Barnes sat at the outer desk and watched over the enemy fleet as it approached. His lieutenant took the inner command station, from which the rotational navigation of the Marin was conducted – in effect its wheel, though it was, itself, a wheel. Barnes, as the captain, surveyed the situation and ordered the operation of the Marin via a system of speaking tubes that traveled through the corridors to the various departments of the ship. They converged on the captain’s command desk and could be opened or closed individually, as the need arose.
“Have we reached full buoyancy, Maticks?” Barnes called into the speaking tube.
A hollow, tinny voice came back, “Yes, sir: three hundred feet.”
“Very good, and the ballast tanks?”
“Full but prepared for ejection – we can sink at your order.”
“Closed and complete,” and Barnes closed the tube to the engineering compartment. He opened another, “Hornhonker, we’ve reached full buoyancy: raise the spikes and prepare for ramming.”
“Yes, sir.” Pause. “Done, sir.”
“Closed and complete.”
The spikes were sharp metal spears that protruded from the sides: anyone who attempted to board would be run through by his own energy. As for the maritime battering rams, there were twenty aboard the Marin: a five foot ax head attached to a long lever, able to be raised and lowered powerfully. In peace they were used for mining minerals, in war for mining enemies.
As he spoke, the enemy fleet began to charge.
Barnes opened every speaking tube and said, in a slightly excited voice, “They come, gentlemen. Prepare for battle.”
Meanwhile, the Fardy brothers had also taken command of their Marin. The brown Fardy sat at the inner desk, the blond brother at the outer, and the black brother at the central, running between the two and giving liberally of his advice. He now stood behind his blond brother, who surveyed the situation and drew vigorously on a chart of the area.
“Barnes raises his to full buoyancy,” the black Fardy offered. “I am patient, of course, but war is not a patient man’s pen name. Perhaps we should reach for the clouds?”
“Barnes is a fine sailor, but we are the Fardy brothers; and who designed these Marins? He will ram them high and harass their rigging, we will ram them low and destroy their hulls. You will see,” he winked, “We will show them our barnacles.”
“Genius; pure, insightful genius,” and the black Fardy ran across the room to his other brother. “We fly low today.”
“Then I will have the pleasure of piloting our craft into the bosom of our enemy.”
“My brother, do you disdain our rebel beauties enough to fly into the arms of those Hibernian haberknacks? You know, we have as many pillows here as ever they did.”
“Patience bids me consider that you make me a mockery. Still, I am glad, for it extols your own virtues by contrast: that I assume worst and you best. I have never known a better assumer,” and he returned to his work with a dubious smile.
The black Fardy’s eyebrows raised themselves like towering thunderclouds that threatened to wash out his clam-shell eyes. “This is beyond the cause of goodness and I cannot but repent of it if it makes me seem your superior in virtue.” He brought his hands together as if he were clanging cymbals; yet his cymbals were his brother’s ears.
“I beg to agree,” whereupon the other stood and faced his brother.
They were interrupted by the call of their blond relative, “My brothers, the enemy charges! Your patience must be patient to be proved, for we must first survive!”
“Yes,” the two belligerents chorused, and they set to work at once.
Meanwhile, de Casanova and Lyndon paced the deck of The Barber.
“What keeps them? Can the resistance have been fierce?”
“Would I know?” de Casanova growled, seeing in his sovereign a picture of the woman who scorned his love. “Perhaps it was better guarded than he thought. We can only wait.”
“So it is,” Lyndon sighed and returned to his seat. He was thoroughly soaked, even with the canopy.
De Casanova continued pacing, his eyes latched onto the coast where Gylain and Montague had landed. Then, seeing something, he stared into the impenetrable forest. At this time, Gylain and Meredith were engaged in combat, but de Casanova could not see this. Instead, he saw the sparks from Gylain’s sword as he lashed at his opponent.
“They have done it, Lyndon!” he cried, “The signal has been sent.”
The King of Hibernia took his feet. “Forward, Captain! Signal the charge!”
