by Peter Grant
Sure enough, the four guards on duty at the slave pens, and four more in their beds in the guardroom there, had all been dealt with by the six raiders assigned to the task. They moved among the rows of chained slaves, speaking in low voices. Their message was the same. “Stay quiet and don’t make a sound. We’re here to free you. No, we won’t unlock your chains yet. Wait until we’ve dealt with the rest of the pirates. We’ll be here to protect you from any of them who come this way.”
“But there’s only six of you!” a slave objected. “What if too many of them come for you to handle?”
“We’ve got help coming soon. Don’t worry. Just lie there quietly, and wait for help to arrive.”
Taghri climbed the side of the chebec as fast as he could, to be greeted by Elhac and Prasad at the bulwark. “We did it,” he told them as he hauled himself aboard.
“I knew you would, sir,” Elhac assured him as he wrung his hand in greeting. “What were your losses?”
“Six dead and several wounded. They’re still up at the bastion, along with some others, until we can relieve them. The rest are in the bedan.” He gestured to the small craft that had picked them up from the shore. “You had no trouble getting through the entrance to the bay?”
Elhac snorted. “Sir, I went through here two dozen times or more, rowing their damned galleys. I had plenty of opportunity to hear the pirate skippers and their officers. They just followed the leading marks until the bay opened out in front of them, then turned to port and headed for the harbor. That’s also where I learned the soundings I entered on that chart I drew for you. It’s narrow, but not a difficult passage, even at night, provided there’s enough moonlight to pick up landmarks. The redoubt could have stopped us, but you took care of that.”
“Good.” Taghri noticed one of the boums heading off to the right. “She’s on her way to the slave pens, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. The bedan she’s towing has one of the grasshoppers aboard, and there are ten men plus the gun’s crew. Together with the shore party, they should be enough to protect the slaves from any stray pirates.”
“I’m sure they will. She’s carrying extra weapons, too, so they can arm up to fifty freed slaves if they need to.”
Prasad grinned. “They’ll have more than enough reason to want revenge, if it comes to a fight.”
The moon was high in the sky, and the headlands on either side of the entrance to the Bay of Gaidah stood out clearly. The sea was calm, and the tide had just turned. A gentle onshore breeze wafted silently through the rigging, gently filling the sails, easing the ships towards the land.
Taghri took a deep breath. “Very well. Signal the others to follow us, and let’s get started.”
“Aye, sir.”
Elhac motioned to a seaman standing at the rear rail. He picked up a lantern with a red filter over its directional lens, and held it up high, waving it to and fro. After thirty seconds, he lowered it.
“Tiller half to port. Hands to the braces. Let’s take her in.”
The chebec leaned a little further over as her sails hardened. The water began to chuckle beneath her bow as she turned towards the harbor across the bay.
22
Abu Reis moaned as he thrashed to and fro in his ornate bed. Nightmare visions swirled in his mind, inchoate images of revenge and retribution by his enemies amid a growing sense of horror. They grew too much to bear, and he woke with a start, sitting up, staring around wildly until he realized where he was.
“It’s a curse, that’s what it is!” he muttered to himself as he reached for the cup on his bedside table, drinking deeply of the wine it contained. “Ever since Sidi disobeyed me and stole that knife, things have gone from bad to worse. First he gets himself killed, then I lose Riad and Harith as well, and their three ships, and far too many of my best men besides. Damn the evil luck! What did I do to deserve such ill fortune?”
As if in answer to his question, a raucous squawk came from outside his open window. He jumped in shock, dropping the cup and spilling its contents over his bedclothes as fear crossed his face. “What was that? It can’t be!”
He’d never forgotten the old woman’s prophecy in Balhuf, so many years before. She’d been quite certain about it, no doubt in her voice. “Avoid the raven, Abu Reis. Ravens will be the death of you in the end. Ware the raven!” That was one of the reasons he’d annexed the Bay of Gaidah to be his home. There were no ravens in the mountains above and around it… or, at least, there had been none until now. He wavered for a moment, then shook his head violently. “Can’t be! Even if any lived here, ravens wouldn’t be out in the small hours of the morning.”
