It was an excellent idea, too, for all the merchants who came to the town saw the gold and asked about it, and when they heard my name mentioned, they quickly spread my fame to other towns and cities. Soon, certain merchants were coming to Rowel just to visit me, and to sell me their richest wares.
It was a good life I was living, and I knew it. But I knew too that the war with India was still raging, and I was playing no useful part in it. Well, I am not one to shrink from a fight, especially when the Indians were doing such evil deeds greedily invading lands rightfully conquered by good Cypriot folk, so I determined to take my share of the battle and fight it with a will.
I spent a good sum and bought myself a fine ballista from an arms merchant. I fixed the weapon upon the deck of my ship, next to with a great many special bolts that could be set alight and sent flying into enemy ships to burn them. My plan was to sail east, following the merchant routes, and to destroy any Indian ships we found.
I decided I would not take any myrmidons with me, for they were better left around the cave, guarding my money from thieves, and from any enemy who might attack the town.
My brother Hendell remarked that, for all its excellent protection, it was still possible my gold might somehow be stolen. He urged me to take a small portion of my wealth and bury it in a secret place as an additional precaution. This seemed a wise idea to me, so we filled a chest with gold and jewels to the value of several thousand arrans. We two secretly took it from the cave and buried it by a tree not far from the town.
When the ship was all prepared, I boarded and prepared for war. I took with me four men—Bitian Teppel, two cousins of mine named Basotel and Tiat Hammers, and a friend of theirs, Tiat Pode. They were brave men, and excellent seafarers too.
Hundreds of my friends and relatives turned out to see me off and to wish me well, and, just before we cast off, I opened another box of gold I had brought down from my cave. Then I made a gift of one hundred arrans to my father and the same to every one of my brothers and sisters, and a gift of twenty-two arrans each to all my father’s brothers and my dead mother’s sisters, and a gift of ten arrans each to all my cousins, and a gift of two arrans each to all my nephews and nieces, excepting only those whose behaviour or appearance displeased me.
We cast off, and sailed out to seek the enemy. With the weight of the treasure removed from the hold, the Moray was a fast ship once more, and I made at least another third the distance each day I had previously done on the way home.
We were all impatient to sink Indian ships, but all we found were Cypriot fishing boats. Finally, after four days at sea, we spotted an Indian warship. It was a three-masted beak, painted in black like the Indian ships I had seen on my voyage to Cyprus, but perhaps half of the size.
He turned towards us, thinking we would be easy prey and he might ram us and sink us, as he had doubtless done to the other innocent Cypriot vessels he had encountered.
Well, that Indian warship soon learned he was dealing with a different manner of vessel than he was used to and faced not terrified fishermen or merchants but fierce warriors. As soon as he was in range I started shooting off the fiery ballista bolts. The first few shots were shy of the mark, but I quickly began to gain an expert understanding of the weapon, and I scored several good hits on the deck of the ship, and another on the top sail of the foremast. I watched the Indians scrambling with buckets to put out the fires, which was an amusing sight, to be sure.
We shouted a few insults back and forth then.
I said, “The proud Moray will soon put an end to your murderous voyage.”
They replied, “No, for rather the mighty Flame will sink your ship too and add her to our tally.
Then I said, “Flame is a good name for your ship, for it will soon sink in flames.”
They said, “Not so. But Moray is a good name for your ship, for it will soon be swimming at the bottom of the sea.”
I said, “No no, for our Moray will splash its powerful tail about and douse your Flame.”
They said, “That may be your dream, but when you wake from it you will find breakfast ready, for our hot Flame will have cooked your Moray.”
I said, “No, I will awake to find a fine thrashing Moray in the pot, for no fish would cook over such a sorry Flame.”
They had no response to my last riposte, but came in close with their ram towards us. Of course, I did not let the Flame use his ram upon us, instead ordering the head slave to manoeuvre the Moray so we were circling him. Then, as we circled, I fired numerous ballista bolts, while he tried in vain to turn his wicked prow upon us.
