The biggest difficulty was going to be keeping two silent, darkened vessels in touch with each other. They had one steersman, and two ships. A long line between the two helped. A man on the bow of the second ship kept a coil of this line in his hand, keeping the line tight without allowing it to pull. He had to feel whether it was pulling away to any direction or if the front vessel was slowing or speeding up. A second man in the bow of the second ship was ready to listen to softly made gull cries. One for port, two for starboard. Gulls shouldn't be calling in the small hours of the night, but Benito's ingenuity deserted him on this one. At least it wouldn't sound as unnatural as voices.
* * *
By the time they reached the southern channel it was so dark that all that could be seen was a shape of deeper darkness where the landmasses lay. Well . . . except for the cheerful lanterns that burned on the four equidistantly placed watch vessels.
How nice of them to show Benito where they were!
It was all Benito could do to stop himself laughing helplessly. They slipped through relatively close to the lantern-lit vessels, just in case the enemy had put unlit vessels between.
In the tense darkness, Manfred snorted. "We're past. Let's give a rousing cheer to celebrate."
"There are more hurdles," said Benito. "Listen. You can hear the cannon fire."
They could. A distant deadly rumble. The steersman pointed. "Those lights are Lefkimi. We're passing Lefkimi point now."
"How long is it going to take us to get to Kerkira?" whispered Erik.
The man looked at the sky. "If we get the sail up now, we should be within hailing distance just before dawn." Benito caught the flash of teeth. "Or within cannon shot. I hope those priests can come up with the magic they promised, milord, or the Venetians' own fort and Vidos castle will blow us apart."
"They're very powerful Christian mages, those priests," replied Erik stiffly.
The Corfiote didn't seem especially impressed. "I've no faith in priest's magic. On Corfu we have some real, old magics. Scary things, but powerful, sirs, maybe more powerful than anything you've ever seen."
"Eneko Lopez is one of the most scary men in the world. And he is not going to let us down." Benito spoke quietly, with a faith he hoped he felt.
"I reckon we'll get a chance to see if that is true. If he fails we're shit. Fish-shit, soon enough," said the steersman with morbid humor.
On the main deck the seamen were raising the carefully blackened mainsail. Under oars it had been tricky to keep the two vessels running in tandem. Under sail it would be virtually impossible. The second vessel would just have to do its best with a helmsman following the dark patch that was the sail of the lead vessel. They still had a good few leagues to go before the final dash.
"There's a small vessel ahead! Also running without lanterns. Running away from us."
"Smuggler?"
"Must be. We've made someone shit themselves." The seaman grinned.
Manfred came up on deck. "What was that?"
"Smuggler-ship. Avoiding taxes," said Benito knowledgeably.
Manfred half-choked. "And just who is collecting taxes right now, Benito?"
"Oh, hell! Do you think it was a watch-boat? We'd better run for shore."
"No," said Erik decisively. "If it was a watch vessel, someone would have fired off a signal. What you saw there was a sign that things are pretty bad on the island. That 'smuggler' will have a human cargo. He's taking refugees away, not bringing illegal goods in."
"I've got three sisters and a brother in Achilleon," said their steersman, quietly. "I wonder what's happening to them."
"It's to be hoped that your brother was also involved with the night fishing, sailor," said the captain, dryly. "Emeric of Hungary has a vile reputation for how he allows his soldiers to treat conquered citizens."
There was a chuckle. "Spiro is my older brother. That's how I came to be involved in the first place."
Chapter 35
There was just a hint of lightness in the sky. Dawn was still a little while off, but morning was definitely stirring in the bed of night. "You can see the Citadel against the sky. It seems pretty quiet now," said the Corfiote steersman.
"Well, maybe we can sneak in," said Benito. "I hope so. If we have to use the priests . . . The minute those banners are visible, the gunners on the ships that are sure to be lying just out of range will open fire on us."
"Uh-huh." Falkenberg grunted his agreement. "That's a sure sign that the Hungarians haven't gotten their cannon yet. When the cannon get here, they'll pound those walls night and day. But the Venetians in the Citadel will be watching for a sneak assault by sea. According to our captain there are places men could be landed outside the walls. If men could get inside the fortifications they could spike the cannon and nothing could hold off the assault."
"Er. Not from what I can gather," said Benito, diffidently. Falkenberg had, after all, been at a dozen sieges as opposed to his none—hard to believe in a man that relatively young, but still . . . Falkenberg was a veteran of the northeastern frontier of the Empire, where he'd been born and raised. "There are three walls. An outer curtain wall, the inner wall and then the two castles on the hilltops."
"A wonderful place for a holiday," said Falkenberg, dryly. "Great defenses are more than just three walls, Benito. They're enough men—with good morale—enough ammunition, and enough food and water. Perhaps most important of all, a loyal and determined population supporting them, with no traitors. And even if you've got those, there's a lot to designing walls so that they work effectively. Making walls that can stand endless cannon fire is simply not possible. Entrenchments are more effective."
He went on to give Benito a concise study of siege-craft. "I've been years in the learning of this stuff, and before that, I had the best teacher in the world. It occurred to him that he should pass it on to me before I had to spend thirty years relearning it. I think maybe I'll start passing it on to you, just in case. You never know. You might be able to make some use of it."
Benito was sharp enough to understand the unsaid. Falkenberg thought most of them would die. And he approved of Benito Valdosta and wanted to pass his knowledge on.
* * *
It might be spring, but it was still bitterly cold here on the outer curtain wall in the small hours of the morning. Especially after crawling out of a warm bed, from beside a warm wife. True, the warm wife had gotten up as well, and had given him some food and a small flask of wine. Maria had her moments, but generally she was a gem.
Privately, Umberto acknowledged that his advancement was largely due to her, and her connections. He'd entered the marriage with a lot of qualms, but had come to treasure it more than anything he'd ever had in his life.
Still, Maria was back in that warm bed now, and he was out on this cold tower. By the grumbling from the other Arsenalotti, they were feeling equally miserable about the situation. While staying within the law—just barely—of Venice and guild alike, Captain-General Tomaselli was doing his best to make sure that they felt the misery of thwarting him.