The Pirates of the Levant (14 page)

When this murmured order reached them, the twenty men

crouching on either side of the galley began to move towards the ladders at the stern. The skiff and the rowing-boat that would take them to land had been lowered. We had made our final approach with great stealth, masts and lateen yards- lowered so that we would not be spotted against the night sky. The pilot was lying face down on the ram at the front: of the galley, with a sailor next to him reciting the depth of the water according to the knots on the sounding-lead. Spanish galleys had a very shallow draught and were as subtle and light as the wind; they could sometimes get close enough in for sailors to land without even getting their breeches wet, although not in this case. As a precaution, our men would travel the final stretch in the skiff and the rowing-boat. The disembarkation point was very narrow, and we didn't want to get the harquebus fuses or the gunpowder wet.

'Take care, Inigo,' whispered Captain Alatriste, 'and good luck.'

He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder, and Copons squeezed the back of my neck. Then they moved off and went down the ladder to the skiff on the starboard side. As I was busy donning my steel corslet, I only muttered a belated 'good luck' when they were out of earshot.

The squad of harquebusiers was split into two groups, one under the command of Ensign Muelas and the other under Captain Alatriste, leaving Sergeant Albaladejo to watch over the sixty soldiers left on board. We could hear the men as they settled into the boats, talking in low voices, muttering oaths whenever anyone pushed or stepped on someone else. Otherwise, the only sound was the oars being fitted into the rowlocks and the metallic clink of weapons, muffled by the rags in which they were wrapped.

The plan was for the harquebusiers to disembark on the sands of a tiny bay which, according to the pilot, lay directly

ahead, on the eastern side of the island. The mouth of the bay was only one hundred and fifty paces wide, but it was free of any reefs or rocks that might hamper our passage. The squad would land there, then cross the island in a southwesterly direction, spreading themselves out around the area where the corsairs were encamped, in order to fire on them and prevent them escaping into the countryside or gaining access to the tower and the one well of water. Meanwhile, at first light, the
Mulata
, having rowed silently around the island, would close off their exit via the sea and, after bombarding them with cannon shot, would set about boarding the vessels.

Towards midnight, taking advantage of the thin crescent moon, two sailors, who were excellent swimmers — one of them was a certain Ramiro Feijoo, a remarkable diver, who later became famous for holing a Turkish vessel during the siege of La Mamora — had set off in the smaller of the boats to reconnoitre the large bay to the south of the island. They were able to confirm that there were indeed two ships — one a saetta and the other perhaps a tartana or a felucca — and they said that the saetta did not appear to be ready to set sail, for she was heeled over, as if beached or in the process of being careened by her crew.

'To your oars, men,' said Captain Urdemalas, once the skiff and the rowing-boat had disappeared into the night. 'Set to without a noise or a word. Prepare and arm the pavisades.'

The oars moved into the water while we arranged mattresses, shields and
pedreros
along the ship's edge, and the master gunner and his assistants positioned the three cannon at the prow. Then, as soon as the small boats had returned and been secured with a towing line, Captain Urdemalas issued new orders, the helmsman held the rudder firm and, still in silence, the oarsmen turned the ship around. Thus we

turned until the pole star was behind us and our prow was pointing towards a low rocky point that rose up nearby. Then; with the pilot keeping a close eye on both the sounding-lead-; and the shore — in case we should hit a sandbank or an • unexpected rock — we followed the coast of Lampedusa south.

About six or seven paces away, a rabbit, its ears erect, poked its head out of a burrow and had a look around. In the hesitant light of dawn, Diego Alatriste watched the creature, resting his chin on the butt of his harquebus, which was loaded with gunpowder and had a bullet in the barrel. The harquebus was wet, as were the scrub, stones and earth on which Alatriste had been lying for more than an hour now, his clothes damp from the night dew. The only dry things were the harquebus pan and the key — wrapped in a waxed cloth — and the slow match, which was rolled up in his pack. He shifted slightly to ease the numbness in his legs and grimaced in pain. The old wound in his hip, acquired four years before — from Gualterio Malatesta during an encounter near the Plaza Mayor in Madrid — ached whenever he remained still for too long in damp conditions. For a moment, he considered the idea that he was no longer up to night dews and dawns spent in the open air, although, lately, he'd had plenty of experience of both. He was tempted to think that his was a roguish profession, but then he dismissed the idea. He might have entertained the thought if he'd had another profession to turn to, but he hadn't.

He looked at his comrades, lying as still as he was. All he could see of Sebastian Copons, crouched behind some bushes, were his espadrilles. Then he glanced up at the stone tower silhouetted against the overcast sky. They had walked a mile to get there, taking the utmost care not to be heard, and had encountered two sentinels at the tower, one asleep and one

dozing. The Captain didn't get a chance to find out whether they were English or not because Copons and Ensign Muelas had silently slit their throats,
ris, ras,
before they could say a single word, in English or any other language. Then, forbidden to speak or light their fuses until the time was right — the wind might carry the smell down to the beach — the twenty men had spread out around the bay, which they could now see in the early light.

The bay was large enough to hold eight or ten galleys; about half a mile wide at its mouth, it formed a kind of clover leaf with three smaller coves leading off it. In the middle of the largest — and sandiest — of these coves lay a saetta, half-heeled over and kept in place by three anchors as well as by cables that held it fast to the beach and to the rocks to the east. It had a large open deck with no rowing benches and a high stern; the kind of ship that depended entirely on sail power, leaving more space for artillery along the sides. It had three sails, one square mainsail and two lateens, and the lateen yards were lowered and tied down on deck. It also had four cannon on either side, although, at that moment, they were all on the side of the ship that was tilted over. The crew were clearly engaged in careening the hull, either to repair damaged strakes, because of faulty caulking or because they were rotten, or to scrape off the barnacles, a crucial task on a pirate ship, which needed speed and clean lines if it was to attack and flee unimpeded.

