his ship onwards. Once they had increased speed they could tack into the wind and then cut back westwards to stand a chance at a passing broadside on Seafox. But it was torturously slow and Danamis stood silent as he watched Tetch close the distance between them. Further back, orange flashes and thuds told him that Grace was now taking fire from the Fortuna and God willing, was giving it back. If they grappled, he would be on his own against Tetch.