Over the next few hours, I must have fired a hundred bolts at the Indian ship. Unfortunately, the Indians quickly saw I meant to sink them with fire, and they doused the sail and the decks with so much water that even a solid hit no longer started any honest burning.
In the meantime, the Indians had produced several bows and were firing arrows back at us. Poor Tiat Pode was struck in the chest and died soon afterwards.
We avenged his death, though, for Tiat Hammers had brought his duckbow with him, and, being an excellent shot with his little weapon, he struck down at least six of the enemy before he finally ran out of arrows.
I tried the same thing with the ballista, aiming at the crew rather than the ship. The ballista is a big weapon, and exceedingly difficult to aim accurately, but even so I scored one hit upon a man on the deck, and it struck him so hard it killed him instantly, with the bolt going right through his body and sticking it to the wooden deck. Another of my shots smashed through their ship’s rowing boat.
Basotel did not have his bow with him, because he had forgotten it at the dock, so I told him, if he wished, he could take some ballista bolts, strip the volatile padding from their tips, and throw them at the enemy like spears. He quickly set about doing just this, although I do not think he hit anyone. Still, I had a great many ballista bolts, and the waste of a few was of little importance.
As for Bitian Teppel, he did not care to throw anything at the enemy. He said, “No, instead I will set about the work I am best at: I will draw a picture of this great battle, so we will be inspired by it and fight all the more furiously.”
I said it was an excellent plan.
He began the drawing immediately, and kept at it while our two ships turned and evaded and traded arrows with each other.
A few hours later, Bitian Teppel had finished his drawing, and when there was a pause in the fighting he showed it to us. It was magnificent. In the centre, it showed the two ships circling each other, and the likeness of the drawings to the real ships was so perfect it was as if you could reach out and touch them.
The Moray was drawn very small, and shining white, while the Flame was shown as a fat black monster.
In the top left corner, which artists call the symbol corner, he had placed a fierce little weasel stalking a fat rabbit. In the right corner, which is where the dead are shown, were all those who had been killed in the battle so far. The Indians who had died were shown as dark figures with arrows through them, while the brave Tiat Pode was drawn as a colossus, towering over them, still waving his sword in battle even as the deadly arrow pierced his heart.
In the sea beneath the ships were all the old gods and angels of the deep, gazing in astonishment at the great battle which was being fought above them. They were drawn so perfectly you could read the very words from their lips: they were all saying “Ooooh” to each other. At the bottom of the ocean, bordering the lower edge of the drawing, was a great eel, which I recognized as a moray eel. He had his head tilted back to watch the battle, and there was a smile on his proud lips as he watched the ship that was his namesake fight its brave fight.
Basotel, who did not know as much about art as I did, said, “It is a good picture, it is true, but the ships need more work. I see the Moray is drawn smaller than our opponent, whereas, in fact, she is large
r.”
Bitian Teppel smiled at his words, of course, and I explained to Basotel that this drawing was a great work of art, in the old style made famous by the immortal Tybalt. Then I showed Basotel the weasel and the rabbit in the symbol corner, and I showed him how Bitian Teppel had drawn our ship to resemble the lithe and violent weasel, whereas the Flame was drawn like the huge and lumbering rabbit who will soon fall prey to its tiny foe.
Then Bitian Teppel showed us some of the other features of the drawing, and identified the various sea gods for us.
We all thought the drawing was very fine, and it truly did inspire us to fight more furiously. However, I started to get frustrated, for no matter what manner of arrows and bolts we sent flying at our enemy, we could not sink their ship. Instead, our two ships were circling, moving in and out, each unable to defeat the other. It was clear a new strategy was required.
I thought to myself, “If I can measure the sea at this point, I might sink the Flame using the Struts of Atlas, just as I sank those ships at the Duck Islands so many years earlier.” I quickly went to my cabin and found a measuring line with a leaden bob at one end, then tried to measure the depth of the sea where we circled. Alas, the sea was very deep, and even the full length of the line did not reach the bottom.
