"They've landed on Vidos Island!"
Like everyone else, Benito scrambled out of bed and rushed for a viewpoint of the island off to the northeast of the Citadel. Benito eyed the beached vessels on the island with impotent fury. The castle's defenders were firing, but it was obviously too little and far too late.
Vidos Island had guarded the northern sea access to the Citadel. Now, with the island obviously under heavy attack, the people of the fortress realized that there would be no place that would be entirely free from cannon fire. There would be no respite. The cannon from Vidos would not be able to hit the Citadel, but the Byzantine fleet would now be able to sail into that area and shell the Citadel without coming under direct fire from both flanks.
Benito strode off in search of Manfred. He found him standing with Erik contemplating the situation grimly. "They're in the outer walls of the island already," said the Icelander. "The keep might hold out a while, but it won't be for too long."
"And they'll be able to harry the northeast too." Benito sighed. With Emeric's latest increase in bombardment on the city itself, rather than just the walls, much of the population had taken to at least sleeping over there. True, very few people had been killed by the cannon fire, but it was frightening and hurt morale. Knowing there was no place that they could truly get away from the possibility of a cannonball killing them—or, worse, their children—was going to dent morale even further. Emeric was slowly chipping away at the spirit of Citadel with starvation and fear.
"We need to strike back somehow."
"A sortie is out of the question," Manfred said. "You two have forced Emeric to invest more in defense than he has in attacking capability. The shingle out there is a set of death traps for horses."
"Then let's take it to the bastards by sea," urged Benito. "We've got the fireboats. If the keep on Vidos hasn't fallen by tonight, they'll have all their carracks bunched around the island, firing ship's cannon at the keep."
Manfred cocked his head at Erik. "You've looked at those cockleshells. What do you think?"
Erik nodded. "Almost all of their larger cannon are on the carracks. The cannon on those carracks are what they've mostly been using to harass the Citadel from the sea with anyway. Burn them and you'll reduce their marine gunnery to a pitiful effort."
"But will it work?"
Erik shrugged. "Those little boats are works of shipbuilder's art, Manfred. They've got one weakness: they were built to run straight with the wind. If we can row them to a point where they're directly upwind, leave each of them with a slow-match and a dead bearing . . . well, it is going to be a question of how well we aim and how well we can judge the slow-match time. You'd be aiming a small boat at a small target a long way away. Most of them would miss. Still, it's worth trying. We're not going to get as many Byzantine ships so close together again. Get one of those little sailing bombs in among them and we'll likely see a fair number catch fire."
Benito compressed his lips. "We're not going to miss. Not if I have to ride those little ships all the way in myself. Call it Umberto's legacy. The Little Arsenal has about fifteen longboats. The Byzantines would either have to up anchor and out oars in the dark, or, with the light galleys beached at Vidos, launch. It's the better part of a mile . . . but with a start and twelve rowers we should do it."
"What are you suggesting, Benito?"
"We lower longboats. Give each team two fireboats to tow out. The enemy are going to be focused on Vidos. We should be able to get really close—they're firing and the muzzle-flash will be easy to see. Set the fireboats on their line, leave one man to each, have him jump overboard at the last moment. With luck, the longboats will recover the aimers."
"Why does someone need to stay with each fireboat?"
"Because they don't have steerage if they aren't moving quite fast." He saw the puzzled look on Manfred's face. "Just take it from me or Erik. That's how it works, Manfred."
Manfred looked at him with a strange expression. "You'll need men who are tired of life, Benito. The longboats won't be able to hang about looking for anyone."
"Manfred, we're starving. We're down to four cupfuls of water a day per man. You don't have to be tired of life to volunteer for this—you have to want, desperately, to live." He shook his head. "The people down at the Little Arsenal are furious about Umberto's murder. They're tired of being powerless to do anything. A lot of them—especially the caulkers—swim like fish. The caulkers have to, for when there's a sprung plank. There's only so much you can do to repair a ship from the inside, and if the ship's on the water it means diving with a rope around your waist and some wadding. I'll get volunteers all right." He sighed. "I'll get too many."
