Taghri's Prize

by Peter Grant

  Taghri jumped as the swivel guns fired. Smoke billowed from their barrels, to be instantly swept away downwind, and a hail of eighteen arquebus balls fanned out across the galley’s poop deck. There were eight men standing there. Three of them went down. Another two staggered, clutching at their arms or shoulders. Shouts of alarm rose from the armed men standing along the walkway between the galley’s rowers, and from the gunners in her bows.

  Almost instantly, the slingers flung their first jars of naphtha and reached for more. The first two fell short, but the next two, and all four in the second salvo, struck on the balcony or shattered holes in the windows behind it. “Yes!” Taghri exulted aloud, but his rejoicing was drowned by the deep boom! of the foremost cannon as it fired. Its ball struck the galley’s stern, mere inches to one side of the rudder. The other three cannon on the starboard side followed in rapid succession. One of them scored a direct hit on the rudder’s uppermost mounting point, shattering it, smashing the pintle and gudgeon deep into the hull. The rudder would be useless until repairs could be made.

  Meanwhile, the archers stationed amidships had launched their first fire arrows, and had time to launch a second round before the chebec swept past its target. Five of their eight arrows found their mark, three on the balcony, two going into the stern cabin through the windows. Flames flickered and flowed over the wood as the highly flammable liquid caught fire.

  As the chebec cleared the first galley and headed for the second, now almost dead ahead, Elhac called, “Well done, everyone! I’m betting they can’t steer her with that rudder any more. If enough of her officers are down, those left may not know enough to steer her with oars alone, or how best to fight the fires.” A loud cheer rose as the crew drank down the praise as if it were wine, their faces flushed with triumph.

  “Reload the guns, then stand by for action to port,” Elhac concluded. The cannon crews hurriedly finished their reloading routine, then secured the starboard guns and scampered across the deck to those on the port side. They were already loaded, needing only to be run out. The swivel gunners on that side loaded grapeshot without having to be told, and stood by ready to deliver the same death and destruction as their compatriots on the other side of the ship had done.

  Taghri jumped up onto the poop deck and ran back to the stern rail, staring at the galley they’d just fired upon. Smoke was now welling up from below her poop deck, and the men on her bow and walkway seemed to be running around in disorganized panic. He said as much to Elhac.

  “They’re leaderless, sir,” the captain replied without looking around. “Either their captain was struck by the swivel gunners, or he’s busy fighting the fire and can’t direct the rest of his crew. If the flames are taking hold and this strong wind fans them, she’s doomed.”

  Taghri wanted to cheer, but a sudden realization seemed to clutch at his throat. “But what about the slaves? They’re chained to the decks! They can’t escape!”

  “No, sir, they can’t,” Elhac acknowledged heavily, turning to look at him for a moment. “Don’t think that hasn’t been a burden on my soul since we left harbor. I know what they’re thinking and feeling right now. But for you, I might have been on that ship this morning. If a galley slave’s ship goes down, he goes with it.”

  “But… but that means we killed innocent men!”

  “Yes, sir, we did; but if we hadn’t attacked that galley, it would have attacked the Malik’s ship. We had no choice, sir.”

  “I… I see what you mean.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m glad we stopped their attack, and I’ll shed no tears for the pirates who’ll die aboard her; but I’ll spend many months offering sacrifice for the slaves who died, asking the gods to forgive me for their deaths. I hope their shades won’t hold it against me when my time comes.”

  “I think I’ll have to do the same.”

  Elhac turned to look at the galley ahead of them. With the wind now directly behind the chebec, they were bearing down on her very quickly. He raised his voice. “Sail party, tighten the sheets! Pull the sails inward, to slow her down!” He turned to the slingers. “This time, aim at the standing rigging holding her mast upright, where it’s made fast to the hull. If your naphtha splashes on that, and the archers can set it afire, she’ll lose her mast for sure in this strong wind.”

  “Aye, sir!” The archers amidships waved acknowledgment as well, and prepared more fire arrows.

