Greek Fire

by James Boschert

  Guy nodded and gave him a grin. Talon was reminded of a predator about to sink its teeth into its victim.

  “Good morning, Talon. Look over there.” Guy pointed back along their wake. Talon turned and a ship about a mile away. Without doubt it was an Arab warship and it was in hot pursuit.

  “Now look over there.” Guy pointed off to the west. Talon followed his pointing finger and saw a thick black line rising out of the horizon. Ahead of them the sea had changed color to a darker green while the waves, although still relatively small, now possessed white crests.

  “Notice the wind has changed?” Guy asked. “We are in for a tempest, and if my judgment is correct it will be a bad one.”

  Talon’s thoughts went immediately to the salt that was stored in the makeshift cabins. “How will we protect the cargo, Guy?”

  “There will be no rowing in this if the storm hits. The sea is already getting too rough. This is going to be about seamanship. So we seal up the openings below and do our best to protect the salt. It would be a pity to lose that after all the hard work.” He grinned again.

  Talon looked to where their destination lay.

  “Will we make it to land before the storm strikes, Guy?” Talon was apprehensive. His last experience with a storm had not ended well.

  “It will be a race. And then there are those behind us.” He jerked his thumb at the pursuing ship.

  “I see only one of them.”

  “Thank God for it. I would have thought they would send a pack of after us. Perhaps they just want to stop us and take us back. But I for one will not be going back to that life.” Guy scowled, and then he raised his voice. “Pay attention there, John!” he admonished the steersman. “Do not let the ship yaw or I will have your hide! I want to see those sails so tight that you can play a drum on them.” He ignored Talon as he shouted down into the waist to the men there and ordered them to trim the sails. There was a rush of men to comply. Everyone knew their fate should they lose this race.

  Talon left him to it and went below, to find something to eat and to see to the salt.

  __________

  Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!

  Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;

  Man marks the earth with ruin-his control

  Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain

  The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

  A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

  When for a moment, like a drop of rain,

  He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

  Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

  Lord Byron

  Chapter 22

  The Storm

  Later in the morning, Talon and Guy were joined on the afterdeck by Max and Nigel,, and then Henry came up on deck rubbing his eyes.

  “I cannot sleep with all that moaning going on below,” He complained, referring to the burned Greek sailor.

  This reminded Talon that they needed to dispose of the dead man. They brought his body up on deck, tied it into a canvas wrap, placed some stones in the sack, and then dropped the body overboard with a splash and an intoned prayer. It was a hurried and depressing event that only added to the feeling that they were hunted and that there was no time for niceties.

  They ate a cold breakfast of mutton and goat’s cheese, which did little to warm anyone. Henry, Guy and Nigel spent some time in a huddle talking about the oncoming storm. Henry took over from Guy, called the relief steersmen to attend him on the afterdeck, and sent Guy below to snatch some sleep. Everyone kept a sharp lookout and the men shivering on the top of the two masts were ordered to watch ahead and behind for any sign of danger. The after lookout confirmed that there was only the one ship, but that she had gained on them since the dawn. Indeed the ship was now clearly visible, although too far away to see any activity on the decks. Talon and Max stood staring back at it.

  “We can only pray to God that it is not carrying any of those infernal fire machines,” Max muttered as he huddled into his cloak. He looked a little pale.

  “My guess is that they will not, that they cannot afford to spend that effort on one ship. They only have a few machines now that they lost the one we were told about. They will keep what is left close and use it for a surprise attack when they reach their intended objective,” Talon said. He looked toward the west and noticed the ominous black line was much closer now. The Falcon was beginning to pitch and roll with water sluicing over the front despite their high prow. Henry trimmed the sails to adjust for the change in wind direction, but the ship was heeling over at an angle as she sped forward.

  “I fear for our cargo, Max.”

  “My word, Talon!” Max said with a wan grin. “You have become a merchantman, I swear!”

