Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Have they threatened him? Tried to steal anything?”

  “Not a thing, Colonel. Like I told you, they’ve been nice as pie. It’s the way they are. I don’t trust them very far, but usually when they make a promise they keep it. Just be careful of the wording if you agree to anything.”

  Sounds even more like the Venetian Republic, Rick thought. At least as much as I can remember of it. Which was mostly derived from historical novels. One by Poul Anderson, another by Sabatini. Both pretty careful authors. And a biography of Casanova . . .

  “Okay. Enough for now. I’ll go below to exchange pleasantries with the councilors.”

  And when we get ashore I’m going to need some time alone with this Bart Saxon. Maybe he knows what Agzaral thinks he’s doing. I sure don’t.

  He looked up to see that the ship was moving much faster than he had expected.

  Won’t be long. Which means that when those pirates get here, we won’t have a lot of warning after they’re sighted.

  His stomach turned over again, and the ache in his right hip had come back. His piles hurt. He made his way gingerly to the main cabin below the quarterdeck and took a seat at the main table, his head in his hands.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  * * *

  They landed at the main square, and Rick was intrigued by the similarity to Piazza San Marco in Venice. Columns, pillars, relief work over the Doge’s Palace. Even pigeons, on the parts of the square that were dry.

  A diversified flock. How many did they bring here from Earth? Maybe there are records.

  A boarded walkway two feet above the cobblestones led to a dry area almost two hundred feet from the floating dock. There were differences from the Venice Rick had visited on Earth, but not startlingly so. Men sat at tables outside the shops around the square and huddled over to talk business. Couples sat and gazed at each other. They were dressed differently from modern Italians, of course. The biggest difference from old Venice was the steep hillside above the western edge of the square. It led to the plateau in the center of the island, and the slope was covered with palaces and more humble structures all the way to the top. There would still be a city here when the waters rose.

  More than a dozen men waited at the elaborate doorway to the Doge’s Palace. Most were elderly, with elaborate robes and gaudy hats. Rick was led inside, and everyone seemed to talk at once.

  Most of the ceremonies were conducted in Italian and incomprehensible, but Rick understood he’d been introduced to the Doge and the Signory, and that they were all concerned about the coming pirates, whose arrival was expected at any moment. A hundred and fifty warships of pirates, Riccigiona, and the Five Kingdoms were on their way and could Lord Rick aid his ally in resisting them?

  The question was asked more than a dozen times; but when Rick asked what the Signory could promise in their own defense, the answers were ambiguous. There were ships in the harbor and more were being launched. Crews were being recruited. The number of experienced crews was small, and much of the trained militia was still deployed in Terra Firma. The Signory had serious doubts about the city’s ability to defend itself against such a large invading army. But of course God was merciful, and Nikeis had always enjoyed the favor of heaven, and would Rick forgive them for not sending his ambassadors home sooner, the need of the city was great and Harrison and Clavell were so useful, and—

  First things first, Rick thought.

  “If Your Honors expect me to aid in the city’s defense, I first need to know what we have to defend with. Precisely how many ships, and in what condition. And they must be put under my command.”

  That brought an explosion of comments. Rick waited a moment, then held up his hand.

  “Enough! Signores, what do you expect here? There can be only one commander, and you cannot command my ships and weapons!”

  “True, Warlord of Drantos,” Councilor Torricelli said. “And it is true that your fame is great. Perhaps the bards have neglected to sing of your prowess on the seas?”

  Rick waited a moment, then smiled.

  “I have none.” He smiled more widely. “I need none. Your Captain Oranato will have told you of the effectiveness of some of my weapons. I have others. As to experience with the seas, my fleet is Roman and commanded by an admiral of Rome. A logical commander, and one none of you can be ashamed of obeying.”

  The Signory whispered together for a few moments. Then Torricelli returned to Rick.

  “We have six great galleys and twelve galee sottili”—those were the equivalent of the Roman triremes, Rick knew; the actual translation was “thin galleys”—“with experienced crews,” he said. “A dozen more galee sottili crewed by militia. Twelve fusta with reasonable crews, too old to fight but able to row. We count twenty first-class ships in your Roman fleet. Twenty galleys and four navibus, which I assume carry supplies. Add all this together, and we have less than half the number that threatens us. The tides will be high, and there will be many approaches to the city at high tide. Their battle lines will be longer than ours, and our flanks will be exposed.”

  “A reasonable assessment,” Rick said. “You believe the navibus onerārius of no account?”

  “They defend themselves well,” Torricelli said.

  “Perhaps ours can do more than mere defense. With star weapons aboard they can hold flanks securely even though they cannot maneuver. Councilor, I’m led to believe that ship-for-ship your fleet is a match for equal numbers of Romans. Is this true?”

  “It is as God wills, but certainly our experienced crews will be the equal or better of any ships on the Inner Sea.”

  “And you count twenty first-class ships with experienced crews?”

  Torricelli looked grave.

  “Perhaps some are better than others,” he said. “I would certainly count twelve, including all of our great galleys, as the equals of any ship in the world.”

  Leaving eight not quite so good, Rick thought. It’s better than it could have been.

