by David Weber
Fortunately, Safehold's seas tended to be smaller than those of Old Earth, and the crude state of Safeholdian navigation meant that until relatively recently, even the most daring mariners had tended not to stray far from sight of the coast. One of the things which had fueled Charis' rise to maritime supremacy had been her captains' iron-nerved willingness to undertake longer voyages, like the two-thousand-mile voyage across the heart of the sea known as the Anvil, steering by the stars and pure dead-reckoning.
Surviving such journeys had been more than the traditional coastal ship types could manage, and the galleon—like the ships of Commodore Staynair's squadron—represented a relatively new type which had evolved in response to the new challenges. Merlin found himself thinking of the galleys as "Mediterranean types," and the galleons as the prototypes—crude, and far from fully developed so far—of the "Atlantic type." They were less maneuverable than galleys, slower in light airs, and immobile in calms, but far more survivable than any galley in heavy weather.
Most of Safehold's navies felt no great pressure to adopt the galleon as a warship, however. Partly out of ingrained conservatism, but also for some very practical reasons. Every major naval battle in Safehold's history had been fought in coastal waters, and naval strategy focused on control of strategic straits, passages, and seaports. Deep-water survivability was scarcely a major factor for that sort of warfare, and the galley's maneuverability, ability to move even in a dead calm, and large crew made it a far more suitable platform for the boarding actions which climaxed virtually all naval engagements in the absence of truly effective artillery.
But as Baron Seamount had recognized that very first day, the galley was about to become hopelessly obsolete, regardless of where battles were fought. The unavoidable fact that a ship which depended upon long banks of oars as its primary means of movement simply could not mount the sort of broadside which could be mounted by a sail-powered ship doomed it as a type.
Unfortunately, the Royal Charisian Navy had possessed only a few more galleons than anyone else . . . and every one of them was anchored in King's Harbor as part of Commodore Staynair's squadron.
That was bad enough, but the fact that the Navy's galleys had mounted so few cannon was almost equally bad. Staynair's ships each carried between thirty-six and forty guns. The five of them mounted a total of a hundred and eighty-four . . . which represented the kraken armament of almost fifty galleys.
Matters weren't quite as bad as that might have seemed to suggest, given that over a third of the squadron's total artillery consisted of the newly designed and cast carronades, but he, Cayleb, and Seamount had still exhausted the Navy's entire reserve stockpile of krakens.
The eighty galleys the Royal Navy kept in permanent commission could have provided the krakens for another seven or eight galleons, and there were also the fifty galleys of the reserve fleet, which he and Cayleb were already planning on stripping of guns. But fifteen or sixteen gun-armed galleons weren't going to be sufficient to take on the combined fleets of Charis' enemies.
It was fortunate Charis had both copper and substantial deposits of tin. Merlin was aware that sooner or later—and probably sooner—they would have no choice but to begin using iron (especially given the voracious appetite for copper of the new anti-borer and anti-fouling sheathing), but bronze was actually a better alloy for smoothbore artillery. It was too soft to stand up to the wear of rifled shells, but it was more elastic and much less brittle than iron, which made bronze pieces less likely to burst, with catastrophic results for everyone in the vicinity.
Unfortunately, even bronze guns still had to be manufactured, and that took time. Howsmyn's welded trunnions had helped enormously as far as the existing guns were concerned, and he'd used some of the saved time for his reboring project, as well. That had finally produced a genuinely standardized gun caliber, and by reaming out the krakens' often irregular bores, he'd been able to reduce windage, which had simultaneously improved accuracy and increased both muzzle velocity and shot weight. It had also allowed him to use the same shot for the long guns and the new carronades, which greatly simplified ammunition requirements.
"We have to make some decisions," Merlin told Gray Harbor now. "We've pretty much exhausted the existing supply of krakens, and we can't afford to call in the existing fleet and strip it of artillery to get more of them. Even if that wouldn't make Hektor and Nahrmahn suspicious, we're going to need the existing ships to back up the new types whatever happens.
"We can produce almost three carronades for the same amount of metal that goes into a single kraken, and we've got large numbers of lighter artillery pieces—and quite a few heavier ones—we can melt down and recast. In fact, we're already doing that, partly because reclaiming the existing bronze lets us reserve more of the available copper for hull sheathing. But even if carronades can be cast and bored faster than long guns, it still takes at least half or two-thirds as long to produce one. And they're shorter ranged."
"Range would concern me less than many other factors, for now, at least," Gray Harbor said thoughtfully. "As I understand it, these 'carronades' are accurate out to at least two or three hundred yards, true?"
"Close to twice that, actually," Cayleb agreed.
"Well, most naval battles—most old-fashioned naval battles—are resolved at somewhat shorter ranges than that." Gray Harbor's tone was desert-dry. "Actually, they're usually resolved at sword's length. If you can stand off to a range of fifty or a hundred yards and pound them the way Staynair's squadron pounded its targets today, that should be more than sufficient."
