Taghri's Prize

by Peter Grant

  “For the chance to get our own back on those bastards? Shaitan, yes! – especially since we have to wait a month or two to have the galley auctioned. How much does the job pay?”

  “For you, the same rates as a sergeant-major in the Army – five staters per week, plus accommodation and food. For the men, one silver stater per week. We’ll see about supervisors; I’ll probably pay them at corporals’ or sergeants’ rates. After the ships are ready, I’ll need crews for them on an operation that may be dangerous. For those who are willing to take the chance, there’s a good chance of more loot, maybe several gold diracs each if all goes well. I also need volunteers to join a land unit during the same operation, men who know how to ride and use weapons. They’ll also get more money. They can’t talk about it, though. Officially, they’re just crewing my ships for a trading voyage.”

  Elhac’s eyes widened. The salary Taghri had offered was probably more than he’d made as skipper of a baglah. “For money like that, sir, you’ll get your volunteers!”

  “Remember, loot can’t be guaranteed, and there may be casualties; but by the time we’re ready, I’ll be able to tell everyone more. Not a word to them about that until I tell you, all right? This is just between you and I for now.”

  “Yessir!”

  “I’ve hired a boat. Let’s go over to those ships and look around. I want your professional opinion of how much work it’ll take to make them seaworthy. It’ll be done either at anchor, or careened on a beach. I want one ship ready as quickly as possible, to ferry supplies for us. I want a list of the tools and materials you’ll need, and how long it’ll take to do the work. By this afternoon, I’ll know how much money is available. If it’s enough, you’ll have to hire the men to do the work from among the former rowers of Sidi Reis’ crew. We’ll leave within a week.”

  “For money like that, I reckon they’ll all want to come. Most have been finding odd laboring jobs around the harbor while waiting for the auction of the galley, but you’ll pay much better.”

  “If we can afford them, I’ll take them. Come on, the boat’s waiting.”

  The afternoon dragged on as Taghri waited in his room at the Peacock Inn for word from the Governor. He was frustrated, on tenterhooks, but he could do no more until he knew the money would be there to pay for his plans.

  He passed the time by cleaning the weapons he’d gleaned from the palace armory the evening before. It had been like a cornucopia of armaments. They were not in standard service sizes or patterns, so the Army and coastal patrol hadn’t wanted them; but that didn’t bother him at all. He’d spent more than two hours with the officer of the watch and four of his guards, going through all the swords and daggers, choosing the best balanced and highest quality blades. He’d gathered a hundred of each, and also selected a dozen crossbows, a dozen horse bows, quivers and barrels of bolts and arrows, a score of spears, two dozen battle-axes, and a hundred bucklers.

  For himself, he’d picked out a straight sword, a scimitar, a short sword and two daggers, one curved, one straight. Each had been the finest of its type that he’d found, well balanced, in excellent condition. The horse pistols would be suitable replacements for his pedrenyal; not as accurate, but rugged and reliable. The two cased sets were of smaller pistols with shorter barrels. One set had belt hooks, useful to retain them in his sash or belt ready for use. The guns came with bullet molds, powder measures, and spare flints. All had snaphaunce locks, as did the arquebus, instead of the latter’s usual old-fashioned matchlock. He’d deliberately chosen firearms so equipped due to their greater reliability, although he knew that in bad weather, they were still likely to malfunction. That was the risk one took with such weapons, and was one reason why bows, crossbows and slings were still in widespread use in the Army.

  To his delight, the Armory had also held a keg of small-corned gunpowder, far more efficient and faster-burning – and much more expensive – than the usual sifted powder used by the infantry. Where it had come from, no-one seemed to know, but it was logged as a recent acquisition, and was still in perfect condition. He’d taken it with him, along with a supply of lead to cast balls for his new weapons. He didn’t think the innkeeper would appreciate a highly explosive cask being stored in one of his rooms, but with luck he wouldn’t learn about it until it was gone.

