The Family - Mario Puzo [143]
Cesare resented the use of his younger brother to deliver this message and he realized that Brandao and Michelotto were there in case he proved stubborn or resistant.
Cesare asked to speak privately with Duarte Brandao. As they walked along the docks, Cesare pointed out Elba lying offshore in the distant haze. “Do you know how rich those iron mines are, Duarte?” he asked. “Enough to finance a campaign against the entire world. I would like to conquer it for Father. It would make a fine gift for his coming birthday, and I’ve seldom had such a chance to surprise him. What else can one give the Holy Father? He’s been so serious of late, that I would enjoy seeing him roll with laughter. And by next year it may fall under French protection if nothing else is done. Yet no matter how much I want it for him, at the moment the challenge lies beyond my skills.”
Brandao remained silent, gazing out into the haze. Cesare appeared so filled with excitement at the prospect of such a grand gift for the Pope that Duarte was moved to help him. He turned and looked at eight Genoese galleons tied up at the wharf. “I think I can accomplish what you wish, Cesare, if your men are willing. At one time, long ago, I commanded ships and fought battles at sea.”
For the first time in Cesare’s life, Duarte was speaking of the past with longing. Cesare hesitated a moment. Then, quietly, he asked, “England?”
Duarte stiffened, and Cesare knew he had been presumptuous. He put his arm around the older man. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s not my affair. Just help me take that island.”
He felt Duarte relax. For another moment they stood quietly looking across the bay to Elba. Then Duarte pointed to the Genoese ships. “Those ancient, clumsy vessels, if sailed competently, are reliable, Cesare. And I am confident the defenders of the island worry more about pirates than invading armies. Their defenses—cannons, iron nets, and fire ships—will be concentrated in the harbor, where pirates are expected to attack. We will find a quiet beach on the other side of the island. There we will land enough of your army to take the place.”
“How will the horses and cannons fare on such a trip?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Duarte said. “The horses would create havoc and even carnage in their terror; and the cannons would roll and smash through the sides of our own ships, sinking them rather quickly. We will not take either. Infantry will be enough.”
After studying Genoese maps and planning for two days, the invasion force was ready. The eight galleons set sail crammed with infantrymen and their captains. They set sail waving gaily to their cavalry and artillery comrades left on the docks.
Their gaiety was short-lived. On the slow, rolling voyage across the bay and around the island, many of the men became violently ill, vomiting everywhere. Cesare himself was nauseated, but bit his lip trying fiercely to hide it. Michelotto and, surprisingly, Jofre, seemed unaffected.
Duarte, at perfect ease, ordered the ships into a quiet bay, its sandy beach white and shimmering. Behind the beach were scattered gray-green bushes and a few gnarled olive trees, with a path cutting through the hills. There was not a soul in sight.
The eight galleons pulled close to the shore, yet not close enough. With water five feet deep, the infantrymen were reluctant to wade to shore. Aware of their fear, Duarte ordered the men from each ship to fasten the long, heavy rope to its bow and heave the rope into the sea. Then one sailor who could swim well was chosen from each galleon and ordered to grab the rope and swim to the beach to tie it to one