by Peter Grant
By the fifth hour of the afternoon, all was ready. Abandoning all pretense of official impartiality, Hamid Bousaid came down to the quayside to bid them farewell and watch the ships set off. “The citizens of Alconteral have invested a great deal of their savings in this venture,” he reminded Taghri, “not least two hundred diracs of my own, plus the same from the province’s treasury. Please don’t place that investment at too great a hazard!”
“I’ll do my best, your excellency, but a certain amount of risk is unavoidable. I’ll try to keep it as low as possible, for my own sake and my men’s, as well as the investors.”
“When will we hear from you concerning your success?”
“I think it won’t be in less than three weeks from now, your excellency, and it might be four or five.”
The Governor’s eyebrows rose. “So long? You must be going a long way.”
Taghri still hadn’t told anyone where he planned to attack. He deflected the Governor’s implied question by shrugging. “That’s how long it will take, your excellency.” He couldn’t tell him that he dared not send word back to Alconteral until he’d had time to make other arrangements elsewhere, assuming that the attack succeeded. If all went as he hoped, the Sultan might be upset at being presented with a fait accompli, but he wouldn’t be able to do much about it. That being so, better to make sure that all other factors were in order before giving away too much.
Elhac came up, bowing to the Governor. “All the ships are loaded, sir,” he reported to Taghri. “We’re ready to sail.”
“In that case, let’s be on our way. I hope to have good news for your excellency soon.”
Hamid Bousaid sighed. “You continue to be very mysterious about where you’re going and what you’re going to do there. I hope your success will justify this secrecy.”
“You can’t possibly hope that as much, or as strongly, as I do, your excellency.”
The Governor stood and watched as, one after another, the five ships – the chebec, two baghlahs and two boums – cast off their lines, poled away from the quayside, hoisted their sails, and made their way slowly out of the harbor on the evening breeze. They shook out into line astern, turned southwest, and headed away from Alconteral into the gathering dusk.
21
Taghri wormed forward on his stomach, staying low to the ground. He didn’t want a sentry to spot his movement in the moonlight, and raise the alarm. He came to the edge of the clearing, picked a small bush that would break up the outline of his head, and peered downward.
The small bastion jutted up and out from the solid rock of the headland. It was perfectly positioned to see up and down the coast to either side, and also across the other, lower headland to the far side of the Bay of Gaidah. The barrels of four cannon protruded from the walls, big, heavy guns, twenty-four-pounders. It must have taken oceans of sweat from slave laborers to haul them up the vertical cliffs from ships to this place, using only rope, block and tackle, after first hoisting the rocks and mortar from which the bastion had been built. However, if one was heedless of lives lost and bodies crippled in the process – and Abu Reis was nothing if not spendthrift with his slaves – then that wouldn’t have been too much of an obstacle.
The resulting fortification was almost inaccessible, except along a narrow, rocky path with a dozen very tight switchback turns, leading up to the headland from well inside the bay. The bastion was too far up the side of the cliff for ships’ cannon to hit it; they could not be elevated to that high an angle in their carriages. There was no place within a day’s sailing along the coast where more than a few troops could be landed in safety, and there was no beach along which they could approach to attack from seaward. The bastion could defend the entire Bay of Gaidah against unwanted vessels, and warn the pirates of any attack long before it could arrive. They would have plenty of time to man their galleys, row into position, and bombard any ships trying to navigate the narrow entrance to the bay. Combined with plunging fire from the bastion, using red-hot cannonballs heated in the furnace visible in one corner of the ramparts, the pirates’ position was well-nigh impregnable.
Taghri knew that two sentries were supposed to be on watch on the ramparts, every hour of the day or night, but he couldn’t see anyone. An open door at one end of the wall showed a dim light, as if a candle or lantern were burning inside. Perhaps they were in there? He swore beneath his breath. Untrustworthy soldiers on one’s own side were bad enough, but unreliable enemies could spoil one’s whole plan, because they weren’t predictable. He knew there were supposed to be fifty men on duty in the bastion at any one time, with the guard changing weekly. However, given the pirates’ losses against the chebec and Malik Dregat’s galley four months ago, it was unlikely they could spare enough men to send a full watch at a time. How many would there be? In Abu Reis’ shoes, Taghri would have insisted on at least thirty, enough to man two of the four cannon in an emergency.
He slid back from the edge, turned, and waved with his right hand. Four crossbowmen moved forward silently from the rear of the clearing, and got down on their bellies as they drew near and gathered around.
“There’s no-one on the ramparts,” Taghri told them in a soft murmur, which would not carry as far at night as a sibilant whisper. “I think the sentries are asleep in a guardroom at one end of the battlements. I’ll go down and join the assault party. You keep watch from up here. I’ll look up as we draw near. You must wave a white rag to warn us if you see anyone come out. We’ll see it in this bright moonlight, and wait until the ramparts are clear again, which you’ll signal in the same way. If whoever comes out doesn’t go back inside again after a few minutes, watch for my signal – also a white rag. If I give it, shoot whoever’s up there as we approach. Also, after the fighting starts, shoot anyone who appears with an arquebus or pistol. We aren’t carrying any, so you’ll know they’re not us. We daren’t have gunshots alerting the pirates at the harbor that something’s wrong. Got it?”