"You know I will not assist in the war of one Christian soldier against another," said Eneko Lopez. "Regardless of what vileness Emeric delves into or what Chernobog does, most of Emeric's troops and the Byzantine soldiers are of our faith."
Benito held up his hands pacifyingly. "I'm not proposing you do anything that kills anyone, Eneko. All I was hoping for was some way to save good men from drowning in the darkness. Like the glowing winged Lion on the sails of the great galleys."
Eneko Lopez looked at him with those penetrating eyes, and apparently decided in Benito's favor. "Tell me what you are planning. I suppose I should be grateful that a fiendish mind like yours is on the side opposing Chernobog and the Devil-worshipers."
Benito told him. Eneko Lopez shook his head. "And you have thirty men prepared to do this?"
"I think at last count even places on the longboats were double-subscribed." Benito looked at Eneko consideringly. "You know, Father Lopez—everybody always lectures or preaches to me. Antimo said it was my face. Now I'm going to do the same for you, seeing as you've also done it to me." He grinned wryly. "Fair's fair, after all. You priests, Justices—even princes—seem to think you have the monopoly on a sense of justice. It isn't like that at all. I promise you the scuolo, the boat-people, hell, even thieves, have a sense of justice. Of what is right. It may not always be what the priests and others think is right, but they believe in it. And they're prepared to pay a high price for what they believe in. The Arsenalotti are angry and frustrated about this siege, and about the murder. Umberto was a quiet fellow, but he was theirs. He'd stood by them, he'd bled for them. Maria too. The Corfiotes think more of her than they do of the governor, for instance. They're bitter about her loss. She's even won over the Illyrians. I've got men who can't swim volunteering. I had four times what I wanted for the fireboats. Now, are you going to help me keep these men alive or are you going to get sanctimonious with me?"
Eneko Lopez looked at him in silence. Then he drew a deep breath. "I stand humbled. You know, those of us who fight the battle for the human spirit do so because we believe in its potential. We are, after all, made in the image of God. But sometimes we spend so much time isolated and only dealing with the bad that we forget. Yes. Some luminescence can be magically contained in small bottles. It is not without cost, but I suppose if you fail and the Citadel falls . . . evil will have its day unchecked."
"I'll take the bottles with gratitude," said Benito. "But as for 'unchecked,' Eneko, short of clearing Corfu of people, Emeric is just going to meet unending resistance, whether we're here or not. Erik sowed the wind out there. Emeric is reaping the whirlwind."
The wind was to the southeast, blowing dust from Corfu's once green fields across the Citadel. "It's not natural," grumbled one of the Corfiotes. "It should be blowing northwesterly."
"And it should be raining, too," said his friend with a dry smile. "And then we could row twice as far and get wet from above with fresh water and below with salt. Stop complaining, Dimitros."
His companion continued blackening his face. "I need something to keep my mind busy. This is crazy!"
"Have your tot of grappa, and let's get on with it."
One by one, the small boats were lowered into the sea. In tense silence now, the little flotilla began running out toward the muzzle flashes around Vidos. The inner keep had no large cannon. The Byzantine vessels were perfectly safe.
But some good admiral had still deployed a couple of small galliots to patrol. Benito thought his heart would stop when one of them loomed up through the darkness.
"What ships?" called the watchman on the prow.
"Tell them we're some Greek name, we've sprung a leak and we're taking water," whispered Benito. "And then we row like hell. We have to board them."
Obviously, at least five of the longboats had had the same idea. The small galliot was a twenty-oar vessel—but she was quartering the wind and the oars were shipped. Abandoning all stealth the longboats closed fast.
Shots rang out . . . and then they were on board, desperate Venetians and Corfiotes, outnumbering the crew, boarding from several vessels. The silence they'd hoped for was a lost dream. Now all they could do was move fast.