As if to mock his feeble attempt at reassuring himself, the unnerving cry came again, even louder. Frantically he kicked back the covers and tumbled out of bed. Recovering his balance, he strode to the open window and looked outside – then shouted aloud in horror. A whole row of ravens was sitting along the rail of his bedroom balcony, staring up at him. As he appeared, they opened their beaks and cawed in unison, a strident cacophony of discordance.
He stared at them for a moment, as if mesmerized, then lifted his eyes to the harbor and the bay beyond. The moonlight showed two large sailing vessels, standing just off the beach beyond the town. Smaller craft were landing men and what looked like small cannons on the shore. A third ship was landing more men on the fishing beach on the far side of town, and a fourth was visible in the moonlight near the slave pens, probably doing the same thing.
Another sailing ship of some kind, narrower and longer than he’d ever seen in a trading vessel, with an unusual rig, was patrolling his harbor. Two smaller oar-driven craft were nearing his galleys, clearly meaning to board them. With a sickening lurch, he remembered that they had no anchor watches aboard. His recent losses had meant he didn’t have enough men to spare for that purpose. They were moored, unmanned and defenseless, against the harbor wall, with his two boums further along. Only the guns of the fort could protect them… but why had the fort not raised the alarm, and opened fire on the intruders? For that matter, why had the bastion at the entrance to the bay not fired on the ships as they tried to enter?
With a sudden jolt in the pit of his stomach, he realized that only one explanation was possible. The intruders, whoever they were, had sent infiltrators ahead of their landing force. They probably already controlled the bastion, and must have taken the fortress as well – and with it, the pirates’ main armory, and his treasury too. His only hope was to rally his men to fight like demons with whatever weapons they had to hand; but to win against such odds, they had to come together. Fighting as individuals or families, they’d be mopped up piecemeal, and could not mount an effective defense.
He rushed out onto the balcony, scattering the ravens, who flew off with derisive caws of disdain. He ignored them. “Alarm! ALARM!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “We are under attack! Everyone gather in the square! GATHER IN THE SQUARE!”
He braced himself against the railing, panting with shock and surprise, as the first shouts from his men and their families reached him, repeating his urgent call up and down the length of the village. Within seconds, figures began to race into the square below him, some wearing nightclothes, a few wearing hastily donned clothing and armor, one wearing nothing at all. They were wielding swords, daggers, spades, sticks – anything that came to hand. They ran towards him, looking up, shouting questions.
He opened his mouth to yell orders.
On the battlements of the fort, one of the attack party saw and heard an older man run out onto the upper balcony of the largest house in the square, and shout the alarm. He didn’t know who he was, and didn’t care. All that mattered was that the pirates were obeying his orders. That made him a leader – and a target.
He nudged the man next to him. “Rauf, you’re better with a crossbow than I am. Get him!”
“I see him.” His companion wriggled into a better position, and lined his crossbow. There was a thump as the bolt sho
t out of its channel and soared across the square. They watched as the old man staggered, clutching his stomach, screaming in pain as he fell back into the room behind him.
“Good shot!”
Rauf didn’t bother to reply. He hauled on the cocking lever and laid another bolt in the track, then looked for anyone else trying to organize the pirates or give orders.
Below him, the four men standing at the gates heard Abu Reis’ warning shout, and knew the time had come. Without waiting for orders, they withdrew the locking bar and swung the gates wide open. The leader pointed down the slope, where running men were already drawing near from the beach. “They’re almost here! We’ve only got to hold the gate for a few moments, and the town will be ours!”
“And here come those miniature cannon!” Another pointed to two grasshoppers, which were bouncing and jolting as they were hauled along behind enthusiastic gunners, helped by other raiders, grinning like fiends. More were following them.