  He was already wearing his last acquisition underneath his outer clothing. Hanging from a hook in a dark corner of the armory had been an old-fashioned mail coat – but this was no ordinary mail. It was much finer than the usual coarse, large-diameter rings, and must have been fabricated in one of the Feringhi cities whose smiths specialized in such work. Its small rings were perfectly formed, each linked to all those around it, almost stab-proof even against a fine point. It would not keep out a close-range projectile from a crossbow or firearm, but would offer good protection against bladed weapons. How it had escaped the notice of some acquisitive officer he could not imagine, for mail of such high quality was rare and very expensive. He’d taken full advantage of the Governor’s generosity, and added it to his selections. That sort of hidden protection could be a life-saver. He’d buy soft cotton undershirts to wear beneath it before he left the city.

  He’d finished the cleaning, and was loading the last of the pistols when Ferrer, on sentry duty outside, put his head around the door. “Messenger from the Governor, sir.”

  Taghri looked up eagerly. “Send him in!”

  The messenger handed over a leather satchel that chinked encouragingly, and a sealed scroll. Taghri broke the seal and unrolled it, reading swiftly. He closed it, and said to the messenger, “Please tell his excellency that I’ll begin work at once. Ask him whether I may have a private audience at the third hour tomorrow afternoon, to give him a list of all that will be needed to help train the caravan guards.”

  “I shall, sir.”

  As the messenger left, Taghri said to Ferrer, “Get the sergeant-major for me, please, quick as you can. Oh – can you find me up to ten more slingers as good as you are?”

  “There are some more Balric Islanders in town, sir. I can ask them.”

  “Talk to the sergeant-major after we finish, then see what you can do for us.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  As Ferrer hurried off, Taghri opened the satchel and looked at the money inside. The Governor had written that he’d been able to raise three hundred diracs from several merchants in return for repayment of the loans plus sponsors’ shares in any proceeds. He hoped that would be enough.

  It was much less than the five hundred Taghri wanted: but he’d earned over a hundred diracs from the sale of Sidi Reis’ cabin furniture and fixtures, and had the equivalent of about three hundred more in the satchel from the galley’s treasure chest. It would be worth investing two hundred diracs of his own money in this venture as well. If all went well, as part sponsor, he’d earn a great deal more than that. If it didn’t… well, he needn’t worry about that, because he would most likely be dead.

  He heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor. Hadi entered the room, snapping to a position of attention. “You wanted me, sir?”

  “We’re going ahead with the plan.” He gestured to the satchel, and Hadi’s eyes gleamed. “Start looking for the men we’ll need. I’m going back to the harbor to tell Elhac to do the same. Bring your son to see me tonight. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll start spending this money.”

  “On my way, sir!”

  6

  As the column of horsemen trotted down the slope towards the small fishing village of Barkah, Taghri looked eagerly at the old fortress set on the hill behind the town. It certainly looked run-down. Its doors were missing, and sand had drifted halfway up its windward wall. He couldn’t see the state of the buildings inside, but he was sure they wouldn’t amount to much. That was of little importance. The men would sleep out under the stars, good training for what they’d do within a few weeks while in raider territory. The old fort would offer a secure base for their supplies, stabling for their
animals, and a training facility that would be hard-used over the next four or five weeks.

  The village itself was small, no more than a dozen tumbledown cottages. Four fishing boats were run up on the beach, with fish drying racks beyond them. Taghri had learned that no-one lived here during the winter, because the prevailing winds during that season were unfavorable, driving storms directly into the bay. A few families moved here during late spring every year, dried and salted their catch during the summer, and took it to market in early autumn. He grinned to himself. Their routine was about to be severely disrupted, but he’d pay them well by way of compensation. He didn’t think they’d complain about having to leave with more money and less dried fish.

