‘Greek fire,’ screeched the ship’s master. ‘It is the Devil’s work, we are doomed!’
The vision of the flames punching through water, even staying lit when they made contact, was not one to allow for Bohemund to call the man a fool. Even worse was to observe the side of the galley start to burn below the waterline, with flames rising up to ignite the timbers above sea level. If it brought fear to those who could see it at a distance, it was just as obvious that such a weapon, against which there was no defence, induced panic in those on the receiving end. Men, Norman lances included, were rushing about the deck like headless chickens. Some, easy to call them deluded when not in danger, were seeking to douse the flames with the buckets of water that lined the deck of every ship.
It was to no avail; the fire was impervious to such actions and soon the whole side of the ship was alight, with the dromon that had inflicted the damage drawing clear to avoid catching fire itself. In distress, the galley master had ordered his rowers to bend their backs, but could not see that by doing so he was creating a wind that fanned the flames and made matters worse. In the end it was not his folly that slowed the rate of fire but the panic of the oarsmen who, realising that they might be fried, let drop their sticks and began to rush on deck. From standing rock-still in amazement, Bohemund reacted to the screams emanating from the victims, many of them men he expected to fight alongside, who would be roasted alive if not saved.
‘Steer for the open side, away from the flames.’
‘You’re mad!’
The master had responded without thinking. That he did as the giant before him bent over to press home his command.
‘Do as I say or it will not be Venetians or Satan you have to fear.’
About to protest further, the scrape of a broadsword being pulled from its scabbard was enough to kill whatever objection he had been about to make. Now it was his men’s backs that had to bend as he ordered the oar master to drum for full speed, before he yelled to the tiller men to haul hard and make the necessary turn. With both banks of oars working, that was made in a long arc that took them near the stern of the dromon that had spewed out the Greek fire, now with its oars raised just above the water, content to watch its victim burn and sink. Seeing that, Bohemund began to issue another set of instructions.
It was those same raised archers who alerted the commanders on the Venetian deck that the more manoeuvrable Apulian galley was about to make its way down their side, its own oars shortened so that it could get close. Bohemund had every man on deck on one knee, shield above his head, and another party with him on the poop to once more protect the master and his steering crew. Going at full tilt, Bohemund’s ship passed the Venetian stern before those on its deck could properly react. The oars on the Apulian vessel disappeared and the master swung the tiller hard over to bring his galley into the line of Venetian oars. The sound of arrows from above thudding home was drowned out by the smashing sound of oar after oar breaking like a weak taper, while through the leather-covered rowlocks from which they protruded came screams as the men holding them, who could not see what was coming, were eviscerated, the ends being ripped out of their unsuspecting hands.
They could not entirely destroy the greater galley’s ability to manoeuvre, but they did enough damage to reduce the number of oars it could employ, before steering far enough clear to get their own back in use. Bohemund had timed the arrow salvoes, which seemed slow. Then he realised that bows must take longer to load and aim on a swaying boat hanging from ropes, this caused merely by the actions of the bodies it contained. He had his men drop their shields and sling their lances up and over the side to the part of the deck where those commanding the ship would be standing, a crying sound telling them they had done damage to human flesh.
Getting back to full speed the ship’s master swung his galley, using oars and tiller, past the prow of the stationary dromon, then deployed both again so that his vessel came round on a new course to bring it alongside his stricken consort on the far side. Bohemund was shouting instructions for grappling irons to be thrown so that the burning ship could be hauled close enough to get the warriors and crew off, aware that he had little time, for if he had by his actions slowed that fire-spewing dromon, it was far from ineffective.
Over the water he could hear the shouted commands to replace oars and oarsmen, to get under way with what they still possessed on a ship that could only have one aim, to close with him and perhaps once more use that Greek fire to set his galley alight. The desire to escape of those he was seeking to rescue did not aid him; some of the rowers jumped too soon, to fall between the closing hulls and be crushed or drowned. The Normans, however, even with roaring flames so close to their backs that their surcoats were being singed, showed great discipline, obeying Bohemund’s command to clear the side and at the same time restrain those in hazard because of their panic.
Although Bohemund only realised it when they had got clear, what saved them was the way the two galleys came together in a far from gentle crunch, which swung the burning vessel right across the prow of the dromon and that prevented it from getting close enough to once more employ that deadly flame-throwing pipe at a range where it could do damage. The spout of flame shot out as before but it died in the water well away from Bohemund’s galley. In seeking to manoeuvre for another attempt, while again avoiding the danger of catching light itself, the Venetians gifted those seeking to cross to safety the time to do so. As soon as the last man boarded, Bohemund’s master pushed off using boathooks, enough to get his oars into use again so they could speed to safety.
Robert could see three burning galleys, the flames that consumed them rising into a now sunlit sky, black smoke billowing too as the stores they contained inside their hulls went up. Yet what was most hard to bear were the screams of men being burnt alive, oarsmen trapped below and those warriors who delayed too long on the deck. Not that they were gifted a release, for they had only one way to douse themselves and that was to jump into a sea in which a Norman could not but drown; chain mail alone, even if they could swim, was too heavy to allow them to float and would drag them to the bottom.
Keeping him safe was that pair of galleys into which had been loaded the crossbowmen, originally intended for an aggressive role that had, thanks to Geoffrey Ridel and his speaking trumpet, added to a far-carrying voice, got between him and the enemy. With the longer range of their arrow bolts, added to their deadly accuracy, as well as by judicious and sparing use, they were able to hold off the pair of Venetian ships seeking to break through in an attempt to close with his flying ducal standard.
Apart from that he was and felt useless, but he could see that in other quarters his men were giving as good as they got; not every Venetian vessel was equipped with Greek Fire and it now appeared that those who did carry it had used up their supply, for no more of his vessels had been set alight for some time. Added to that, his preparations had not been entirely wasted and if one of his galleys could get alongside an enemy the grappling irons were doing good service to force them together at either the bow or the stern of the larger vessel. That achieved, Normans had both the courage and the skill to get themselves up his hooked ladders onto the enemy decks and fight there, and if they could not prevail, due to the disparity of numbers and the constrained area of combat, they could at least occupy the Venetians so that other galleys were allowed to close and support them.