“The chain, my lord?”
“It is removed, begin the attack,” and Lyndon danced in glee and terror at the upcoming clash of arms and convictions.
The massive fleet began to move. It was a small island off the coast, a dense metropolis of war. Those in front began to charge: slowly at first, then with gathering speed. Those behind followed, and like water coming from a mountain they grew faster as they went, flowing down in a frenzy of pride and patriotism.
But the chain was not yet lowered. The first ships wrecked upon it, sliced in two and sunk to the bottom of the sea.
“What is this?” Lyndon cried, “Gylain signaled us, yet the chain remains!”
“Should we pull back?” the captain asked.
“No,” Lyndon hesitated, “No, I will take Gylain’s word: forward.”
Then, with a crash and a splash, the massive chain snapped from its anchor and itself sank into the sea. The fleet continued without losing its momentum and the rebels were left exposed. Meanwhile, the storm grew stronger. The attacking fleet was thrown forward by a powerful swell, landing on top of the rebel ships. The archers shot and the boarders were forced back. But they came in greater numbers. The rebels lost their advantage. The archers released their birds of prey, but the decimated ranks of the enemy did not fall back a second time. Instead, the rebels were left to fight off their enemy with their meager weaponry. It was a massacre. The blood was only kept from overflowing the deck by the waves that washed it away.
“Do not fear, my men,” the Admiral roared, “Courage is the devil’s handmaiden, but fear foments defeat,” and he grabbed a bow from a dead man’s hand and fitted an arrow to its string. A soldier came from behind, hoping to cut him down; but the Admiral turned to him just as his sword began to descend. “Death, fool!” he cried, and shot the arrow through the man’s eye. He died at once.
But elsewhere the battle soured into defeat. The deck was swarmed with Gylain’s soldiers. As one died another took his place. The ships were overtaken; only the desperate attempts of the crew kept them from complete destruction. The Marins broke their opponents to driftwood, perhaps, with their rams above and spikes below; but they could not leave their position, lest the enemy flank them and cut them off from the shore. At length, the Admiral sounded the retreat.
“We are taken, fire the ships!” and he dashed the lantern down the hold, into the hull.
The crew followed his command. The boarders were too confused to stop them. The ships were lit, and the rebels jumped onto the Marins, which came alongside to gather the survivors. It took only a moment, for few of the crew remained alive.
“All that live are aboard, head for home!” the Admiral called to Barnes through the command window.
Barnes obeyed and the Fardys followed; the rebel fleet abandoned the harbor to Gylain’s force. Still, their burning ships blocked the passage for a moment, for the fleet could not risk being dashed against them and thrown to the fire.
“But ten more minutes and the sea would have eaten them,” the Admiral cursed. “As it is, we must do that ourselves.”
At that moment, the Marin hit the shore and the rebels began to disembark.
“It is time,” the Admiral said to Alfonzo, who had just returned from battle on the plain. “It is time,” and he said no more.
Chapter 89
The rebel sailors poured over the sides of the Marin, fleeing to the ramparts. The Marins were set ad
rift and ablaze, destroyed lest they be used against their makers. The Admiral walked beside Alfonzo across the beach. They were silent until they reached the fortifications.
“The rain is against us,” Alfonzo said, “For the trenches are flooded.”
As he said, the tunnels in front of the ramparts were flooded, leaving the archers without a perch. The water washed against the foundation of the ramparts behind, undermining its strength. Yet the distance to the bay had lessened – the water had already risen ten feet in the flood – and the enemy had less of a foothold to assault from.
“Can we hold them?” the Admiral asked.
“Forever, no; as for how long, we will see. If we can slow their landing, the storm may be our ally. As it is, they will have trouble laying siege on the castle in this rain.”
“But a retreat, if only to the castle, will prepare the men for defeat. Your plans have been washed away,” and he looked into the sky. Gravity had struck the celestial ocean.
At that moment, Barnes came up. “Sir, the Marins are abandoned.”