"I tend to agree, My Lord." Merlin nodded. "And there's another advantage to the carronade: the weight of the individual pieces. No one's ever designed ships to carry this weight of artillery. Despite everything Sir Dustyn and I have have been able to do to reduce topweight, Staynair's galleons are still overloaded by the weight of their own guns."
It was Gray Harbor's turn to nod soberly.
"If we use carronades instead of krakens, we'll cut the weight of the guns by almost two-thirds for the same broadside," Merlin continued. "That, in turn, would mean not only that the new ships we're building could carry a more powerful armament, but also that we could convert more existing merchant ships. In some ways, I don't really like the thought of conversions. Merchant ships aren't built as heavily as warships; they can't take as much pounding or carry the same weight of artillery. On the other hand, if any battles we fight work out the way we hope they will, that shouldn't be a decisive factor."
"And the carronades weigh almost exactly the same as falcons," Cayleb pointed out. "If we've got time to cast enough of them, we can replace our galleys' broadside weapons, as well."
"Good points, all of them," Gray Harbor said. "Still, I think the range problem is one we're going to have to address in the long term. Eventually, our enemies are going to discover most of what we're up to, even if we manage to keep the surprise concealed until the first time they face the new ships in combat. When they do discover it, anyone but an utter idiot—which, unfortunately, neither Hektor nor Nahrmahn is—is going to realize they need the same sorts of ships. And when they have them, we won't be able to choose our own ranges. That means longer guns, eventually, so we'll have to find a way to solve the topweight problem."
"That's certainly true, Rayjhis," Cayleb said. "Most of the squadron's ships are already beginning to hog at least a little."
"I'm not surprised." Gray Harbor grimaced. The phenomenon known as "hogging" was scarcely unknown among galleys, after all. When you put heavy weights at the ends of a wooden hull (which was where most of a galley's guns happened to be mounted), it inevitably put a severe strain on a ship's keel. The usual result was that the ship's ends drooped downward and its keel "hogged"—literally warped and bent upward in the middle, sometimes severely enough to threaten the ship's safety.
"Sir Dustyn and I have been discussing that very problem with Baron Seamount . . . in our copious free time, of course," Merlin sa
id dryly. "I believe Sir Dustyn may be on the track of a solution, but for right now, none of us want to make any changes in existing building practices unless we absolutely have to. It's more important to get the ships built than that we build the very best ships we possibly could."
"I agree," Gray Harbor said again, firmly. "Even if it does offend my sensibilities to build so many ships out of green timber."
Cayleb made a face which mirrored the earl's unhappiness. Ships made out of unseasoned timber rotted quickly. The Safeholdian teak tree, which really did resemble the terrestrial tree of the same name, was the most favored ship-building timber on the planet. It was very strong, very hard, and remarkably resistant—when properly seasoned—to rot. But they weren't using teak for most of the new ships. Charis had large stands of teak, at least half of which were owned outright by the Crown and the Royal Navy. But not even teak could resist rot effectively without time to season properly, and Haarahld and Cayleb had flatly refused to use up their precious reserves of teak on ships whose life spans were inevitably going to be short, to say the very least.
They'd be lucky if they got more than five years of service out of any of the vessels whose construction Olyvyr was currently overseeing here at King's Harbor, Merlin knew. Unfortunately, the available supply of seasoned ship timber was limited, and a ship which rotted into uselessness five years down the road but could be available this year was far preferable to one which wouldn't rot but couldn't be built in time. Which meant they didn't have a lot of choice.
"Sir Dustyn believes we should be able to find most of the timber we'll need for several dozen ships by breaking up the reserve galleys," Merlin offered. "We can't do that until we have enough newly built galleons, of course, but we'll begin as soon as we safely can, with your and the King's permission, My Lord."
"My permission you already have," Gray Harbor told him. "I feel confident the king will also agree."
"We're still going to be hard-pressed to build the new ships," Cayleb warned the first councillor. "I'm delighted by Master Howsmyn's success in providing the sheet copper for the hulls, but just finding the spars to mast them is going to be a genuine problem. And you can't roll spars out in a private foundry the way you can sheet copper. When the Navy starts buying up all of the suitable timber for that, it's going to make someone like Hektor start asking questions, anyway."
"And spars and copper are only part of it," Merlin agreed. "We need canvas, cordage, pitch—everything you can think of."
He shook his head ruefully. On the one hand, he'd been astounded by how quickly Sir Dustyn Olyvyr could get new ships laid down and built. The naval constructor's estimate—and it looked accurate—was that he could complete a new galleon's hull in no more than ninety days from the moment the green timbers arrived at the King's Harbor shipyard. From Merlin's research, that compared favorably with the construction times for eighteenth-century shipbuilders on Old Earth under emergency pressure. Unfortunately, Olyvyr could build only about half a dozen of them at a time, and however quickly he could build the hulls, the ships, as Cayleb had just pointed out, still needed to be masted and rigged. Not to mention finding the guns to put aboard them and the men to crew them.
"That's another place where converting merchant ships will help," Gray Harbor pointed out. "Surely we can cut gunports and modify existing sail plans more quickly than we can build from scratch."