The saetta was not alone. To the west of the same cove, a felucca was anchored, its prow facing into the gentle breeze blowing off the land. It was smaller than the saetta, lateen- rigged, with the trinquet sail raked forward to the prow. It didn't look like a corsair ship and had no artillery; perhaps it had been seized by the crew of the saetta. The decks of both ships appeared to be deserted, but a few men were milling

around a small fire on the beach. A clumsy error, thought Alatriste: all that smoke and flames were clearly visible night. Typical of the arrogant English, if that's what they were; for, despite their proximity, with the breeze blowing in
the opposite direction, he could barely hear their voices. He had a clear view of them, though, and of the four men posted at the far end of the bay on a rocky promontory, next to one of the saetta's cannon, ready to defend the entrance to the port against inopportune visitors. However, the sea was empty as far as the horizon, and there was no sign as yet of the
Mulata,
which, Alatriste hoped, for his sake and for that of his nineteen companions, would soon be approaching.                                                                                               

The rabbit came out of its burrow, froze when it saw a tortoise hauling itself phlegmatically along, then hopped away! and disappeared into the bushes. Diego Alatriste changed position again, rubbing his sore leg. It was a shame to see
that rabbit running around, he thought, rather than roasting on a spit. Watching the corsairs enjoy their breakfast, he  suddenly felt very cold and devilishly hungry. He looked across to his right, where Ensign Muelas was lying next to the well, and they exchanged a glance. The ensign shrugged and gazed out at the empty sea.   

For a moment, Alatriste wondered what would happen if the galley did not appear and they were left to their fate.
It
wouldn't be the first time. He counted the corsairs on the  beach: fifteen in all, although there might be others out of sight, not including the four standing by the cannon and ? others who might be on board the ships. Too many to keep at bay for very long with their harquebuses — they had six
rounds per man, only enough for the initial attack. Once those were spent, it would be a question of swords and daggers, so Captain Urdemalas had better keep his promise.  He noticed that two men had left the group around the

•

fire and were climbing the slope that led up to the tower and the well. Not good, he thought. They must be coming to relieve the two dead sentinels or to fetch water; it didn't matter which, because they were heading straight towards him. This complicated the situation or would perhaps simply precipitate it. And still no sign of the galley. 'Od's blood. He looked to Ensign Muelas for instructions. Muelas had spotted the two men as well. Alatriste saw him rub one fist against the back of the other and then bend one finger over his harquebus: the signal to light their matches. Alatriste put his hand into his pack, took out flint, steel and slow match and lit the latter. While he was removing the waxed cloth, he blew on the match and attached it to the serpentine, screwing it into place. He noticed that his companions were doing the same, and that the breeze was carrying threads of acrid smoke towards the men coming up the hill. By this point, however, it made no difference. He placed a little gunpowder in the pan and calmly raised the harquebus, resting it on a large, flat stone, and aiming at a point between the two men. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Muelas was doing the same; it was up to Muelas, as commander of the squad, to decide who should begin the dance. And so Alatriste waited, his finger off the guard, breathing slowly to keep himself from shaking, until the two corsairs were so close he could see their faces. One had long hair and a bushy beard; the other, a burlier figure, was wearing a leather-lined helmet. The bearded man looked English and was dressed in the ankle-length breeches favoured by that race. They were armed with a musket and two scimitars, and were chatting, unaware of the danger. A few foreign words reached Alatriste's ears, but then the talking stopped, because the bearded man had pulled up short, about fifteen paces away. He was sniffing the air and looking around, an expression of alarm on his

face. Then Ensign Muelas fired a shot that blasted off half the man's head, and Alatriste, taking that as a signal, shifted the barrel of his harquebus to the left, aimed at the burlier of the two, who had turned to run away, and felled him with a single shot.

The other eighteen Spaniards were a select group, experts in their field, which is why they had been chosen. The ensign didn't have to give any order or signal while he and Alatriste recharged their harquebuses. (This took the time needed to say two hail Marys or two Our Fathers, which some men actually did.) Copons and the others were already making the whole area around the bay echo with a volley of well-directed shots aimed both at the men on the beach and at those guarding the cannon. Of those four, three were killed outright, and one had dived into the water. As for those on the beach, Alatriste saw only two fall, while the others ran for cover. They — along with some men who appeared on the deck of the saetta — were quick to react and began returning fire with harquebuses and muskets. Fortunately, their shots fell short, and since the cannon were all on the wrong side of the ship, they couldn't be used to fend off any attack, from land or sea.

A boat containing reinforcements was approaching from the saetta. Like his comrades, who only put the match to the powder when they were sure of a hit, Alatriste tried to make good use of his five remaining bullets, firing them off as the corsairs on the beach advanced up the slope, doubtless having first calculated the likely number of their ambushers and taking shelter behind rocks and shrubs as they came nearer. Alatriste counted more than thirty of them, which was not many if the galley arrived in time, but a considerable number if he and his comrades ran out of ammunition and had to fight with swords. For this reason, he rationed his bullets as

best he could; he hit another corsair, who dropped to the ground somewhere out of sight, and finally, when he came to his last bullet, he aimed it at a man who was only eight or so paces away, shattering his leg. It made a noise like a branch breaking. Then he laid down his harquebus, unsheathed his sword and waited for them to come to him. A glance told him that Ensign Muelas was lying dead by the well; and he was not the only one. He could see, too, that the bushes in which Copons was hiding were waving about wildly, while the butt of a gun rose and fell amidst the sound of blows and curses. Copons was perhaps now regretting having left Oran, for he was fighting for his life.