  “I am just worried about our responsibility to the house of Kalothesos, Max,” Talon said a little too sharply. Then he grinned as he realized how pompous that sounded.

  “I am sorry, Max. Perhaps you are right, but I have enjoyed the enterprise and would be sorry to lose what we have gained on their behalf. I fear that I shall never be a good sailor, however,” he said, grabbing for a rail as the Falcon lurched into a wave.

  Max gave a feeble laugh. “Nor I, Talon, and you are right. It would be a pity to lose our cargo now when we are so close to home. Pray God that the storm prevents the Arab from harming us, but that it does not harm us in the process.”

  They watched the menacing clouds scudding across a lowering sky. Talon could see isolated squalls of rain moving eastward and knew that they would be sailing in among them. He was fearful of their effect upon this small ship of theirs, but Henry was calm enough.

  They had just sighted the low rise of land ahead and the lookouts had pointed out the gap that indicated the Hellespont when the first squall struck. Henry had been watching for it and altered course by a few degrees then held the ship steady while the rain slashed down at them, almost instantly soaking everyone on deck. Guy, their cargo in mind, had ensured that the hatches were locked down, leaving only one access for the crew to use as they came and went below decks. Nigel had gone below and had made sure that the oar holes were sealed with whatever they could find to plug them.

  The storm swept in at great speed and a gust of wind laid them over at such an angle that Talon had to hang onto the railing to avoid sliding down into the steersmen. He glanced at Max and read the same fear in his eyes. Were they to be shipwrecked again?

  “I hate the sea!” Max shouted over the wind.

  Talon agreed with him and wished that he would never have to go to sea again, but knew he had little choice in the matter.

  Talon stared back into the haze of rain at the dim shape of the Arab ship and wondered how that crew was faring. It had gained on them as they headed for the Hellespont. The Arab ship was now only about five hundred paces away, rising and falling in the troughs of the waves, its bow throwing up huge plumes of spray as it chased after them. He noticed it had more sail than the Falcon could muster. Everyone had made preparations for a fight: Talon had ordered the archers, both longbow and crossbowmen, to stand ready. The ship’s officers, Nigel and Guy, were driving the crew to lash down everything they could, while Henry’s main preoccupation was to get the very best out of the Falcon and gain the safety of Abydos before they were engaged.

  Giorgios had informed Talon that the port was well guarded and the navy had warships stationed there, but he did not know how many.

  “If we can get there in time we can take shelter under the walls inside the harbor, Sir Talon,” he said hopefully. “Our pursuers will not dare to come into the harbor or they will be destroyed by fire from the walls.”

  Talon took some comfort from that, but he was uneasy at how quickly the other ship had caught up with them under the impetus of heavy sail and the rowing of its slaves. Henry and Nigel had been adamant about not using oars in these seas.

  “We will take on more water than we can manage to bail out and tire
the men, which will do us no good when we really need them, Talon. And they will not have much effect on our progress. Better to make the best use of our sails and hope to God that we can gain entry in time, or that the storm prevents them from catching up with us,” Nigel had informed him.

  Talon’s attention was forced back to the Falcon as another gust of wind struck their port almost at right angles to the ship. Once again the ship heeled over and the starboard sides were forced almost underwater. The men crouching in the scuppers crossed themselves and sent anxious looks at the after deck. The ship righted itself slowly and shook off the water that was pouring out through the scuppers, taking with it some loose gear that had been improperly lashed down. Ropes and blocks crashed into the side of the ship. Guy shouted at his men to recapture the gear and lash it down tighter, and so they plunged on.

  Now the troughs between the waves were deeper and the Falcon climbed up large waves to pivot dizzyingly before plunging down the other side and bury the breast of its high prow with the open beaked Falcon’s head into the next wall of water.