  “The Romans share your opinion of the worth of your best ships and crews,” he said. “They also believe that each Roman ship can best any ship in the pirate fleet, as can any of your better ships. So we have thirty galleys, each the equal of any pirate, another dozen as a reserve to finish off crippled enemies, and my four navibus onerārius.”

  “Against at least a hundred, and I have heard counts as high as four times that number,” Senator del Verme said. “Those seem long odds.”

  The room fell silent. Everyone was listening as Rick spoke.

  “It will be enough. We will win this battle. It may come to fighting in the streets, but perhaps we can stop them before they can land in the city. We won’t have an easy victory, but we will win. Your soldiers saw the Battle of the Ottarn. I have more star forces here than we had there.”

  “We are reassured by your confidence, but—” Torricelli let his voice trail off.

  “Remain reassured,” Rick said. “We’ll examine details later, but I believe our star weapons will be sufficient to compensate for numbers. We will aid in your defense.”

  Torricelli’s relief was obvious.

  “There is much to plan,” he said.

  “There is,” Rick agreed. “We can discuss our order of battle later, when the Roman admiral is present. For now, we require berthing space for the Roman fleet and lodging and supplies for our men. Roman sailors and my own troops, star lords, and my guardsmen. And my Gurkhas, sixty in number.”

  “We know little of goorkhas,” young Senator Avanti said. He paused, looked to his father and to Councilor Torricelli, then said in a rush, “Are these the star men who defeated the armies of Drantos and put Wanax Ganton to flight?”

  The older Signory looked away. A few put on expressions of disapproval at the rudeness.

  But no one said anything. No one rebuked him, Rick thought, and gave the young man a cold smile.

  “I would be very careful about what conclusions you draw from earlier times,” he sai
d. “It’s true that the Gurkhas were at one time in the service of the Five Kingdoms against Drantos. Now they serve me. Make no mistake; these are my loyal troops, and their power is great on land or sea, as you may already have heard.”

  “As you say,” Torricelli said. “Warlord, we are making arrangements for your fleet and your men now. Let us discuss what you will need.”

  Rick nodded satisfaction.

  “Rice,” he said. “My Gurkhas prefer rice to wheat and barley. If you have no rice, potatoes will be a poor substitute but better than wheat.”

  “We will see what is available, Warlord. What else will you require?”

  * * *

  Rick left the logistics negotiations to his staff, primarily Tribune Alantamius of the Roman fleet, who seemed to be an expert on naval logistics. There didn’t appear to be any problems, and by midafternoon, Alantamius and the Roman quartermasters reported satisfaction.

  A large anchorage area had been set aside in the inner lagoon, and a nearby island with docks was already being partly evacuated to provide space for the crews. From the smiles on the Roman officers’ faces, the provisions and quarters would be more than satisfactory, and there was more than enough room for the twenty Roman warships and the six merchant ships in the designated anchorage.

  “They have found forty bushels of rice in a trader’s warehouse, Sir,” Alantamius said with satisfaction. “That should be enough for your Gurkhas for twenty days, perhaps more. As well, there is ample wheat and barley and rye. The Nikeisian officials understand these matters well, not like some of the barbarians we’ve dealt with.”

  And they’re hardly barbarians, Rick thought. Interesting that you class them as such. Or did I misunderstand? At least you didn’t say anything about other barbarians.

  He turned to Torricelli, who stood impassively, although Rick was fairly certain the Councilor had understood the patrician officer’s remark.

  “My thanks, Councilor. The accommodations are more than adequate. I will summon the fleet.”

  “Write your orders,” Torricelli said. “A fusta will deliver them.”

  “Send your fusta with pilots to lead them in,” Rick said. “I need write no orders.”

  “But—”

  “I will, however, require a high place to stand. The top of your bell tower will suffice. Please lead me there.”

  Torricelli stood for a moment in puzzlement, then led them to a corner of the palace and indicated a steep circular stairway.

  “It is many stairs to the top,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Rick told him. He started up the stairway, followed by Warner, Alantamius, and Rick’s household card. After a moment, Torricelli climbed up after them.

  It was a steep and gloomy climb, and it went on far longer than Rick had expected. He felt like he had climbed eight stories before he reached the first balcony, and he felt short of breath when he reached the windowed landing where a balcony ran right around the top of the stairs. The stairway stopped there, but there were ladders going up from there to the bells.

  Rick estimated that they were about eighty feet above the Palazzo, and the view from the upper balcony was all he’d expected. He could see the entire inner lagoon, and across the other islands and mud flats to the Roman fleet where it maintained station. Rick estimated that the fleet was about a mile and a half to the south of the channel. He scanned about with his binoculars, more to catch his breath than for any information, then unhooked the radio from his belt.

  He smiled when the light came on. Officially, its batteries were supposed to be good for at least twelve hours, but he never felt truly confident of that. Because I know how far we are from the nearest RadioShack? Bit hard to get any more of ’em!

  “Fleet, this is Galloway,” he said in English. “Over.” When there was no answer, he said it again, using the Tran mainland language. “Fleet, this is Galloway, this is Galloway, Galloway. Over.”