“Yessir!” “Aye, sir.” “Understood, sir.” The whispered replies came in unison.
“Good. Move forward to the edge, take your positions, and stand by.”
Taghri scrambled down the rocky slope to where the assault party waited. They’d landed six parasangs up the coast the previous night, penetrated the coastal mountains through a narrow, tortuous valley, and marched down inland, behind their barrier. The march had been agonizingly hot and dry. They’d reached the bay as the sun was setting, rejoicing in the suddenly cooler and greener conditions within its enclosing mountains as they made their silent, cautious way to the path leading up to the bastion. The pirates had clearly not considered it necessary to defend against such an approach, presumably because the surrounding terrain was so desolate. They’d probably assumed that no invaders would be able to traverse it with sufficient troops to mount an attack. However, they hadn’t allowed for a small raiding party that would open the way for a seaborne assault.
Taghri’s party had drunk more than two waterskins each during the approach march, and had longed for more in the heat, oppressive even in early summer. He admitted to himself that, even after the warnings of the slaves he’d released, he hadn’t made enough allowance for the harsh conditions. Here, high above the peninsula’s low-lying fertile area, it was also harsh and barren. The bastion had a cistern, which was supposed to be filled by rain from the clouds that sometimes gathered over the intersection of cooler ocean and warmer land. However, if it didn’t fall, then slaves had to carry water up the path to the bastion, in barrels slung from an oar carried between two men. The slaves weren’t allowed to drink along the way, up or down. All the water was reserved for the garrison. However, the suffering of the freed slaves had not been in vain, because they’d been able to describe the path to him in detail, as well as the interior of the bastion.
The waiting men came to their feet when they saw him. He motioned them to gather around. “All right,” he said in a low voice. “There are no sentries on the rampart, and
our crossbowmen will warn us if any come out. You all know what to do. Let’s move fast, and very quietly. Time presses. Climbers, when you scale the ramparts, on the extreme right is an open door with a dim light coming through it. I think the two sentries are asleep in there. As soon as you’re up, two of you check it and kill them silently if they’re there, while the other two open the doors.”
The men broke into their teams without needing further instruction. Four men carried two poles around which rings of rope had been tied every foot or so. They moved to the front of the formation, along with four men who’d taken off their heavy footwear, and were now wearing thin-soled sailcloth shoes. The rest took their places behind them.
Taghri led the group in a silent, disciplined rush up the last section of the path and into sight of the double doors of the bastion. He glanced up at the crossbowmen, but no white rag could be seen. The four men holding the poles ran to the walls on either side of the doors. They raised the poles upright, leaning the tops – padded to prevent noise – against the ramparts, and braced them with their feet and body weight. The sailcloth-shod men shimmied up the poles, moving with great agility. Taghri had selected the best mast-climbers aboard his ships for this duty. Within seconds they reached the top of the poles, and vanished over the ramparts, drawing their daggers.
There was a brief pause, then a soft scraping from inside the doors, presumably caused by the removal of a locking bar. The right-hand door swung slowly back, accompanied by what seemed to Taghri’ tense, magnified senses to be a creaking of hinges loud enough to wake the devil. He winced in anguish, but no-one else seemed to notice. There were no shouts of alarm from inside.
The men drew their swords and daggers as they hurried through the open door, spreading out inside, forming groups previously detailed to attend to various tasks. No orders were necessary – they had all been given beforehand. They went about their work as two of the pole-climbers appeared at the door Taghri had seen at the end of the ramparts, holding knives in their hands. One signaled to him, a reassuring wave, and he felt relief wash over him. The sentries would not give the alarm.
A sudden clamor broke out from the barracks, a lean-to structure against one wall. It was a cacophony of yelling, shouting, screaming, and the clash of metal on metal. Clearly, the group assigned to silence the rest of the garrison had run into some opposition. Taghri and the support party waited outside, ready to intervene if called for, but otherwise leaving the attackers to handle their mission without interference. In the darkness inside, with only the barest glimmer of moonlight making its way through the few small window openings, there was too much likelihood of confusion and attacking their own people.
The noise wavered and died down, a last few scattered cries and screams giving way to a silence that told its own story. A brief pause, then there was a flicker of light from inside. Taghri knew that the two lantern bearers had opened the shutters of their candle lanterns, using their minimal light to look for the larger lamps that were sure to be there. Within moments, brighter light appeared as the wicks of the lamps were lit. Taghri moved to the door and looked inside.
The bodies of the defenders lay tumbled about the room, many of them still lying in their beds, where they’d obviously been killed silently before the others had been woken by some noise or other. The leader of the attack group stepped forward as his men gathered up all the weapons in the room, and checked to make sure that all the enemy were dead, using daggers to make sure of it where necessary.
“I made it thirty-two men, sir. We killed them all.”
“What are our casualties?”
“Five dead, sir, and some badly hurt. Several minor wounds.”