  “Prasad, tell your gunners to aim at her bow cannon. If we can knock them out, or kill enough of their gun crews, she won’t be able to fire on the Malik’s galley from a distance. I’ll pass her just outside the sweep of her oars, to get you as close as I can.”

  “Aye, sir! Gunners, load grapeshot on top of the cannonball! Aim for the bow cannon of that galley! Fire as your guns bear!” He ran to the foremost cannon, to lay and train it himself.

  Taghri suddenly realized that because the middle galley was a larger ship, she carried more men than the other two attackers. More of them were archers, too. He saw them shake themselves free from the throng around them, and nock arrows to their bowstrings or put bolts in the channels of their crossbows. He raised his voice. “Ware arrows! Ware arrows!”

  The seamen took up the cry, and all those who could crouched behind the bulwarks or masts, protecting themselves as best they could. However, the gun crews did not have that luxury. They had to stand to their posts. Several of them were hit by the shower of arrows, crying out, clutching impaled limbs, or falling to the deck with shafts protruding from their bodies.

  He was startled by a sudden loud bang! from the enemy galley. A swivel gun, that he had failed to notice earlier, discharged from the break of the poop deck. Its deadly cargo whistled across the water and hit the swivel gunner on the chebec’s poop. With a cry of pain, he collapsed amid a shower of splinters from the gunwale as some of the grapeshot peppered the deck around him.

  Elhac didn’t hesitate. “Hold your course!” he shouted to the helmsman as he ran across the poop to the swivel gun. He swung it into line, reached for the linstock where it hung smoldering over a tub of water on the deck, and touched off its load of grapeshot. He didn’t aim for the enemy’s swivel gun, but for the group of officers standing by the helmsman, staring at the oncoming ship. His charge took effect, breaking up the group, aided by the other swivel gun firing from the chebec’s bow. He let the gun fall unheeded in its mounting as he ran back to stand beside the helmsman.

  His temporary absence didn’t impair the chebec’s fighting ability at all. The slingers began to heave their heavy clay bottles as soon as the poop deck drew abreast of the galley’s stern. They were able to break several of them against the heavy standing rigging where it was bolted to the galley’s side. The archers instantly launched their fire arrows against the same spot. Three of them scored hits. Flames began to climb the tar-soaked rigging towards the peak of the mast, and burning naphtha dripped down the wooden side of the ship. Cries of dismay rose from her crew as they saw the fire take hold of her sail and consume it in a billow of flame. The wind ripped it into burning fragments, and scattered them far and wide.

  At almost the same instant, the foremost cannon on the chebec’s port side vomited its cargo of death. Prasad’s aim was perfect, aided by Elhac bringing his muzzle to within fifty feet of its target. His cannonball ricocheted off the side of one of the larger, heavier cannon in the galley’s bow with a dull clang! His grapeshot, also bouncing off the bigger weapon, hit several of its crew as they stood ready to fire into the chebec’s stern as she passed them. The rest broke and ran in confusion as the chebec’s remaining three port-side cannon fired in rapid succession. Two were on target, inflicting more damage and casualties, throwing those on the forward part of the galley into complete disarray.

  As they left the pirate galley in their wake, it began to swing sharply, turning away from the Malik’s vessel. “What are they doing?” Taghri called to Elhac.

  “They’re trying to put the burning rigging on the lee side o
f the ship, sir, where the wind won’t drive the flames across the mast and down the standing rigging on the far side.”

  The galley’s crew were dipping buckets of water out of the sea to throw on the flames, but they’d already risen so high up the rigging that the wind was carrying the water away before it could reach them. Taghri felt vindictive satisfaction at the sight. Its support gone, one good gust of wind would see that mast come down.

  A shout from the bow interrupted him. “The Malik’s ship’s turning, sir!”

  He spun around to peer ahead, beneath the bulge of the sails. Sure enough, the royal galley was spinning around, her sail already disappearing as her crew furled it. She was visibly better and faster handled than the pirate galleys. The closest pursuing pirate saw her change of course, and opened fire on her, trying to score a damaging hit before she could come around: but her two cannon seemed to make no impact.

