The Turkish ships that, however damaged, still managed to get through tried to ram the galleys in the first rows of the Christian fleet.
The galleasses floated lifelessly, slow and funereal, impossible to board, after imposing the first devastating blood tax on the enemy.
19
The noise and the smoke extended all the way to us, far from the fray that had flared up in the middle of the lines. The right Christian flank and the left flank of the Muslims had begun to part, as if fearing a frontal collision. We saw the Turkish armies approaching and heading toward the open sea. Mimi Reis gave orders and commented out loud.
“Muezzinzade set them out badly. The right flank is too close to the coast. If things go wrong, the crews will desert to dry land, and who’s going to stop them? I bet these boats you see here are Ucciali’s galleys. He has something in mind. He plans to give them a wide berth, and take them from behind.”
He turned around, and his face said more than words could have done. He ordered a break as soon as we were out of range of the Christian cannon. The oars were lifted, and preparations were made for prayer. The men performed their ablutions and spread out their mats. A young Albanian took charge of the prayers and the recitation of the Book.
No one paid any attention to me, as I clung to the parapet gazing with astonishment at the ships colliding at the heart of the battle. The noise of the cannonades was echoed by the sound of wood smashing and men shouting. Clouds of arrows flew from one deck to the other, while the arquebusiers fired from the sides. Smoke from a fire rose up in the middle of a floating forest of mainmasts. The water around the big ships filled with corpses, like the moat of a besieged fortress.
When the prayer was finished, Mimi Reis yelled at the top of his voice, “Let’s go!” He commanded that the vessel veer to starboard, and then turned toward me. “Make sure you do your bit, because Saint Nicholas is with us here.”
We headed for the meeting point of the fleets, where the tumult was being unleashed. Before us was a tangle of oars and lifeboats, two Christian galleys, a big Ottoman kadirga, one tiny hull wedged beneath the bow of the first, and other Turkish ships. I recognized them from their outlines, as one might in deep fog, because the colors of the standards were erased by the smoke from the cannon fire.
The hulls of the vessels had come together, forming an island of boats. A terrestrial battle was being fought beneath a vault of deafening noise.
A little Tuscan frigate obstructed our path, sweeping our deck with arquebus fire. The damage was minimal, but the crusaders had let a dinghy down into the water, in exactly the right place. It slipped below our oars on the starboard side of the hull, and the ship halted its course and suddenly bore toward port.
We couldn’t go on. Mimi Reis cursed in his dialect and gave orders to the whole crew, oarsmen included, to shift to that side. The ship swayed and its bulk loomed over the dinghy, which sank, by the will of God.
Our oars were free. Cries of excitement rose up from the crew. We made straight for the wooden island in front of us. I picked out a leather corset and a helmet a size too small. I unsheathed Ismail’s dagger.
We were now within range, the bow cannon fired, but aimed too high. Our ship joined the confusion of hulls at a reduced speed. Its stem entered the knot of vessels, and we began to wheel to port, impelled by the movement of the other vessels.
The crew of what looked like a papal galliot was busy defending itself on the other side, where the Christian ship had fastened itself to its Ottoman neighbor, firing off a cloud of arrows. Some of them, shot from too great a distance, embedded themselves in the side of our ship. Only a few of the men on the Christian deck noticed our arrival, and even fewer worked out that we were about to board, taking advantage of the fact that our hulls had lined up side by side. Mimi Reis waited for the pope’s arquebusiers in the gangway to discharge their arms, so that he could board the vessel under cover of the smoke.
The salvo went off. Mimi Reis grabbed his scimitar. “God is great!” he shouted.
He was the first to hurl himself forward, almost severing the head of the first adversary who came within his range. “E iune!” he cried, “One down!” as his men ran forward. I saw him running ahead once more, shouting like a man possessed, and threw myself after him. It was pandemonium; I found myself surrounded by gunfire and a universal thirst for blood. I ran in the wake of the charging men ahead of me. Fear, excitement, intoxication: We routed the enemy, the gangway turned red. From the other Ottoman ship, soldiers armed with maces and sabers emerged shouting. Attacked on both sides, the soldiers of Pius V surrendered. The field was ours, but we had no time to enjoy the fact.
A call went up. From our boarding side, past the kalita, the smoke dispersed and we were able to make out a big bastarda advancing towards us. The bow guns fired, the cannone di corsia fired directly at the deck, scattering debris all around me and throwing our barricades into utter disarray. The wreckage knocked me down and I fell. I got up, surrounded by corpses and the cries of the wounded.
Venetian cannons. By now the big galley was close enough for me to make out its standard; the maned lion held its closed book and its sword above our heads.
Mimi’s broad face brightened: “At last.” He turned to us. “Uagliò!” he shouted. “Lads! The Serenissima Repubblica is paying us a visit. Let’s give her the welcome she deserves.”
We started piling up rubble, bodies, barrels, gun carriages to form new barriers. Mimi looked like a wild cat, he darted with great agility from one side to the other, belying his stocky physique. By the time the fusillade began, the men were already in shelter.
Then the Venetians boarded.
As the first attackers climbed onto the deck, we fired and then immediately counterattacked with pikes and swords. A Venetian hurled himself at me. I merely held my arm outstretched. I felt the dagger plunging into him up to the hilt and the blood running through my fingers.
“Good man, Cardoso, si fatte la fegura to’! Nicely done!” Mimi Reis observed.
I hadn’t even noticed that he was nearby. He had a word for everyone. He led us into the attack again, and we quickly crushed a unit of arquebusiers.
We fought for ages, acrid smoke and the smell of death filling our lungs. Mimi Reis’s crew had mingled with the sipahi. True to their code, the sipahi went into combat with short swords, something that the Christians tried to avoid. The crew of the Ottoman galley, also under arms, had started hurling cooking pots and fireworks to make up for our lack of cannons.
The clash dragged on in a hideous balance of death, attacking, retreating, gaining a few feet of ground, with shouts, curses, prayers, insults, music, hissing arrows, roaring arquebuses, the smell of combusted bodies, of burnt wood.
I was caught up in a kind of dance. We had to come out of our shelters, seeking contact with the enemy, to take refuge again when the barrage resumed. We came out, we tried to get to the enemy, a salvo was fired, some of the men on our side lost their lives, sometimes we ended up hacking away in close combat.
The Ottoman archers had been fighting for over two hours by now. They were exhausted, in a terrible state. The Turkish bow is a fearsome weapon, but firing it many times takes a huge effort. Weariness fills your limbs, clarity of mind flees, a man becomes a coward. Fewer and fewer arrows were raining down on the Christians. More and more projectiles, fired from arquebuses, were striking our ranks.