“And you’ve got precious little. I’m going on deck to see how many men I’ve lost this day when we saved your skin.” He swore and turned to make his way out, hands groping to fend off the beams and steady himself as the vessel rocked.
“Blessed saints! You can barely walk, you fool.”
But Strykar had already gone. A few moments later Danamis heard a great cheer rise up from the main deck. Strykar had reunited with his men. Danamis slumped and reached out for the ale pot.
Three rapid raps on the bulkhead rattled the walls and Gregorvero entered. His perpetually reddened face now held a somewhat darker cast.
“Gregor, drop some canvas and let us drift for the night. Until I figure out where we’re going.” Danamis ran his hand over the chart again.
Gregorvero moved closer to the table, arms across his barrel chest. “We’ll drift west.”
“I know. But until I can decide which course we set for.”
“Well you damned well better decide and the quicker the better!”
Danamis was on his feet, the bench crashing behind him and his finger pointing. “If you weren’t my friend, I’d have you thrown over the side for that.”
With a speed belying his bulk, Gregorvero seized Danamis’s wrist and slammed his hand down onto the table. “If I wasn’t your friend I would not have said it.” He pointed at the golden signet upon Danamis’s little finger. “Your father gave you that for a reason when he left these shores.”
Danamis stood frozen, looking at the deeply scored band, the seawolf intaglio worn but still visible in the red carnelian stone. Gregorvero released him, pushing the hand away as he stepped back.
“And he did so because he wanted you to lead the fleet. Not Tetch.”
Danamis leaned on the table. “I was not his first choice. You know that full well.”
“Your brother died a good death. He was a good captain—and he was senior. But your father would not have named you had he not believed you were man enough to rule in his stead.”
“He had to give me the command if he was to keep it in the family. Hardly an act of faith in me, was it? I despised him, you know. For what he did.”
“That’s in the past. But you can’t just keep throwing gold at men to buy their loyalty. Truly loyal men need more than that.”
Danamis nodded slowly. These were words he already knew to be true despite his worst nature. “I know I did not listen to you when I had the chance. I regret that now. You saw things more clearly than I did. You knew the storm was coming. You saw what Tetch was up to. And probably a long time ago.”
“You were too busy wenching and drinking when not trying to buy your way out of trouble. Now that you’re a pauper you’ll have to think differently. And act differently. So stop your mewling and start making some decisions.”
Gregorvero lifted Danamis’s doublet off of a peg on the bulkhead and held it out. “And you could do worse than go out on deck and address what’s left of your fleet. Tell them what they need to hear. A plan of battle.”
Danamis took the doublet and pulled it on. “I’m making it up as I go along.”
Gregorvero smiled. “Even the best of them do that.” He paused. “Nico… you know in your heart what you want to do next. Trust the men to follow.”
Danamis looked again at Gregorvero, his face lined with determination but tempered by shame for what he had and had not done in the months gone by. A place he could never revisit. “Aye,” said Danamis. “I believe that I do. Ring the bell.”
ACQUEL STOOD ON the sterncastle deck, gripping the railing tightly as he watched the sun melt into the endless horizon. The sea was calm but the gentle rolling of the ship still set his stomach to lurching and he swallowed hard. He had never before glimpsed the ocean except in his dreams. Nor had he ever set foot on a great ship. And today he had done both, just a few days since he had been in the bowels of that tomb. The life he had known was undone completely, his future a die to be cast. Elded’s ghost would not be deterred. He knew that now.
For the first time since he had been on the run, he thought of his mother. Was she even now beating out the linen on the stones in the palace of Count Marsilius, High Steward of Livorna, proud of her son’s pious work further on up the mount at the Ara? Or had the news of his flight and the false accusations of murder already spread and poisoned her ears and those around her? He realized then that she might even have drawn the wrath of the Temple down upon herself. Marsilius was nothing more than a creature of the High Priest and the Nine. He would do whatever they bid of him.