It was beginning to get dark now, and another plan entered my head, for Bitian Teppel’s excellent drawing had sharpened my mind as well as honing my warrior’s spirit. I said to Tiat Hammers, “Take over for me at the ballista. I am going to attack the Flame in the rowing boat.”
Tiat Hammers said, “No, I want to come too, for I have brought my good sword along and I mean to use it.”
Then Basotel came over and asked us what it was we were discussing.
Tiat Hammers said, “Our brave friend Yreth means to board the enemy ship. Will we let him go alone?”
And Basotel said, “Indeed we will not!”
But I raised my hands then and said, “Cousins, I do not plan to go to that ship so I might fight hand to hand. Rather, I plan to sink it through the prudent application of stealth and cunning. If you wish to be a part of my battle, then I urge you to stay here and to distract the crew of the Flame from the progress of my rowing boat. In this way, we will attack the enemy from two directions, a strategy which guarantees victory. Also, keep the Moray on this side of the Flame, for I will be working on the far side, and I do not wish their crew to notice me.”
They agreed they would do this, and Bitian Teppel said, “I do not know what you are about, but I will warrant it will make a very fine drawing.”
I said it certainly would, and he should set about it right away, which he did. Then I took his old drawing, folded it up, and put it in my belt pouch for luck.
The slaves lowered my rowing boat into the sea, placing it on the side of my ship which was furthest from the Flame so the Indians would not see my actions. I then rowed the boat quietly around and made for the enemy vessel under cover of darkness.
My plan was simple in theory. I had brought along a mallet and a chisel, and I intended to come alongside the Flame, then to chip a hole in the enemy vessel and sink it. Of course, anyone who knows ships will tell you this is a very difficult thing to accomplish. In the first place, a rowing boat is slow and cannot easily catch a fast-moving warship. In the second place, if you wish to make a hole to sink a ship, it must be made below the waterline, so you must work beneath (or at least partially beneath) the water. Naturally, however, I had clever solutions to both these problems, which you will learn of almost immediately.
I rowed for a few minutes in the general direction of the Flame, taking great care to go quietly, without drawing attention to myself, then I pulled in the oars and crouched down in my boat. I knew, you see, with these two ships circling each other, I had no need to chase my enemy. I had only to set my boat adrift between them and the enemy would eventually come to me. Sure enough, after a short time had passed, the Flame passed so close to me that I was able to seize onto the hull with my hands. I pulled my boat in then, and fastened it to the Indian ship with a couple of Peregrine Clasps. Once my boat was firmly secured, I set to work with my chisel, boring two or three feet above the waterline.
Now, it took me only a few minutes to make a small hole in the side of the ship. The boards were not thick, and I fancy they were a little rotten too, which will tell you what kind of mariners the Indians are!
I peered through the hole to see if there were people within, but all was dark, so I knew this was a safe place to continue chiselling. I then set about widening the hole as best as I was able, trying to work around the many nails which dotted the hull. This task was more difficult than it might sound, for the ship was moving this way and that, on a choppy sea, and the light for my work was very poor. In addition, I had to work quietly, for if I had been discovered by the ship’s crew, it would surely have been the end of me. Still, even working in these conditions, I made a fine job of it, and only twice did I strike my chisel against a nail. At last, the hole was as large as I wanted.
Now, you will perhaps think I did not know what I was about when I made the hole, for, as I have already said, if you want to sink a ship, it is best to make a hole below the waterline, not above it as I had done. However, the hole I had made was not for sinking the ship, but was just a hole I could climb through to the inside of the ship, there to carve a larger and lower hole.