  Slight static, then English.

  “Mason here, Colonel. All’s well. Over.”

  “You’ve got a home,” Rick said. “They’re sending a boat with pilots. Have the admiral follow them in. You’ll all anchor in the same place. Actually, most of you won’t anchor; there are berths and buoys. But you get the idea. The pilots will show you where to park. Let the Roman officers handle the safety of the ships. You look to the shore quarters and supplies. Over.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper. Anything new on the pirates? Over.”

  “Maybe tonight, but a night attack isn’t expected. Possibly at dawn. Over.”

  “I take it they’re friendly in Nikeis? Over.”

  “Trying hard to be, anyway. Not too sure of themselves, but they’re not likely to try anything hostile. They need us too much. Powder dry, of course. Have the star weapons in waterproofing but ready to take out at need. That’s all the star weapons, including the Gurkhas’ rifles. Relaxed but ready, that’s the status. Over.”

  “And the Musketeers? Over.”

  “Bayonets only. Don’t even think about issuing ammo aboard ship. They can guard the barracks areas when you get shore quarters, but we don’t need any accidental discharges aboard ship! For that matter, I want the gunpowder barrels ashore ASAP. Over.”

  “Understood. Powder dry, weapons dry and out of sight. Muskets okay ashore, and get all the gunpowder off the ships. And we’re to follow the pilot ship to the anchorage and make fast. Over.”

  “Affirmative. Follow him into the inner harbor. One of us will be there to show you your shore mess areas and quarters. There are supplies and local cooks and I saw plenty of fuel. Tell the captains there will be hot meals tonight, but I want half the crews to sleep aboard ship, and everyone ready to get underway in less than an hour if we spot that pirate fleet coming. We don’t know what’s coming next, so no more than half the crew off any ship at one time, and everyone—and I mean everyone—is on alert status. Troops can come ashore, but ready to get back aboard if there’s an enemy sighted. Over.”

  Rick lifted his binoculars again and smiled in approval. The Roman flagship was already hoisting signal flags, and there was activity on the other ships.

  “Art, I’m in their bell tower. You can see it—the big square tower on the southeast corner of the palace. Palace, that’s the highest building in the city, right down at water’s edge and seven stories tall, with the tower running up higher. See it? Over.”

  “Got it. Can’t quite make you out. Over.”

  “Wave something bright, Mr. Warner,” Rick ordered.

  “I see something,” Mason said. “Okay, I got your location. Over.”

  “Good. I’ll be watching from up here, just to be sure they’re leading you where they said they would. Come in single file with decent intervals, just in case the channel isn’t as open as they tell me it is. I’d hate to have more than one ship run aground. Over.”

  “So we don’t trust them? Over.”

  “Trust, sure, but powder dry, Art. They need us, and they need our weapons, and I don’t think they’re stupid. Far from it. So I doubt they think they can use our gear without us, but you never know. Powder dry. Over.”

  “Aye, aye, Colonel. One more thing. Do we try to hide His Nibs? Over.”

  “Only until you get to the anchorage and he goes ashore,” Rick said. “Someone’s sure to recognize him, so we may as well make as much as we can out of his being here. Ask him to go ashore in full regalia. That ought to amuse him. Over.”

  “Think he’ll like that?” Mason asked. Then, “There’s the pilot ship coming. Time to get started. Over.”

  “Right. Keep someone listening for the signal. I’m turning my radio to standby to save battery life. That’s it for me.”

  “Roger that. Mason out.”

  Rick turned to Torricelli.

  “Your pilot fusta has arrived, and my fleet is prepared to follow him to their berths.”

  “And you were speaking with your ships. From here,” Torricelli said in wonder. “I had heard of this capability, but I
have never seen it. And it is not magic?”

  “Not magic. Only star technology—technia?”

  “As are those binoculars.” Torricelli pronounced the unfamiliar word almost perfectly.

  “Yes. Would you care to look?”

  “Thank you.” Torricelli put the strap over his head before taking hold of the field glasses, then looked through them while adjusting the focus.

  Either he’s used binoculars before, or Captain Oranato described how in enough detail that he doesn’t need directions, Rick thought. Oranato’s probably giving lessons in using binoculars. To who? The whole Senate? Another thing to remember. They learn fast and they spread the knowledge.

  “One more thing, Councilor,” Rick said. “The Roman commander here is Publius Caesar.”

  “Publius? The heir?” Torricelli lowered the binoculars abruptly and looked at him, and he nodded. “But, My Lord, we’ve made no preparations to receive such an important person! No one told—”

  Larry Warner harrumphed.

  “Publius Caesar is the heir to the Roman Imperium, so designated by Marselius Caesar,” he said. “A very important man, but perhaps not so much greater than the Warlord of Drantos.”

  He chuckled. Torricelli’s look was pure annoyance.

  “All is well, Councilor,” Rick said. “Publius Caesar asked that we keep his presence here in confidence and has only now decided to reveal himself. He won’t expect more welcome than you can provide on this notice. Councilor, I have little knowledge of the relations between Nikeis and Rome.”