“Well done, Barnes. Your first command is completed with honor,” said with affection.
“Thank you, sir. Where should I position the men?”
“That is not a question for me, but for the commander, Alfonzo. As for me, I retreat to the castle: my war is with Gylain, not his armies.”
“Then you fight only for revenge?” Alfonzo asked. “Victory for revenge trumps defeat in damnation.”
“Nevertheless, it is what I will have. What happiness is left for me in this life?”
“Your daughters; they would be slaves for you.”
The Admiral flexed his face. “No, I have had domestic happiness. It is damnation as well. If I must be damned, I will make myself worthy.” Turning to the castle, he added, “Send for me if he comes.”
“He will not,” Barnes ventured, “I know for sure that Gylain will not march with his men.”
“How?” and the Admiral struck out with broadsword eyes. But the young man was not cut.
“It was he who lead the assault on the chain: I saw him with my glass. He has Jonathan Montague and a dozen soldiers with him. They do not mean to rejoin the fleet, for they beached their boat and it will not sail again until the tides come.”
“He seeks me, as well,” the Admiral looked into the darkness. “I will follow him.”
“Alone?” Alfonzo cried, “Father, you cannot do this: without Willard, you are the rebellion.”
“Me? Fool of a man! Where have I been, these last fifteen years? I am myself a beached old man, dried and salted and hung in the galley. I may be Gylain’s enemy, Alfonzo, but you alone are freedom’s ally.”
“Will I go with you?”
“By no means! You are meant for Celestine, not for death!” The rain came down his cheek. “Still, I will not go alone; I may meet someone along the way. Farewell.”
With that, he turned to the forest and flew before the wind. Nor did he turn before he disappeared. The others watched him go, then Alfonzo roused them, “Come, there is much to be done.” He turned to the ramparts and passed through the small opening left unsealed. They were the last to pass through and behind them the enemy was already beginning to land. “Seal the gap!” as he went through.
“What of the Admiral?”
“He is lost to his revenge. Do not wait for a bitter man.”
“As you wish, sir,” and the guards did their duty.
At that moment, the Fardy brothers approached Alfonzo. The blond Fardy said, “Alfonzo, where are we needed? Say the word and we are there.”
“To the castle, friends,” was the quick reply.
“The castle! Then we would miss the battle, and our patience is weak in war.”
“To the castle,” Alfonzo firmly repeated. “With the trenches flooded there are more men than spaces here, while Milada is pressed to prepare the castle. For the deluge comes, of men and of water.”
“Then our patience will be proved – my brothers’ more than my own – and we will meet again in the castle. Until then, be safe,” and the three brothers set off for the castle, though where the dirt path had been a river now ran. They ran beside it.
Meanwhile, the rebel ships had become charred ruins at the bottom of the sea, and the ships broken by the chain no longer blocked the channel. The Atiltian, Hibernian fleet hurried into the harbor to save itself from the wrath of the storm, and while the forest made landing impossible, it also defeated the wind. Aboard the flagship, de Casanova and his king controlled the siege. The former stood at the bow, reading the situation with his telescope; the latter sat at his table beneath the canopy, reading the situation with his maps and charts.
“The ships are anchored,” de Casanova said.
“Excellent, begin the landing; but take only what you need for the ramparts. The castle sits at the bottom of a basin: if this downpour continues, we will have to float the troops down by flatboat.”
Soon the fleet stretched along the coast several ships deep. Because of its size, however, The Barber remained in the rear. De Casanova prepared to lead the invasion himself. As he went he spoke to his sovereign, without turning to face him.
“If I fall, do not be harsh to Lydia.”
With that, he signaled the trumpeters to begin the call and jumped across to the next ship. The fleet was huddled together so densely he could pass from one ship to another. In a moment he reached the shore, occupying the same ground the rebels had just deserted. It was a wasteland between the two forces. A mist went up as the rain came down. The land was left in haze; and though it was now one o’clock, the only sun was that which refracted off the storm. De Casanova took his place before the soldiers, who had already made ranks.