The leader yelled, “Everyone back inside! Fight in pairs! Guard each other’s backs! Don’t let those bastards close the gates!”
On the fishing beach at the far side of the village, the assault party had already formed up. They dragged two grasshopper cannon through the sand and up the path that led to the houses. Their crews hurriedly aimed them up the road running through the center of the village, and loaded them with grapeshot.
The commander of the party scanned swiftly. Pirates were pouring out of their houses and running headlong towards the square in front of the fort. They didn’t even glance behind them at the fishing beach. He grinned to himself. Time to enlighten them. He raised his voice. “Gunners, clear the street! Break up any groups of pirates that form! Stop them getting organized!”
In answer, there were two short, sharp explosions as the cannons fired. Iron grapeshot, each weighing over a quarter of a pound and aimed deliberately low, ricocheted off the stone and hard-packed sand of the road and sped onward at knee height. Half a dozen pirates shrieked in agony as their legs were cut out from under them. The others skidded to a halt and twisted around, fear coming to their faces as they realized they were under attack from two sides.
The gun crews reloaded, working in urgent competition with each other. One man shoved a dampened sponge down the bore, extinguishing any burning fragments left inside. He pulled it out and reversed it as another thrust a combined grapeshot-and-powder bagged cartridge into the muzzle. The first gunner used the other end of the sponge stave to ram it down the barrel. A third man slid a needle-like pricker down the touch-hole, to pierce the powder compartment of the cloth cartridge, then followed it with a quill filled with fine-milled gunpowder. The gun captain waited impatiently – although the whole process took no more than ten seconds – then yelled, “Clear the gun!” As the crew stepped backward, his deputy hastily aimed the cannon roughly up the street, then jumped out of the way as the gun captain touched the top of the quill with a smoldering linstock. The grasshopper blurted flame and smoke, and another load of grapeshot slammed into the gathering defenders. A moment later, the second gun did likewise.
“Pound ’em, boys! Pound them!” The gun crews needed no second bidding.
As the cannon held off the pirates in the street, a large group of archers and slingers ran up to and out along the aqueduct. They watched for any pirates trying to escape up the hillside into the mountains. Anyone who tried was targeted. The tally of bodies grew along the lower slopes, some lying motionless, others writhing and screaming in pain as arrows and crossbow bolts transfixed them. None made it to the shelter of the bushes.
The commander of the landing party called, “Cannon, cease fire! Let us at them!” He waited a moment for the last shots to be fired, then yelled, “Let’s go! Street party, drive them towards the square! Search parties, check every house as we pass it! Make sure there are no fighting men left alive behind us! Don’t stop to loot – there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Drive them!”
The confusion among the defenders grew worse and worse as the pirates fled the bloodshed behind them, only to run headlong into even greater carnage ahead.
The two bedans towed into the harbor by the chebec brought a small group of sailors and gunners to each of the three galleys moored along the quayside. Each group cast off the mooring lines, then passed a towing line to a bedan. The smaller craft pulled the galleys a few yards offshore, turning them so their bows faced up the slope to the town. Their crews promptly dropped their bow and stern anchors, holding them in place, too far from the quay for fleeing pirates to jump aboard.
That done, gunners cleared away the two twenty-four-pounder cannon in the forecastle of each galley, fetching bagged powder charges and grapeshot from the magazines below. The grapeshot clusters for such large cannon were massive, over two pounds of iron in each of the nine projectiles, far larger than anything they had fired before. They loaded the weapons with frantic speed, then stood by.
Elhac left them to get on with their work. The sailors were picked men, and if Prasad trusted the gunners, so would he. He took the chebec in a wide, slow arc around the harbor under foresail alone, peering at the houses on the slope above, trying to see what was happening. The bright moonlight aided his search. He stiffened, stared for a moment, then turned to Taghri.