Benito had volunteered for the fireboats. The scuolo liked him too much to tell him he was an inexperienced amateur seaman. Besides, he was lucky. And crazy. They needed that, too.
A caulker grabbed him by the shoulder. "Come, milord. The lads are getting the sails up. We'll deal with this ship. You get to yours. There'll be trouble coming."
Benito scrambled over the side of the galliot and onto the fireboat assigned to him. Someone handed down the slow-match. "Go Valdosta! Go!"
The darkness ahead was Vidos. With the fireboat's sixteen feet of oil-and-gunpowder-laden hull accelerating beneath the belling sail, Benito did what steering was possible. Then he put the rudder into the bracket. She'd run straight now, but any lookout attracted by the shooting out at the galliot could hardly miss her. Just as he thought that, Benito realized that the carracks at anchor were firing now, not at Vidos Castle keep, but at them. Salt spray flying, Benito touched the slow-match to the fuse. It sputtered and lit. Taking a deep breath, Benito dove overboard.
The water was chilly. As he came up the night sky was suddenly lit by an explosion and a plume of flames. One of the fireboats wasn't going to get to the fleet.
Benito tugged at the bottle tied to his waist. "Fiat lux!" he spluttered.
There was light. There were other lights in the water, mostly farther back toward the Citadel. And the oil from the cannon-hit fireboat was burning on the water—much too close for comfort. Benito took a desperate look around, wondered how long he could hold his breath and swim underwater, and resolved he'd drown before he burned.
Then a longboat with the boatswain calling stroke, as if this were a regular trip out to a carrack at anchor, came out of the darkness and hauled him inboard. "I might have known you'd be the closest to the enemy," said a wet Erik, grimly. "We've lost a good few men, and the galleys are going to be after us. Look."
Benito saw a galley silhouetted against the flames. Saw the muzzle flash. And laughed helplessly. "That's the one we captured, Erik. It looks like the boys are trying to take it home."
There was huge explosion and flash behind them. The men at the oars pulled. The little boat raced toward the Citadel. Vidos might fall, but, as Benito peered back at the pandemonium of fireboats exploding, he knew Umberto's idea made sure it hadn't been a cheap victory for King Emeric.
It was a fitting repayment.
It was morning before they could see just exactly what the damage had been. Benito already knew the cost. Four men had not been picked up. One, Dimitros, had ridden his fireboat right in, while his longboat team, rowing frantically behind, had screamed at him to jump. Only God knew what had been in his mind now; presumably he was explaining himself to the recording angel, trying to persuade him that it hadn't been suicide. In attacking the galliot, now beached on the northern shingle beside the San Nicolo and Dolphin's hulks, the Venetians and Corfiotes had suffered nine wounded and five killed.
They'd seen that some of the Byzantine fleet had burned last night. But now at first light every survivor (who wasn't in the hospital) of what was being called "Umberto's revenge" was on the northern wall looking out. Counting ships.
There was silence. "Lord and Saints," said someone awed. "If we could come along now with four great galleys we'd hold the sea!"
That might have been something of an exaggeration. But the carrack fleet was considerably reduced. The fire had taken—or made the skippers run up onto Vidos—at least fifteen carracks, the bulk of the cannon-bearing vessels.
But it was the flag on the outer walls of Vidos castle that brought a cheer that must have rung right across the bay between them. When the fireboats had struck, the besiegers must have run to the shore. The island's trees had also caught fire, and the galleys and smaller craft the enemy had landed with must have had to either be rescued or burn. And the surviving soldiers had used the opportunity to retake the outer walls. How long the small garrison could keep the winged lion flying there was another matter, as the gate must be smashed. But it was a heartwarming sight, nonetheless.
A gunner from the walls of Vidos celebrated first light with a round into a largely intact carrack.
But looking at the cheering men and women on the Citadel, Benito couldn't escape the fact that they were all gaunt. The siege had now lasted more than eight months. Starvation might beat them yet, even if they'd just singed Emeric's beard for him.