I climbed within, staying clear of the protruding nails, then slowly lowered myself into the darkness until my foot touched the floor. It was a surprisingly long drop—nearly seven feet, I should say. Once inside, I crouched down as close to the floor as I was able, so I was perhaps four feet below the waterline. I then set to work with my chisel again, working in total darkness now, cutting into the side of the ship, carving a V-shaped groove in the outline of a large rectangle. The groove almost penetrated the boards, but not quite. In this way, I ensured no seawater would come in prematurely to interfere with my work. It was a slow business, and exceptionally difficult too, working blind as I was, but I did a masterful job, cutting until I was just a nail-white from the other side, and letting in only a little trickle of water. When the rectangle was complete, I stood and gave the chiselled area a kick with my boot. At once I heard a loud crack and the boards gave way, whereupon, the sea came rushing in with tremendous force, knocking me to the floor.
I tried to stand and pull myself back up to the hole by which I had entered, but I was knocked to my feet again by the rushing water. I tried a second time, grabbing a beam for support. With some effort, I managed to stand—the water was already halfway to my knees—but when I tried to jump to the hole above me, the water knocked my feet from under me, and again I fell back, with water all around me. After I had made several more futile attempts to reach the hole by jumping, I decided to apply my intelligence, perceptiveness and ingenuity to the problem at hand. I instantly realized that the lower hole, which was doing such a masterful job of bringing water into this ship, might also be usefully employed as my own exit. Without a moment’s hesitation, I ducked down under the water, groped around for the hole, and crawled through it, pushing with all my great strength against the powerful flow of water. Moments later, I was bobbing in the sea, a few feet from my rowing boat.
I reboarded my boat, dismissed the Peregrine Clasps, releasing the boat from the Flame, and rowed back into the darkness, crouching down so I might safely observe the sinking of my enemy. After just a few minutes I could see the ship was listing badly, and I chuckled to see the crew running this way and that trying to discover the source of their misfortune.
Meanwhile, my comrades, observing my success, had brought the Moray in much closer. They fired arrows and flaming bolts at the Flame with a renewed vigour, which was a spectacular sight you may be sure, and reminded me a little of the flaming bolts I had seen against the night sky when I escaped from Quebec.
A warlike fever filled my blood then
, and I became anxious to join the battle, so I picked up my oars and started rowing for my ship. Suddenly I heard a great crash, as loud as thunder. I turned to look (for I was facing backwards in my rowing boat) and saw the Moray had ventured too close to the enemy, and the Flame, in its death throes, had managed to turn directly into the hull of my ship, ramming a great hole there. Moreover, it seemed the two ships were now stuck together, for the chank hull of my ship was much stronger than the ordinary wooden hulls the Flame’s ram was designed for, and once the sharp beak had pierced the hull, the boards did not give way enough to let it pull out again.
I instantly knew the situation was dire for both ships and I must rescue my companions. I cared nothing for stealth now: I rowed with tremendous speed and strength, spurred on by the sounds of shouts and skirmish which I could hear from the ships, for now that the ships were locked together, everyone was fighting hand to hand. When I caught up with them just a few minutes later, the Moray was so low in the water that the deck was almost level with my little boat. Alas, in those short minutes, the Indian pirates had won the fight—for the dead bodies of my cousins lay upon the deck. I saw too that the Indians had killed my slaves, which was a very cowardly act, for slaves are timid by nature and do not fight well. I pulled my rowing boat back then, for it was clear where things were headed. As I moved through the water, though, I saw a body floating there, which I recognized as Bitian Teppel. I pulled him onto my rowing boat, but he was in a bad way, having been stabbed through the belly then thrown into the sea. His heart was still beating, though, and when I pressed his eye he blinked a little, so I knew he was not yet dead.
Now, it is a fact that one must always listen to the words of a dying friend, for they can be very instructive and are often prophetic, so I tried to rouse Bitian from his unconscious state to see what he might say to me. I splashed water against his face and tapped his cheeks and shook him. But it was all to no avail, and I had almost given up when suddenly his eyes opened wide and he said, “Tah! He has put the wrong pigment in the mix!”
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 33