“There’s a group of pirates forming up the slope, at the edge of the square, sir.” He pointed. “They’re still behind the houses, so our people can’t see them. I think we can reach them, sir.”
“Then reach them!”
“Aye, sir! Gunner Prasad! See the target?” He pointed again.
“I see it, sir!”
“Broadside! Load grapeshot on top of the cannonballs!”
“Aye, sir! Gunners, you heard! Load grape and elevate to maximum!”
Prasad watched, nodding with approval as his highly trained crews functioned like a single, well-tuned mechanism. He waited until the bustle died down, then looked along the barrel of the nearest cannon. As the chebec sailed further up the harbor, they would all be correctly aimed in a matter of a few seconds.
“Gun captains, insert your quills! Check your linstocks! Stand by… stand by… fire!”
Six blasts of gunpowder erupted from the chebec’s side as one. The sudden flash lit up the whole harbor for an instant. Six twelve-pound cannonballs and over fifty grapeshot screamed over the water, spread out across the short stretch of intervening land, and slammed into the backs of the dozens of pirates massing to attack the intruders. Great holes were blown in the teeming mob, which scattered in all directions amid wails of shock and horror and shrieks of pain. Heaped bodies, and parts of bodies, bore mute testimony to where it had been.
Elhac coughed and spluttered for a moment as the pall of powder smoke wafted over him. “Bring the ship about!” he called. “Tiller hard to starboard! Gunners to the port battery!”
The sailors raced to the braces and lines as the chebec began to swing around.
Taghri’s men flooded into the square through the open gate in the town wall. They made short work of the initial defenders, then formed up in their teams and let the grasshopper cannon go to work in the gaps between them. Every time a group of pirates mounted a charge, the grasshoppers would stop it in its tracks with two or three simultaneous rounds of grapeshot; then one of the attacking teams would charge forward, finishing off the wounded and driving the others back. Any pirate who tried to give orders, or organize his mates, was targeted by crossbows from the walls of the fort. Soon the square was littered with bodies, most of them erstwhile defenders.
The pirates’ women and children massed behind their men at the edge of the square, driven there by the landing party from the fishing beach, who were forcing everyone out of every building and pushing them forward. They allowed no-one to remain behind or escape up the mountain. The press of families grew ever greater in the rear, preventing any retreat, even as the fighting men at the front were winnowed by grapeshot, arrows and swords.
At last one o
f the surviving pirates, a galley captain, came to the inevitable realization. “Where is Abu Reis?” No-one could tell him. “Then we’re done for! Our only chance is to get the hell out of here before we’re all killed! There’s too many of them, and they’ve got those infernal small cannon right inside our walls! We’ve got to clear a way to the harbor for our families, get aboard our ships, and fight our way out of the bay! It’s our only chance! Form on me!”
By now there were no more than sixty or seventy pirates still able to wield weapons. They gathered around him, faces hard with desperate determination. Their leader waited until they were assembled, then yelled, “For our families! For our lives! Follow me!”
He raced away from the square, down the street leading to the harbor. His men followed him, running in a tight, compact group, hemmed in by the warehouses and businesses on either side of the road. The women and children hesitated, allowing a gap to open up between them and their men.
In the square, the assault groups began to chase after the pirates, only to be brought up short by shouted commands. “Stand fast! Do you all want to die? Have you forgotten the galleys?”
Aboard the center galley, Abu Reis’ personal ship, bigger and more stable than the other two, a gunner saw the mob of fighting men start down the road towards them. He bent and checked the alignment of the twin cannon before him. Sure enough, they were both aimed straight up the street. He called across to the other two galleys, “On my order… wait for it… stand by… fire!”
Six twenty-four-pounder cannon fired as one, belching out flame and smoke in a deafening, terrifying explosion, echoing back from the buildings of the town. Each fired a double charge of grapeshot up the slope. Over a hundred steel balls, each weighing over two pounds, spread out across the street before slamming into the mob of pirates.