  He turned his attention to the six vessels now riding at anchor close to the shore. He’d bought all those that could be economically repaired. They’d been sailed, rowed and towed here by the former slaves from the raider galley, who’d enlisted to a man. They had caulked the worst leaks and overhauled the rigging in the harbor, making them at least somewhat seaworthy. Filling the ships with hundreds of tons of repair materials, food and other supplies, they had sailed and towed them down the coast to Barkah, arriving ahead of the column. The sailors had already set up tents for themselves along the shore, separated from the fishing village by a stream that ran down to the sea.

  The smallest two vessels were bedans, twenty-five to thirty feet long, rowed by up to a dozen oarsmen, with a single mast bearing a small lateen sail. They were a similar design to the fishing boats drawn up on the beach. There were two boums, two to three times as large, higher at the stern than at the bow, propelled by two masts carrying lateen sails. Finally, two large baglahs were over a hundred feet long, able to carry several hundred tons of cargo. They and the boums were capable of deep-sea navigation, while the smaller craft would usually travel within sight of land.

  Riding beside him, Sergeant-Major Hadi pointed to a trench being dug from the tide line upward by a group of sailors. “What are they doing, sir?”

  “That’ll be to bring the ships ashore. They’ll ground them at high tide, then pull them over to one side or the other using ropes from the top of their masts. At low tide, while the ship’s tilted over, they can repair the stitching holding the planks together, scrape off any weeds, and apply a new coat of lime and mutton fat, to protect the wood against worms. They’ll then haul her over the other way and do the other side of the hull. When she’s finished, they’ll haul her off at high tide again, and ground the next ship in the same way.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work, sir.”

  “I’m sure it is. We’ll probably all be helping them from time to time, because I want everyone to know how to board and disembark from a ship, just in case. There’s no better way to learn about them than to work on repairing them, alongside the sailors.”

  Hadi made a face. “I’d rather stick to dry land, sir. I went to sea thrice on Army transports, and was sick as a dog every time.”

  “I understand. Still, you never know.” His voice was noncommittal. The sergeant-major glanced sharply at him, but refrained from any further comment.

  The column drew up outside the fort, and Taghri summoned the section leaders. “Lay out horse lines over there for today, and picket the horses in four rows. Assign a section to unsaddle, feed and water them. Everyone else is to dump their packs over there by sub-units, shed their weapons, and form up at the gates. One group will tackle the stables, one will clear the parade ground, a third will clean the administration building, and a fourth will tackle the barracks. I want everything swept out, clear of sand, and ready to use by tomorrow morning, even if it means working late into the night. I’ll have some of those sailors, standing around watching us, come over and help. The sooner the fort’s ready, the sooner we can get our horses into the stables, unload our supplies from the ships, and get to work.”

  The next five weeks were filled with exhausting, draining, back-breaking work for everyone.

  There were twenty-six troopers, corporals and sergeants, all veterans. To supplement their number, Taghri invited volunteers from among the freed galley slaves, provided they were at least basically familiar with weapons, able to ride, and fit enough to stand up to the rigors of training. Fifty-seven of them tried it, but almost a third of them gave up on the very first day, unable to take the pace. Eventually, thirty-two would qualify to fight alongside the soldiers.

  The troops began each day before dawn, with a two-mile run through the soft sand of the dunes behind the beach, led by Taghri himself. Many fell out at first, unable to complete the course, but they were mercilessly whipped to their feet by corporals and sergeants and made to shamble onward as best they could. They tried to curse their tormentors, but didn’t have enough breath or energy to do so at first. As they grew fitter and stronger, their grumbling became louder, but Taghri only smiled. In his experience, the time to worry was when soldiers didn’t complain. He extended the distance by another mile every week. By the end of a month, everyone was completing a five-mile course in a reasonably fast time. As a reward, he extended the final week’s daily run to eight miles. Nobody thanked him for that.