Above his head, the lateen sail on the mizzen sagged as the breeze died. All around him nothingness. Even the coastline had vanished, falling over the edge of the sea. He reached to the belt and pouch that still rode high up on the waist of his doublet. He opened it and pulled out the amulet. It was a reddish gold, the lapis stones now dark, almost purple in the fading light. The designs and engraving still stood out, their indentations blackened with the dust of the tomb. For an instant he was seized with an impulse to throw it into the deep. And then he smiled—more a grimace—as he knew it would never stay there. He lowered his head and put it around his neck, gently tucking it into his shirt. It was oddly warm upon his breastbone.
Five shirtless and barefoot sailors clamoured about the mast, shouting as they worked to haul down and furl the great piece of canvas, and as he watched he saw Timandra climbing up the stair to the deck. Her hair was wild and loose, the sleeves of her chemise rolled up high. And though she looked tired and worn out, to his eyes she was yet alluring. Acquel knew she had tended to Captain Strykar for hours after his fall. It had been a mad headlong flight once they had dragged the captain down off the fo’c’sle, arrows raining down upon them from the quayside. In the pandemonium he had found himself knocked over and nearly trampled by the sailors and soldiers as they ran across the deck. And then, they were out of the harbour and he somehow found himself being pulled to his feet and pushed forward to help bear Strykar down below with Timandra and two other rondelieri, not knowing whether the man was even alive.
“Mistress!” Acquel grasped her hand and covered it with his other.
“Stop calling me that. You know my name.” She leaned over the rail and took a deep breath.
“How fares the captain?”
“Ah! He’s more bear than man. It would take more than a drop off a tower to kill him. I dressed his head wound and he was well enough to curse me while I did it. I don’t think we will have need of your service now, brother monk.”
Acquel smiled. “I’m not a blackrobe. I don’t have the ability to perform the rite of the extremis blessing.”
She looked at him, her eyes gentle, almost forgiving. “Oh well. You are somewhat less use than I first thought. Let us hope no more of us have need of the rite.”
“Do you know where we will go now? Will Danamis take us to Maresto?”
“That is not for me to say. This morning I never expected to be on a ship sailing into open waters. All I have left is this purse with some silver and a few ducats. Palestrian devils are probably dividing up what stock I had on the mules. Bastards.”
“Where can Danamis go? Surely Maresto will give him aid?”
“I didn’t think you’d be in a hurry to go there.”
Acquel lowered his head and, seeing this, Timandra reached out and touched his wrist. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be so callous.”
“I know that. We have all been thrown upside down this day. Strykar more than the rest of us!”
She smiled broadly and shook her head. “Aye, true enough.”
Just beneath them, where the main deck began, the ship’s bell began to ring out, a steady clanging to gather the crew. They looked at each other and moved from the stern to the forward rail. Below them they could see the rondelieri gathered in a circle around Strykar.
Timandra swore. “He’s had his skull cracked and now he’s up again after I told him to lie still.”
Acquel’s eyes qui
ckly scanned the heads. By his count, there were just over 30 of the swordsmen remaining, the rest having fallen at Palestro. Most of the survivors had lost their great bucklers in the escape but a few still lay propped here and there or sitting on the four great wrought iron cannon that were lashed amidships pointing out over the railings. “At least he still lives.”
Seamen came sliding down the ratlines from above and on the fo’c’sle another dozen sailors and bowmen gathered. Acquel’s eyes moved rapidly from fo’c’sle to main deck and then to where he stood on the poop; he made it sixty-five men in all. This was all the admiral had left to his command. Leaning over, he saw the ship’s master, a portly man, stride out from the stern cabin and pound down the small set of stairs to deck. Behind him was Danamis.
“Give ears to your commander!” bellowed Gregorvero and the raucous banter subsided like the sudden halt of a rain shower. A few coughs followed but no one spoke. The creak of rope and board echoed all around them while Danamis walked to the mainmast, a stout oak the thickness of two men, and placed a hand upon it, patting it soundly.