  Then the ship would repeat the motion as the bows rose again till the cluttered foredeck was all that Talon could see ahead of him as it climbed higher and higher up the wave and obscured his view of the land ahead. He began to feel horribly queasy and lurched to the side downwind to empty his stomach overboard into the green, froth-mottled waters below. He found he had good company. Max was being very sick at the same time. His normally weathered face appeared chalk white. He gave Talon a sickly grimace then bent over the rail again, retching. Talon looked back at Henry, who waved at him and grinned. Talon scowled back, envying him for seeming so at home on a pitching, rolling ship like this.

  Talon wondered how they were going to fight the Arabs while in this condition. Drawing and aiming a bow in this storm was almost pointless. Then a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder, and the rainfall intensified. Dashing the rain from his eyes and hunching into his sodden cloak, Talon looked behind Henry to see that the enemy ship had gained even more upon them and was now only a few hundred paces away. He could just make out turbaned figures on the front staring impassively ahead. They were good sailors, and they were keen to come alongside for a fight.

  “They are not shy about putting on their sail! They are reckless about it!” Henry shouted. “That is why they have caught up with us.”

  “Can we not do more?” Talon called back, wiping his mouth and sidling past Max who was still leaning over the rail, but he already knew the answer.

  “No! If this gets any worse we will have to take in our sails no matter what or we will lose a mast.”

  As Henry said this, Nigel yelled down to some of the men crouching in the waist. “He is coming alongside the port side—be ready!”

  “This man is coming after us at all costs. He is mad!” Max shouted to Talon over the howling wind.

  Men scuttled over to the side where they expected the Arabs to launch their attack. Those who possessed cloaks tried to protect their bowstrings from the rain but it was in vain. Everyone watched as the other ship surged towards them. Quite suddenly it was almost parallel with the Falcon and arrows began to fly. They were wildly inaccurate but they forced people to get their heads down. Both ships were plunging and rolling in the agitated seas with the wind howling in the rigging and tearing at clothing and the stinging rain slashing down in torrents. Lightning flashed again, making the men on the afterdeck flinch. It was followed immediately by a crash of thunder that split the air above them with a loud cracking and tearing sound, making everyone cower with fear.

  The sporadic exchange of arrows continued but it was very ineffective. While Max stood beside Henry and his steersmen with his large shield ready to protect them from enemy arrows, Talon, still fighting his nausea, stood braced against the rail on the afterdeck and shot his arrows at the steersmen on the opposite deck, now a scant fifty paces away. Although his arrows could easily bridge that distance they went wide because of the pitching and rolling of the Falcon. He did not see any of the other archers’ arrows find their marks, and the Arab bows were not as powerful, so many of their arrows merely struck the side of the Falcon or went into the sea.

  Men began to adjust their aim and more arrows fell on the decks. The Falcon’s archers’ bolts were telling despite the crazy rolling and pitching of both ships. At times the ships rose in unison, at others one would be plunging into a wave while the other was rising from a trough.

  It was during one of those times when both ships were heaving together with sea water pouring off their decks that Talon finally managed to strike a target he had been trying many times to hit: a man with a large turban who was standing with the group of men gathered near the steering oar. It looked like a mortal blow and appeared to generate much consternation among that crew, as men ran from all over the after deck to cluster around his fallen body.

  Then a bolt fired from the waist of the Falcon struck one of the two steersmen in the side. He was thrown back into the cluster of men standing and crouching about the other fallen man, which created even more confusion. Henry had been watching and he called over to Talon.

  “Good work! But look over there! We are only half a mile from the water breaker of the city. God help us now!”

  Talon spun around to squint into the driving rain. Again fear gripped his stomach, and the Arabs were forgotten as he stared at what lay ahead. They were so close! In his preoccupation with the other ship he had not been paying any attention to their progress. How they had come to be this close to the port he had no idea, but there it was and it gave him no comfort to contemplate the sight.

  They were pointing directly toward a line of rocks upon which rows of waves were crashing, sending spray high into the air. Talon shot a fearful look at Henry, but the seaman was concentrating all his attention on piloting the ship, leaving the battle to him.