Taghri nodded, exhaling softly with mingled regret and relief. Some casualties had been inevitable among the attackers, but those numbers were very light in comparison to the number of defenders. Surprise had stood them in good stead. He waited for the final numbers while small teams of men searched the entire bastion, looking into every room, checking that the powder magazine was secured, and gathering up every weapon in the place.
“Six dead, now, sir, and two too badly hurt to move,” the attack team leader reported at last. “We’ve got another half-dozen with flesh wounds, who want to come with us for the next stage of the attack.”
“No. We’ll leave them here, to see to the more seriously hurt and make sure no-one else gets in here. Appoint a good sergeant in command, and leave him four able-bodied men. They can start by clearing out the enemy bodies. Pitch them over the ramparts into the sea. The sharks will take care of them. They’re to clean up the blood as best they can, but mustn’t use all the drinking water. I want one of the two poles we brought to be erected as a flagstaff on the ramparts, visible from the sea and the bay. Have them run halyards to it. I’ll provide a flag in due course. Tell the sergeant to bar the doors behind us when we leave, and keep a sentry on the ramparts at all times. I’ll send relief as soon as we can, and bring the wounded down for treatment. Meanwhile, they can see if there’s anything worth looting up here.”
He could see the gleam of the man’s teeth in the gloom as he chuckled. “I’ll tell them, sir. The cistern looks to be full, and there’s the rations for the garrison, so they won’t go hungry or thirsty.”
“Good. Gather the men together while I give the signal. Where are the lantern bearers?”
“Here, sir,” one of them called, coming forward.
“Light this for me.”
Taghri took a small oil lamp out of his pack, filled its fuel tank, and had the lantern bearer use his candle to light its wick. A small flame bloomed as he slid the red glass chimney down over the wick and adjusted it. He hurried up to the ramparts, and crossed to the seaward wall. He positioned the lamp carefully on the outermost section, atop one of the crenellations, where it would be visible to his ships at sea and the team waiting by the slave pens. It could not be seen from the harbor, but he’d already made arrangements to deal with that.
He hurried down to the courtyard again. His men had gathered there, ready for the next step. As he reached them, the four crossbowmen hurried through the doors, breathing hard. They had run down from their position to join the others, not wanting to miss anything.
“Well done, everyone,” he called, no longer needing to keep his voice down. “We’ve opened the way for our ships. Let’s get down to the bay, so they can pick us up for the main attack.”
He turned on his heel and ran through the doors, heading for the path down the steep and rocky hillside. With a cheer, his men followed him.
The group of fourteen men waiting on the mountainside above the harbor were galvanized by a hiss from their leader as he peered through a spyglass. “Red light outside the slave pens! That means Taghri’s taken the bastion, and our people there can see his signal. Time for us to move!”
He led the group out of the bushes at the base of the mountain slope. Careful not to make a sound, they climbed a ladder laid against the side of the aqueduct, long since dry after the evening’s ration of water had been dispensed. They formed single file and crept along the channel towards the fort.
The aqueduct led right into and through the wall of the fort. Unforgivably, in the scout’s opinion, there was no sentry patrolling the inner wall to guard against intruders coming from the village side – only on the outer wall. All fourteen of the raiding party made it inside without being detected. As the aqueduct emerged on the far side of the wall, beneath the shadow cast by the water tower, the scout led the men out of the channel and down a flight of stairs to the base.
“All right,” he breathed. “Divide up into your parties and clear your sectors. Remember, no noise!”
Over the next ten minutes, the six men nominally on sentry duty were silenced, one by one. Knives did for three of them. One was clubbed down as he emerged from the privy. Two were asleep at their posts, and encouraged to remain that way by blows from the pommel of a dagger. The six guards set to relieve them were all asleep in t
he guardroom on the dungeon level, and were swiftly dispatched by sword- and knife-wielding men as soon as there was no living enemy close enough to hear the disturbance. Their cries of agony could not penetrate the thick walls that surrounded them.
“Good work,” the chief scout commended his men. “Now, divide into twos and check every single room in the place. Move slowly and carefully, and make no noise. Report back to me when you’re sure we’ve accounted for everyone inside the walls.”
Another ten minutes sufficed to check the rest of the fort. One of the raiders brought a ring of keys with him when he returned. “The gunner was in his quarters, asleep,” he reported. “He won’t be waking up again. I checked that the magazine was safely locked, and brought his keys to make sure it stays that way. There’s another room next to it, double-locked, but none of these keys fit it.”
“Probably Abu Reis’ treasury. Never mind it for now. You four, get to the main gate and stand by to open it when I tell you. Stay in the shadow of the gateway until the fun starts, so you’ll be harder to see. The rest of you, get all the garrison’s crossbows and take them up to the walls. Wind and cock them all, and put bolts in their channels. When the time comes, shoot down anyone who tries to interfere with those opening the gate, and any leaders who try to organize a defense.”
“Wonder how those at the slave pens are doing?” another scout asked.
“You don’t see anything or hear any noise from there, do you?”
“Well… no.”
“Then they’re doing just fine. We’d know if anything had gone wrong, because the sentries there would have found some way to warn the people here.”