  After breakfast, mornings were taken up with caring for their mounts, learning to handle them in column of march, disguising their tracks by muffling their hooves with sackcloth, and improving their riding skills. Each soldier rode one horse while leading a pack horse. They did not expect to fight while leading them, but just in case, the pack animals were trained to stand still and wait if their lead ropes were dropped. The riders were exercised in rapid loading and unloading of the pack saddles. They were not told why, which mystified some; but others reminded them about the loot that had been mentioned as an incentive to join the unit. Anticipation grew.

  After a mammoth midday meal to make up for all the energy they were burning, and a rest during the hottest period of the day, the soldiers spent from mid-afternoon to early evening exercising with their weapons. Everyone did an hour’s sword drill in pairs, using wooden training blades, changing partners every second day. After that, the men split into teams of three swordsmen, one slinger and one archer, equipped with either a crossbow or a composite horse bow. The teams learned to fight together, the archer and slinger engaging more distant targets while the swordsmen protected them from nearby threats. The swordsmen took it in turns to serve as horse-holders, pulling their team’s animals back, clear of the fight, but ready to bring them up at a run if needed.

  To simulate fighting through village streets and houses, Taghri used the fort’s walls, buildings and rooms. The men learned to protect each other as they moved, and the likely places where an enemy might ambush them from cover. As the days and weeks passed, they began to work together like well-oiled machines. Axes and spears were used to cut or thrust through obstacles and kill defenders at a distance, rather than risk injury themselves in a close-range fight. Bucklers served as both defensive tools, warding off sword and dagger strokes, and offensive weapons, their iron-bound edges inflicting painful cuts and bruises on enemy arms, bodies and faces.

  After another huge meal, the men were free for the rest of the evening to repair their kit, relax and unwind – but the alarm could be and was sounded at any hour, sometimes more than once each night. The men were expected to be up, armed and in their sections in thirty seconds, ready to repel an attack. After the first such exercise, Taghri pointed out that they could sleep naked if they chose, but then they’d be fighting that way too, making vulnerable parts of their anatomy an irresistible target. After the laughter died down, most of the soldiers began to sleep in at least minimal clothing, despite the midsummer heat.

  From the third week onward, Taghri added night exercises to the training routine, teaching the men how to move as silently as possible in the darkness, on horseback or on foot. He also had them start training with small earthenware jars he ordered from Alconteral. Filled with liquid, they weighed over half a pound. They filled them with seawater, then practiced hu
rling them to shatter against rocks. Once most had achieved an acceptable level of accuracy, Taghri filled some of the jars with naphtha, and stuffed naphtha-soaked rags into their necks to act as fuses. The sailors erected a few makeshift huts using scrap timber from the ships under repair. The men threw the naphtha jars at them to set them on fire. The results were impressive.

  While the soldiers worked themselves to exhaustion, the sailors did the same. Each ship in turn was careened, repaired, and its hull caulked. A fresh coat of lime was applied below the waterline. Once refloated, seamen ran new rigging to support the masts and the heavy booms with their lateen sails, scraped and sanded the decks and bulwarks to remove splinters, and made sure that hawsers, ropes, winches, steering oars, hatch covers, water barrels and other necessities of shipboard life were all in good working order. The stinking sand ballast, foul after years submerged in dirty bilge water, was removed, the bilges were cleaned out, and rocks added as new ballast, gathered inland and loaded onto the pack saddles as part of the troops’ training.

  The ships used up supplies at an astonishing rate, consuming everything they’d brought with them before the job was two-thirds completed. Taghri had to authorize the emergency purchase of more supplies in Alconteral. Elhac took a newly-repaired baglah to collect them. He returned glowing with pride in his new command.

  “She’s a fast ship, sir, and weatherly,” he reported to Taghri. “I don’t know what you’re planning for her, but I hope I can stay in command when you do.”

  “You’re going to have to command all the ships we use, not just one. You’d better pick a good subordinate to take some of the load off your shoulders.”

  “I’ve already done that, sir. We barely have officers enough for the four larger ships. The bedans can be commanded by petty officers.”