Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [290]
And John le Grant said, ‘But if the Adorno gets in, the contract falls to be renegotiated, wouldn’t you say?’
The Doria fired. She let off a salvo of three guns, spaced so that the first ball fell well in front of the Genoese ship. The last was much closer. The Genoese ship replied, firing wide. She was taking in canvas. One of the galleys had vanished from sight. The other had turned and was waiting for the Genoese, standing off on the landward side with her crossbowmen and hackbutters lining her port rail, fore and aft. The Genoese round ship turned to present her poop guns to Mick Crackbene, and the galley sprang into action. In a sequence of thuds, the galley fired into the round ship, her shot exploding into the broad flush planks of the prow; arching over the tumble-home curve that should have protected the gunners. At the same time, her oars sent her spinning into a turn, so that her iron beak pointed outward, ready to gore the towering sides of the Genoese.
For a moment it looked as if the classic capture was about to take place: the low, lean greyhound was about to sink its teeth into the boar. Then the prow guns of the Adorno spoke in unison with those of her poop. To seaward, the ship of Mick Crackbene shuddered within a column of smoke which blossomed into red flame. To landward the Lusignan galley disappeared behind a column of spume and of fire. ‘Christ!’ said Tobie.
‘Look,’ said John. ‘Look what they have done.’
The galley now limping to landward had been bait. While she presented herself as a target, the second galley had rowed against the wind north. Now she had turned. Now she swayed on the towering waves to the north, and glittering on her prow were the slim copper tubes that had faced the ship of the Order that had brought them all from Rhodes to Cyprus. She had the wind, and the fire. At a spark from her tinder, a sheet of flame could envelop the Genoese. And advancing steadily from the east, limping a little, but with the lines of his guns unimpaired and intact, was Mick Crackbene on the Doria. Tobie said, ‘The Genoese. She’s slowing. She’s not making a run for it?’
‘She’s coming to rock,’ John le Grant said. ‘There’s a reef parallel to the shore. It joins all those islands. The galley behind her has pushed her in, and she’s got to change course and then turn, or she’ll overshoot the entrance to the harbour. But Mick is blocking her way. That’s why he left it so late. He couldn’t have done this while she had all that sea room. Look.’
The Doria had fired again. This time the ball made a hit. They heard the crash, and saw smoke rise from the forward quarter of the Genoese round ship. At the same moment, a rush of flame came from the rear, followed by a flock of fire-arrows streaming into the rigging. One of the sails burst into flame. ‘The second galley, in place at her rear,’ said John le Grant. ‘And there goes the first, firing into her flank. You see, because of the rocks, she can’t reply to Mick’s cannon. All she can do is tack forward and crash into him, which would be suicide for them all. He’s got her.’
‘Has he?’ said Tobie. ‘How many men will she carry?’
‘The Genoese? Less than fifty, most likely. That ship’s full of provisions, not soldiers. Good co-ordinated fire might have wrecked the two galleys, and she could have got on course before Crackbene arrived. But she didn’t. Listen. He’s hailing her.’
‘She won’t give way?’ Tobie said. ‘She can’t. She’s got to get in, or she throws Cyprus away.’
‘What do you think she is?’ said John le Grant. ‘A ship from Olympus, a martyr? She was sent by the Republic, and she’s made an honest effort. But behind her is a galley that can burn her down to the waterline, and beside her is Crackbene with a genius for sailing and guns he has hardly used yet. They can give in, or they can die. They have no hope of succeeding.’ He looked at Tobie. ‘Have you forgotten? They are the enemy.’
‘I think I had forgotten,’ Tobie said. Across the water, the loud hailers were blaring and squealing as they had