"I'm sure you're right, My Lord," Merlin said, "although we have to think about strengthening their hulls against the recoil forces, as well. Still, I'm afraid our most optimistic estimates suggest that it's going to take us at least another full year to reach our original target numbers."
Gray Harbor looked grim.
"I don't think we're going to be able to keep all of this secret that long," he said.
"I agree," Cayleb said. "In fact, I think we need to reconsider laying down additional ships at Hairatha."
Gray Harbor's eyes narrowed unhappily at the suggestion, and the crown prince shrugged.
"I'm not blind to what Merlin calls the 'security aspects' of the idea, Rayjhis. As soon as the Navy starts building large numbers of galleons someplace people know we're doing it, someone's going to start wondering why. I know that. But after Tellesberg itself, Hairatha has our biggest shipyards. We could build a dozen in the royal dockyard at Hairatha alone."
"That's true, I realize, Cayleb," the first councillor said. "And once we're within striking range of our final projected numbers, finishing up the final ships 'in public,' as it were, won't be a problem, I suppose. But still . . ."
He let his voice trail off, and Cayleb nodded in glum agreement. But then the crown prince's eyes narrowed as Merlin stroked one of his waxed mustachios thoughtfully.
"What?" the prince asked. Merlin looked at him, and Cayleb snorted. "You're pulling on your mustache again. Are you going to tell us what new deviousness you've thought of this time, or not?"
"I don't know that I'd call it 'devious,'-" Merlin said mildly, "but I have just had a thought."
"Well," Gray Harbor said with a grin, "in that case, while Cayleb may have spoken with the impetuosity of youth, he does have a point. Spit it out, man!"
"It's just occurred to me," Merlin said, "that there's no reason we can't build additional ships right out in the open, if we really want to. I think we've all been forgetting that Sir Dustyn is one of the Kingdom's best known private ship designers. He's already taken orders to build at least a dozen schooners I know of in Tellesberg, all for different owners. There's no reason we couldn't have him lay down another dozen or so galleons for the Navy in privately owned yards without telling anyone who he's actually building them for."
"But—" Cayleb began, only to stop as Gray Harbor held up one hand.
"You're suggesting we announce—or, rather, that he and the shipyard owners announce—to everyone that he's building them as merchant vessels for private owners?"
"Exactly." Merlin shrugged. "They won't look exactly like existing galleons, even on the building ways, but they won't look all that different, either. We couldn't copper them as they were built without giving away the game, but once they were launched and rigged, we could sail them to King's Harbor or Hairatha, drydock them, and copper them there. That would probably actually save time. And if the hulls look a little odd compared to standard merchantmen, everybody knows Sir Dustyn's just introduced a brand-new type with the schooner, and he's rigging two galleons he already had under construction with the new square-rigger sail plan, as well. Given that everyone knows he's experimenting, why shouldn't he be building galleons with hulls that don't look quite like those of existing ships?"
"And," Cayleb said, any initial temptation to object vanishing into sudden enthusiasm, "the very fact that we were building them openly would actually help keep anyone from suspecting what we were up to! How likely is Hektor or Nahrmahn to expect us to be building 'secret weapons' right out in front of everyone?"
"Hmmm." Gray Harbor tapped his chin for a moment, then nodded. "I think you have a point, Merlin. Both of you have points, in fact. I'll recommend to the King that he seriously consider authorizing the suggestion. But I think I'll also suggest that we don't bring the shipyard owners into the secret unless we absolutely have to. Better, I think, to pick a handful of shipowners we know we can trust and act through them. They can place the orders for us, with the Treasury to actually pay for the ships when they're completed."
"If that's practical, I think it would be a very good idea, My Lord," Merlin agreed.
"Very well, then." Gray Harbor looked back out across the anchored squadron once more, then drew a deep breath.
"I think it's time I was returning to Tellesberg," he said. "The King and I will have quite a lot to discuss, but at least I can tell him"—he looked back at Merlin and Cayleb and smiled broadly—"that our efforts out here are in excellent hands."
III
Royal Palace,
Eraystor
"I don't much care for Hektor's tone
lately," Trahvys Ohlsyn said.
The Earl of Pine Hollow sat across the dining table on the covered terrace from Prince Nahrmahn, watching his cousin pry shellfish out of their shells with gusto. Hahl Shandyr had joined them, but the spymaster's appetite obviously hadn't accompanied him. He'd done little more than nibble at the salad on his plate.
"I don't care for it, either," Nahrmahn grunted around a mouthful. He swallowed, then sipped fastidiously at a glass of fruit-juice-laced water.
"I don't care for his tone," the prince continued, setting the glass down, "and I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that I don't much care for him, either."
"Unfortunately, My Prince," Shandyr said, "the feeling appears to be mutual."
Nahrmahn glowered at the baron. Shandyr wasn't exactly basking in his prince's admiration at the moment. The fact that Nahrmahn knew as well as Shandyr did that his current problems weren't entirely his fault didn't make the prince any happier. Unfortunately, he couldn't disagree with what Shandyr had just said.
"It's never been more than an alliance of convenience," he said, after a moment, reaching for another shellfish and the silver tongs. "It's not exactly as if we have to love one another."