“This good ship! This fine vessel made finer by the stout hearts who sail in her!” Danamis’s voice lifted high, reverberating off the fo’c’sle bulkheads and carrying across the deck from stem to stern. “As God is my witness, I give thanks to you all for your loyalty and your courage! Just as I curse the rank treachery of that bilge scum behind us in Palestro!”
There was a ripple of cheers and huzzahs from the pirates but the rondelieri stood quiet, arms folded, or leaning back upon the rails.
“Just tell us where we’re going, you swarthy bastard,” muttered Timandra.
Danamis walked around the mainmast. “We are not done with this. We are not content to let Giacomo Tetch have his way. And we are not alone. There are our comrades who could not escape. Brave Salamander was not the only ship who fought the mutineers. Swiftsure and Bonadventura resisted too and we may yet see their sails on the north horizon!”
The light had nearly faded away now, the sky purple. Danamis gestured up to men manning the fo’c’sle deck. “For your day’s hard work I give you a reward…” And he whirled to raise his arms to the sterncastle. “A gold ducat for every man!”
A cry went up throughout Royal Grace and feet stamped upon the decks. “And the same to our brave rondelieri comrades who shed their blood with us!”
A few of the swordsmen nodded their heads and exchanged looks but this news was more soberly taken than by the sailors. Strykar seemed to glower in their midst.
Danamis looked down at his boots. His voice became softer. “And my brothers, a new day will bring a new course for us to sail.” He looked up again, his eyes wide. “As the Lord Admiral of our king, it is to Perusia I must go. The king must be told of this terrible crime and betrayal. And there will I gain the ships and men to return and thrash the traitors! Long live the king!”
The cry, taken up by all, sounded across the ship. “Long live the king!”
Acquel watched as the rondelieri stopped their slouching and stood up straight. He saw Strykar push his way toward Danamis. But Gregorvero walked between him and Danamis and raised his voice high.
“Back to your stations! Set the first watch!”
Timandra swore and looked at Acquel as she leaned over the rail. “I damned well knew that’s what it would be. There’ll be one unholy fight now.”
Next to her, Acquel overheard two seamen sniggering in a conspiracy. “By Elded’s bollocks,” said one to the other, “we’re off with our begging bowl to Sempronius. God help us.”
And Acquel now realized his reluctant adventure was taking yet another turn.
Below, Gregorvero reached for Strykar’s arm. “Captain, we would urgently consult you. Now, please.” And Danamis nodded to Strykar.
“You may have a battle on your hands sooner than you think,” rasped the mercenary. “But I’ll forbear it out of past loyalty and hear you out.”
Gregorvero, his shoulders relaxing, took a step back. He gestured with a movement of his arm and a scowling Captain Strykar turned and headed for the stern cabin, cursing all the way.
Fourteen
STRYKAR’S EYES WIDENED as the man walked into the gloom and fug of the admiral’s cramped cabin. In the light of the lantern that hung from an oak stanchion, he saw that half of the man’s face was seared raw and weeping with fluid, the wound creeping down across his jaw and neck. He had been burned, and half the hair on his head was singed to frazzled stubble. An acrid smell wafted across the cabin.
“Bassinio,” said Danamis. “This is Captain Strykar of the Company of the Black Rose.”
Bassinio turned to Strykar and nodded. Strykar did the same.
“I want you to tell Captain Strykar what you have told me—from the beginning.”
Bassinio cast his eyes to the table. “Give me a drink first.”
Danamis poured him out some ale from the pot and placed the cup in his hands. Bassinio drank it one gulp and handed the cup back.
“They went aboard all the ships in the morning. Tetch’s mates. They said that it was time to choose between Danamis and Tetch and that Tetch had the backing of the Decurions and of the temple priests. They didn’t give much room for argument. I told them to get off of my ship and go to hell.” He gestured for the ale pot as he paused and swallowed hard. Danamis filled the cup again.