  “They’ll be tangled with each other before we can get up with them, sir,” Elhac warned.

  “Yes, but if it’s one ship against one, I have faith in the Malik’s men. They have the look of fighters.”

  “That they do, sir!”

  Taghri glanced back at the first ship they’d engaged. She was almost hull down to them by now, flames and smoke licking higher and faster by the moment, spreading forward, already almost touching her mast. Her crew would never be able to put out a blaze that strong with mere buckets of seawater. He winced at the knowledge that some of the slaves, chained to the aftermost rowing benches, were already burning… but Elhac was right. They’d had no choice but to attack her. Before long, everyone on board who couldn’t swim, or couldn’t get free of her hull, would be drowned.

  His attention was distracted by a massed shout from those on deck. A dozen arms were raised, pointing at the larger pirate galley they’d just attacked. Her burning standing rigging could no longer adequately brace her mast. It tottered under the strain of the ship’s roll and pitch, whipping back and forth in the rough seas, then cracked six feet above the deck. It came down across the aftermost section of the ship. At once her oars ceased moving – not surprising, since many of the rowers would be trapped beneath the wreckage. Taghri could only guess at the chaos aboard her, as sailors tried to chop away the mast and rigging and put them over the side before the flames could set fire to the rest of the ship. She was out of the fight, at least for now.

  15

  “Ware the wave! Ware the wave!”

  The cry came from the starboard rail, where a seaman was pointing out to the side. A huge mountain of water was rearing up, far larger than the stormy whitecaps they’d been dealing with so far. It was approaching fast.

  Elhac responded instantly. “Tiller hard to port! Bring her round to meet the wave!”

  The crew sprang into action. They knew the danger. If the wave caught them on the beam, the ship might be capsized, or dismasted, or even turn right over under the impact. Slowly – it seemed agonizingly slow – the ship’s head came around to face the onrushing wall of water.

  As she turned, Taghri glanced over the rail at the Malik’s galley and the last pirate attacker. They were maneuvering to bring their cannon to bear on each other, and approaching one another fast. He didn’t know whether they had seen the big wave bearing down on them. If they had, they showed no sign of preparing for it.

  Elhac shouted, “Sail handlers, let them fly free, so they don’t blow us over! Grab hold of the ship and hold on for your lives! If you go overboard, we can’t save you!”

  The sail handlers tugged at the spray-tightened lines with urgent hands, pulling the braces and sheets loose, allowing the booms and sails to fly out straight downwind, so that the pressure of the air against them would not lay the chebec over on her side as she turned. Taghri slid back into the corner where the poop met the main deck, pushing himself into the angle with his legs, wrapping one arm around the rail and the other around the man next to him. He and his guards formed a line across the front of the poop break, bracing each other.

  The bow began to rise, shooting up like it was being lifted by some giant monster under the water. The bowsprit emerged from the background of the sea and soared upward into the sky, seeming to want to take flight. “HOLD ON FOR YOUR LIVES!” Taghri heard Elhac scream… then the bottom fell out of their world as the bow dropped to point into the abyss behind the wave, and the chebec dived into the trough. For an agonizing moment it seemed she would never stop falling, then she struck with an appalling shock, as if she’d hit a rock instead of water. The hull trembled, and Taghri heard wood crack… then a huge wave of water blotted out the air.

  It seemed to wash over them forever, tearing at the ship and her crew with almost irresistible force. The line of men was ripped apart, some managing to cling to the ship, others vanishing with cries of fear that were lost in the rush of water. As the chebec emerged from the wave she seemed to shake herself, like a dog shedding water from its coat. Taghri blinked the water from his eyes, and looked around. At least a dozen men were missing, presumably washed overboard, including a number of his guards. Elhac and the helmsman were miraculously still on the poop deck, washed to its edge, but they had managed to hold on to the railing. The sails were streaming water, their sheets and braces flying loose in the wind. The foresail and its boom had vanished altogether, ripped from the mast.