“We will charge them, men. We will not retreat.Charge!” and the trumpets sang.
The landing force was twenty thousand strong, standing rested and restless. The rebel ramparts were within fifty yards now, though the distance was covered by an inch of water and their passage slowed as a result. They pushed a siege weapon before them, a steel barrier that formed a triangle, the point facing the ramparts. With the rain decaying the foundations of the fortification, the siege weapon was meant to push the mud walls in and open them to the attackers. The mud slowed its advance; but, as de Casanova made his life doing difficult things, he forced it forward. The ranks extended parallel to the siege weapon on either side, angling backward to protect their flank. Arrows swarmed, but the rain slowed them. In a moment the onager struck the ramparts.
“De Casanova,” Alfonzo whispered as he watched the approaching armies. “If I were a man of revenge, this would be a time of celebration. As it is, I will fight for duty and nothing more.”
Lionel came along beside him. “You would fight without hating? I confess I am a youth, but still I have never seen a man kill one he loved. If not one, then the other.”
Alfonzo was silent, lost in the sea that fell about them. Then, “You are right, perhaps, but I cannot leave so great an enemy unchallenged.”
“It is not your hatred I condemn, but your denial. Either way, you need not think of that foul old man, for he is mine. His blood will be on my account, and justice done.”
“Many men, in war, make themselves the justice of the peace,” Alfonzo rebuked in turn. “But beware, for de Casanova has defeated justice more than once. He will give no mercy.”
“And he will have none. But would it matter? Look about you, Alfonzo: we will all die.”He looked at the storm and paused. “If there must be murder, let it not be God’s but mine!”
At that moment, the siege weapons struck the ramparts and the earthen walls fell back in disarray. It came again. The water began to pass through. A third time, and the entrance was unsealed.
“Quickly, men,” de Casanova yelled, “Quickly, follow me!” He dashed up the wall – sloped on the inside – and washed over two rebels stationed there. They had no weapons but arrows and raised their arms to surrender. But they only surrendered t
heir souls: de Casanova struck them down with a single side stroke.
Meanwhile, the advancing soldiers propagated themselves throughout the defenses. The melee was general. Alfonzo rode about on his horse, rallying and forming them into a disciplined line. De Casanova saw him from the wall and started after him, but he was halted by a voice behind his shoulder.
“The Chevalier de Braunign, de Casanova; who could have thought I would have such luck?”
De Casanova spun around. “Lionel!”
“Indeed; come, let us finish this like men.”
“Like men? And for what, a woman?”
“What is fighting for, but man’s woe? Come along.”
“Very well,” and he followed Lionel over the rampart to the ground between the fleet and the fortifications. The water grew deeper and the bay crept closer. The space between the two, however, was empty; for all the soldiers were in battle. “Very well, Lionel; but you must know this fight is as meaningless as that which tears your heart. The outcome is decided, and by her.”
“Patrick is my friend, but Lydia my sister; I fight for her honor alone, for he cares less for his own than even I. Here, we are alone: draw,” and Lionel’s blade came from its sheath and shot toward de Casanova. The latter had his ready and parried the blow.
The young man followed with an assault on his adversary’s left side. He struck again and again in rapid succession, advancing a step with each; de Casanova deflected the blows. Then, seeing he could not prevail in this manner, Lionel lunged at the other’s chest. De Casanova slipped as he fell back and the sword struck his arm – a painful wound, but harmless. He fell into the water.
“It is finished,” Lionel stood over him.
“Indeed,” and he kicked Lionel’s feet aside, bringing him to the ground.
They regained their feet at the same time. The duel resumed. Lionel grew in zeal, and with his larger sword brought a rain of fierce down strokes on his enemy’s head. Thunder rang as de Casanova struggled to block them. Lightning flashed on the steel. De Casanova dodged to the left and a blow fell to the ground. Yet Lionel picked it up before the other could return it and de Casanova recoiled under its hurricane force.
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