“Well, luckily my lads weren’t having any of it. Tetch’s men gave me a tongue lashing but they left in a hurry. I saw other vessels start hoisting the bloody ensign and I knew it had all started. I gave orders to take to arms and raise anchor because they would be coming back to try and take us. And the devil take them they were back with crossbowmen within one hour. I got Salamander under way with a tow but lost men as they rowed us out. It took us too long and they had managed to bring up a longboat alongside to board. We were almost to the mouth when they set us alight with fire arrows. I could see you alongside—at the west tower—and we pulled hard to make it over to you. I was up on the sterncastle trying to put out the fire when the enemy managed to board us amidships and rushed us. The whole stern awning was ablaze by then. And then it just collapsed on us. I managed to jump over the side with a few others.”
“That’s a hard run of it to be sure, captain,” said Strykar. “And I am sorry you have lost your ship and your crew.” He turned to Danamis and Gregorvero. “But that has bugger-all to do with you setting a course for Perusia.”
“Bassinio,” said Danamis, his voice low, “tell Captain Strykar what Tetch told you the night before.”
Bassinio nodded. “I was at the alehouse with two other captains and their masters. Tetch comes in and we take a table in the room at the back. See, he wants to have a quiet word about the state of affairs, as he puts it. Well, after a few jacks he all but comes out against you, admiral. He says that he has been in negotiations with Torinia—Duke Ursino himself no less. Says that if Palestro signs a treaty with him, Torinia will give more ships and more men. And they don’t give a rat’s arse who Palestrians pirate from so long as it isn’t Torinian ships.”
Strykar didn’t move. “You swear that is what he said was on offer? An alliance?”
Bassinio nodded again. “And he said that Maresto could go fuck themselves for all the use they were to Palestro.”
Danamis put his hands on table and looked straight at Strykar. “And what do you think Duke Alonso would make of that?”
“All the more reason we sail there now to tell him.”
“And how many warships does Maresto have in port?” countered Danamis. “Five? Two? We won’t get the help we need there. Only the king has a big enough fleet—and a purse to match.”
Strykar grumbled. “You don’t know that for sure. It’s still a gamble.”
“There’s more, Captain Strykar.” It was Gregorvero, standing back against the stern bulkhead with his arms crossed. “When we ground against the chain tower in Palestro, the bow timbers took a pounding. We’ve got over a fo
ot of seawater in the bilge and I can practically poke my finger in some of the seams.”
Strykar covered his eyes and shook his head. “By all the fucking saints! So we are sinking? Is that what you’re telling me now?”
Gregorvero pursed his lips. “Well, it’s not getting any better. What I’ve told Captain Danamis is that if we raise full sail and increase speed—or if we run into a head-sea that pounds the bow—we’ll take on water even faster. I’ve plugged the worst with strips of canvas but that just slows it a bit.”
“What he’s saying,” said Danamis, “is that if we turn back and sail west for Maresto, we have to run the gauntlet of Palestro. We can’t sail fast and we can’t sail against the wind and wave. If we sail eastwards now, we have a following sea. And we stand a good chance of making it to a safe port.”
Strykar shook his head as all the implications washed over him. “You have put me in the shit this time, Danamis,” he said with a resigned sigh.
“I am the king’s admiral. It’s my duty to tell him what’s happened in Palestro. With his aid I can put together a fleet to challenge Tetch. Hell, Tetch may find another mutiny on his hands if Sempronius declares him traitor to the kingdom.”
Strykar raised a finger to Danamis. “So help me, Nicolo Danamis. If we don’t end up at the bottom of the sea first, you will be paying me back in full chests of ducats in Perusia. I promise you that.”
Danamis smiled thinly. “My banker in Perusia is at your disposal, old friend. And don’t forget we have your myrra leaf below.”
“Damned good it will do me now.” He turned to Gregorvero. “Just get us there, master Gregor. Keep this pile of kindling together and get us there.” He muttered under his breath and looked again at Danamis. “I’ll go tell my men before they start trouble.”
“I’ll see your men are properly berthed,” said Gregorvero, “and find them some more food.” Strykar nodded and made to leave. He ducked his head down and left the cabin, bouncing off a bulkhead as the ship skittered on a wave crest. Damamis bent over his chart and exhaled heavily. He turned to Gregorvero.
The Guns of Ivrea Page 13