  Elhac staggered upright. “ALL HANDS TO THE SAILS! Recover the lines! MOVE, damn you!” He was magnificent in his defiance of the wind and the waves, and everyone aboard was lifted by his example. They rushed to obey his orders.

  The foresail handlers – those that were left – no longer had a sail to control, but they were good seamen and knew what was needed. Working with frantic speed, they rigged a small makeshift trysail between the foremast and the bowsprit, and held it out for the wind to catch and hold. Slowly, the wind took effect on the scrap of canvas, and the ship came around onto her original course. Meanwhile, the mainmast and mizzenmast crews gained control of their sails, and hauled them around to catch the air as well. In less than five minutes, the chebec was under way again. She was badly battered, and some of her crew were missing, but she was back under control.

  Taghri climbed up onto the poop deck and looked aft. The larger pirate galley had been swamped by the wave, putting out the fire in its fallen mast and rigging. Much of the wreckage had been ripped away by the force of the water, but so had many of its oars. It was staggering downwind, unable to control its own course as yet.

  He turned and looked ahead. The Malik’s galley and the third pirate vessel had been thrown together by the massive wave. It looked as if the pirate galley had smashed headlong into the Kalba vessel, their rams piercing each other’s hulls. They were locked together, their masts broken off short and hanging over their sides in a confused tangle of wreckage. A mob of men fought each other across their bows, now so close together that a man could jump from one ship to the other.

  “What do we do now?” he asked Elhac.

  “Sir, I don’t know. Both ships may sink or be thrown ashore – they can’t maneuver properly when they’re locked together like that. Trouble is, we can’t rescue everybody aboard the Malik’s ship. We’d never fit them all aboard.”

  “Then we’ve got to save one or both of those ships, or beach them so that those aboard can get to dry land. Load our cannon with grapeshot, to clear the poop of the pirate galley, then put our bow alongside her stern. I’ll jump aboard her with my guard. As soon as we’re aboard, go around to the stern of the Malik’s galley. Get the Princess Gulbahar and her father aboard the chebec, as fast as you can. If they argue, tell them I said their safety is what this whole fight has been about. If they delay, and die of it, they’ll waste the lives of all who’ve already died trying to keep them safe.”

  Elhac flashed him a shaky grin. “That should be persuasive, sir. What then?”

  “Keep clear. I’ll try to fight forward along the pirate, to meet the Malik’s men as they come the other way. We should
be able to trap the pirates between us and finish them off. After that, it all depends on whether we can get the ships separated or not. If we can, we’ll try to beach them both. If not, we’ll go aground hard, and have to make our way to shore as best we can. Fortunately, the beach here doesn’t shelve steeply.” He indicated the shoreline, now only a mile or two distant.

  “Aye, sir, it doesn’t, but you’ll still hit hard, with the storm waves driving you. The ship’ll break up under your feet. A lot of people will die.”

  “There’s no help for it. If we go ashore, don’t try to rescue us. Head for Kalba as fast as you can, get the Malik and Princess to safety, then come back with help. That’s an order! Understand me?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Elric volleyed orders, and Gunner Prasad cleared the wrack of lines and ship’s debris from the port side guns. He drew the loads from the barrels, for fear that the wave might have swamped the gunpowder, and reloaded them with fresh powder and a double charge of grapeshot, which were made of iron rather than lead for the nine-pounder cannon. The two swivels were also reloaded with their smaller lead grapeshot. By the time they drew near to the two galleys, the guns were ready.

  Taghri called his guards together. There were only seven of them left, plus three slingers and two archers – the other eight men who’d come with him had vanished, presumably overboard. “We’re going to board the pirate galley,” he explained, and outlined what he wanted to achieve. “Archers and slingers, stay up on her poop deck, and pick off the pirate leaders and any of their archers you see. The rest of you, move with me, remember the stamp-and-slash drill we’ve practiced, and we’ll soon have the galley under control. After that, we’ll try to save both ships.”