  ThenTalon heard faint screams of alarm from the other ship. Without enough men to control it the steering oar had shifted with an adverse affect. The ship yawed and twisted, turning in an angle that sent its bows almost at right angles to the wind. Talon watched as men rushed to the vacant steering oar to try and correct the situation but they were moments too late. To make matters worse a flurry of arrows struck yet another man who fell back clutching his chest. Ignoring the menace of arrows the Arabs at the steering oar fought desperately to bring their ship around. The courageous men had nearly regained control when a another squall hissed in and struck both ships.

  Talon hung onto the railing, horrified to see one of their own crossbowmen fall from the lookout’s position at the top of the mast. He watched as the body passed by with a scream to plunge into the foaming sea between both ships. He disappeared without a trace.

  Then they all heard a great crack which made everyone return their gaze back to the Arab ship. The center mast was leaning over. The sail was bellied but no longer held by its lashings and now it flew free like a monstrous banner. The other sail suddenly had to take the strain of the whole ship and before the Franks’ astonished eyes it ripped and tore into rags, some of which flapped away into the wind like strange birds of the sea fleeing the howling wind. The Arab boat was transformed in one moment from a predatory instrument of war to a wallowing wooden raft that was about to be destroyed upon the rocks ahead.

  The Falcon had been on a more easterly course so all the wind achieved was to drive the ship harder toward the same rocks. Guy instantly saw what to do and bellowed at the crew to reef both sails so that they were able to slow their headlong pace and approach the entrance at a more controlled speed. Henry waved his approval of the command from the after deck.

  The Arab ship was doomed. The crew was frantically hacking at the tangle of rigging with axes and swords in a desperate attempt to save what was left of their ship and their lives. All the while they were still harassed by bolts and arrows from the Falcon. These were beginning to have a deadly effect. Men were falling even as t
hey strove to save their own ship.

  Talon gazed at the once fine cruiser that was about to be destroyed.

  He leaned close to Henry. “Could we not save them?” he shouted

  Henry gaped at him. “Those bastards are the Saracen, Talon! Why would you want to save them?” His words were being blown away in the wind. Talon leaned even closer. “They’re finished, there is no need for them to be crushed to death on the rocks. Could we not try to tow them?”

  Henry gave him a look that said he was completely mad but he shouted for Guy and Nigel to come to the afterdeck. They staggered along the heaving deck and stopped in front of Henry.

  “Talon wants to try and save the Saracens...” Henry bellowed.

  They too gawped at him.

  “We would have the ship for ourselves,” Talon shouted.

  “If we do this crazy thing we need to do it now. We are but a few hundred paces from the entrance and any mistake will kill us all,” Nigel bellowed.

  “The wind is right behind us,” Guy shouted over the keening wind, “and that ship will fall behind unless we throw a rope and bind them to us.”

  As if to emphasize Guy’s words the wind and the rain eased but maintained a westerly direction. They were closer than ever to the other ship, which was now devoid of its mass of rigging and one mast, leaving a stump about the height of a man, and it was wallowing lower in the sea. Clearly the ship had taken on a lot of water. There were faint wails coming from the lower deck as the slaves realized they were near to death from drowning. There were many bodies lying on the deck, and the afterdeck was almost clear of men other than the cringing steersmen who could not leave their position despite the murderous stream of arrows from the Franks’ ship.

  Then Talon saw what he hoped to see. A soaked and bedraggled man staggered onto the crowded afterdeck of the Arab ship and two of them held high a patch of sail that blew out white for all to see. The captain of the ship was surrendering. Standing next to them was another man in good cut cloth, his armor gleamed and his turban even at this distant showed it was of some expensive material. Although he too must have been soaked to the skin from the pelting rain it was as though he disdained the weather. His young swarthy face stared back at Talon, defiance written all over it even as he accepted that he had lost the race and now faced death on his stricken ship.