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.
Chapter 95
"We still hold total military superiority here on the island. We've still got some several hundred men on Vidos, and the barricade the defenders have put up on the gate's ruins can't hold."
General Krovoko was trying to put the best face on the situation that he could, but he was going to have to tell all of the truth, and he knew it—as he knew of Emeric's propensity to kill the messenger. "But the Byzantines are whimpering. With the bad weather most of their fleet was here in the shelter, so, naturally, we used them for the attack on Vidos. It was a fiasco. They were anchored in close formation off the southern side of the islet. When they saw the fireboats, several captains tried to run."
Anger crept into his tone. "If they'd just stayed put we'd have lost half as many vessels. In the dark, in panic, they ran into each other, fired cannon into each other, ran aground or just plain ran. Three of the vessels ran all the way to the Albanian shore and one of them was wrecked. We had a ship, burning, make landfall at Kommeno point. The local people killed most of the crew before the cavalry arrived. We lost nineteen carracks, and three galleys, with fire damage to another four vessels. We're down to seven carracks. The blockade, with nothing more than the Narenta galliots and that handful, is worth little, Sire."
General Krovoko was done with his report. Now he waited, fatalistically, for the sky to fall on him. Emeric pushed himself back in his throne. "I know. But that's not really what concerns me. The Atlantic fleet hasn't come home and we know that the eastern fleet is still sitting in Trebizond after their attempt on the Dardanelles. It's the steady trickle of losses here on the island that worries me, especially as the weather, and the lack of ships, limit my fetching more troops."
Krovoko shook his head. He was a little surprised to find himself still alive and discussing the matter. "Sire, the countryside is definitely hostile, the insurgents in the north must number in the hundreds, and although we've taken Kassiopi, Paleokastritsa still holds out. The place is inaccessible and the locals have managed to resupply when the insurgents have attacked the forces we have there."
"But the island grows drier. Lack of water must be affecting them."
General Krovoko nodded. "What we really is need a safe place to rest our men. This campaign of raids and ambushes . . . it's wearing them down, Sire."
Emeric looked thoughtful, but offered no comment.
The Magyar cavalryman pointed to the map. "We can land men here, on the mainland, near this lake. Make a base for accumulating supplies and let the troops rest. We have more men than we need for the siege, and less than we need to hold siege and subdue the island. They'll be safe from the Venetians or even Corfiotes."
The Narenta pirate captain muttered in his dialect. It was, by the tone, something derisive.
Emeric looked coldly at him. "What was that?"
The pirate captain looked uneasy, but stood his ground. "I said that would be escaping from an angry cat into the lion's den. That is Iskander Beg's land. The Lord of the Mountains will not like it."
Emeric pinched his lips into a harsh line. "He doesn't have to like it. I've tried to contact him, to reach an agreement with the bandit. Well, he doesn't wish to treat with me. I would have preferred to bring my men here by land, but the mountains have too many places where ambushes are easy. But the land next to the lake is gentle. With the lake behind us, the sea in front, this should be an easy strip to hold. I like the idea. See to it, General. It will act as one side to the pincer I want to work on the coastal strip. I'll leave the bandit chief to his mountains. We'll hold the lowlands from here to Montenegro in the next few years.
"Now onto other affairs. We must press the attack on the Citadel hard now. Let drought take the rest of the island."
"We've walled and entrenched the moles," said Dragorvich. "The troops can move forward protected. The front wall is crumbling. Give us another two weeks' cannonade, Sire. A determined push will take the first curtain wall."
"You can have a few weeks. I want them pounded into submission. At the end of February—or at the latest, early March—we must be in. The Venetians will doubtless make something of a push in the spring with whatever ships they have ready. We'll want at least three weeks to repair and reequip the Citadel against that attack."
* * *
"We're down to third-rations." It was so dry that Maria and the other horta gatherers were not finding much to gather. Winter was not the best time for wild greens anyway, but there had always been something. . . .
But with this many women, and a restricted area to hunt in, it was getting less easy by the day. The sound of the cannons was by now such a normal part of the background noise, that it was only its stopping that they would have noticed. The attack on the walls now was relentless. The Hungarians had so increased their forward positions and fortifications that they could sally and attack the walls repeatedly with relative impunity. Food ships and water carts arrived for them each day. Here inside it was relentless starvation and less in the water ration by the day. Maria's biggest worry was having milk for Alessia. Two of the other women's breasts had already dried up. Too little water. Too little food. Alessia now weighed less than she had two months ago.