She sighed. Well, spring was here. And, though men might war and burn, the earth and the women of the island would bring forth new life.
Chapter 27
The outcomes of great ventures often hinge on small things. In this case it hinged on a southerly wind, and the price crates of cuttlefish were fetching at the fish-market at Kerkira. A few copper pennies increase in price had formed the basis of Taki Temperades' decision. The best time to catch cuttlefish, in these parts, was the twilight and the predawn, and the best place was the bay of Vlores some ninety miles north of Corfu.
The southerly wind had delayed Emeric's carracks. The galleys were forced to anchor in the bay of Vlores and wait.
Captain Taki left Corfu with four crewmen, some cheap wine, a lot of cuttlefish jigs and a sail-full of southerly wind in the late afternoon. The moon was full and the run simple. The wine was bad, but not that bad. The wind was dropping toward early morning. Taki was pleased by that. It meant it would swing to the north by dawn.
Taki's ratty little fishing boat rounded Cape Gjuhezes. The Corfiote skipper looked at the town of vessels lying there, in the sea-mist.
"Bloody Illyrian sons of bitches!" slurred the captain. He'd had quite a lot of that wine. "Stealing my fishing . . ." He shook his fist at the multitude of ships.
Spiro looked up from where he'd been busy with his horsehair lines. "Well, the cuttlefish must be as thick as flies on horseshit for so many vessels."
They sailed silently toward the ships, ghosting in on the last breaths of the wind. It had been dying and turning to westerly anyway or there would have been no wind here at all. The moon was nearly down. On one of the ships a horse snorted. Someone said something to someone else. Across the water the voice carried clearly. It wasn't Greek. Or Italian Frankish.
"Turn, Taki. Turn now," whispered Spiro. His eyes were wide, taking in the size of the vessels they were now nearly between. "Those aren't fishing boats."
Taki didn't need telling. He swung the rudder hard across. The sail flapped lazily. "Pull it down!" he whispered urgently. "I'll get the others up. We start rowing, quietly." Taki wasn't drunk any more. Just scared.
As quietly as they could, expecting yells behind them at any moment, the fishermen eased themselves out past the cape, out of direct sight. Taki slumped against the tiller. "Saint Spirodon preserve us! That's the last time I drink that terrible Kakotrigi of Yani's. We nearly sailed into them! Let's get that sail up and get out of here!"
"Who the hell are they?" asked Kosti, the youngest of the fishermen, hauling on the coarse rope to pull the single patched sail up again.
"Byzantine-style galleys," said Spiro, also hauling, for once not being sarcastic.
"And Narenta galliots," added Taki, shortly. Like Spiro and most of the islanders, Taki had done a stint or two as crew on Venetian ships. It was hard work, but the money was good, if you could hang onto it. He knew a pirate galliot's looks from close up. That was why he'd come home and become a fisherman. A fishing boat was such a poor target, with so little loot, most pirates wouldn't bother. Mostly, as a fisherman, you didn't go hungry, and the wine—so long as you didn't set your standards too high—was cheap on Corfu.
"But horses!" exclaimed Kosti! "And what did that person say? It wasn't Greek."
"I don't know. I reckon it was trouble, though. And that's our catch gone," said Taki, sourly.
* * *
Up on the headland a Serb guard stamped his feet in the cold. The bay behind him was shrouded in sea-mist. But what was that out there on the dark water? It could be a sail. He squinted at it for a while and then went off to call the guard commander. Make it that son of a bitch's decision whether to wake someone else.
* * *
Emeric stared at the shivering Serbs, guard and commander. "A small vessel. Why didn't you report it earlier? Where had it come from?"
"Y-Your Majesty." The guard pointed out of the tent mouth. "The mist. I just saw it. I called Micholovich . . ."
The man looked like he was going to soil himself. But what he'd said was true; no one could see far in this. And the man had at least reported it.
Most likely a coaster or a fishing boat, Emeric decided. As likely as not the mist had hidden the fleet, too. There was not much use in sending a galley. If the mist was this thick at sea they'd never find it. But it was a sign: Waiting would not do. Sooner or later vessels would find them, and he wanted to strike an unguarded target. One more day, and carracks or no carracks, they'd launch the attack.
* * *
By the next day when the story got home to Kerkira, it had grown somewhat. By afternoon, the story was all over the streets of the town. By sunset, the commander of the garrison had Captain Taki Temperades in his office.
Taki had a good memory—at least when fueled by fear. He remembered fairly closely the foreign words he'd heard, even if he hadn't understood them. And the garrison commander had been stationed in Istria. Commander Leopoldo knew a little Hungarian. Enough to recognize one swear-word.
The detachment on Corfu was a relatively small one, doing little more than policing work. Nine hundred men, some mercenaries, some Venetian marines. Fifty cavalrymen, nominally under the command of Captain-General Tomaselli. In practice, Leopoldo saw to the day-to-day running of most things, not just the garrison itself. This was Gino Leopoldo's first command post and he was determined to do well. Rumor had it that this could be Tomaselli's last command, and he might be able to replace him.
The commander had the Capi of the Cavalry in his office, before the sweating fisherman was going to be allowed to depart.
The cavalryman was skeptical. "I don't know, Captain. These Greeks exaggerate. Probably one vessel with a horse on her."
Taki wrung his hat. "Your honor. It was a lot of ships. I don't count too well, your honor. But Narenta galliots I know. And Greek imperial ships. My cousin Dimitri did service on one. I went to see him when he was stationed at Levkas. I saw them in Constantinople, too."
"And there is no way he makes up Hungarian blasphemy," said Leopoldo. "I want some men stationed on the slopes of Pantocrator. I don't know if this man was seeing things, I don't know if they're coming here, but I'm not taking a chance. We have to start preparing for siege."
He pulled a face. "I'll have to go and talk to the captain-general and the podesta. If people are going to be called into the Citadel, he has to authorize it."
"And stationing my men on the mountain? It's a waste of time. You should talk to Tomaselli about that."
The young commander looked at him in absolute silence. Eventually the capi said: "All right, then. It'll be done. But it is a waste of time."
Commander Leopoldo looked at Taki. "And you stay here before you chase the prices up in the market."
Taki leaned against the wall. "I think you're too late. The capi may not believe me, but the peasants do. You'll find the peasants are driving their flocks up into the hills, and sending their wives and children up, too."
The garrison commander snorted. "You stay in that corner."