Stefano Vignaroli - In The Lion's Sign

«It’ll be yours the honour to order to fire», Foscari said, addressed to Andrea. «But not before the enemy made the first move!»

«Shall we let the pirates attack us? Isn’t that imprudent?»

«You’ll see!»

The conversation between the two was abruptly interrupted by the enemy attack. A little bit of arson balls were set off from the Turkish vessel. Many of them rained in water, extinguishing themselves in a cloud of steam and salt water splashes, several feet away from the Venetian ship. Some balls hit the metal panels, and even these fell into the sea, without causing any damage to the hull. Andrea felt at some point hit by a gush of lukewarm water, lifted by one of the incendiary balls that fell very close to the bridge. Wet as a chick he prepared to order to respond to the fire. The bomb squad had loaded the cannons with explosive balls. Andrea ordered to light the fuses, while his friend Tommaso prepared the next manoeuvre.

«Fire at will! Let’s not give them a chance to adjust the shot», and looked for a solid foothold to hold on tight, foreseeing the recoil due to the simultaneous explosions of at least forty cannons.

But, to his amazement, he saw the blows go off, accompanied by clouds of smoke in correspondence of the fire mouths, without the stability of the galleon being affected more than much. Sure, a little bit the ship began to swing and the fast manoeuvre ordered by the Captain immediately afterwards worsened not a little the condition of Andrea’s stomach. But he had to resist. He could not get seasick. The ship was now pointing fast the bow towards the Turkish galleon. The sails had been lowered, and it was moving only by oars. In fact the manoeuvre had to be precise, one could not rely on the whims of the wind. Two orders of rowers on each side could push the ship at the speed desired at every moment by the captain, through the master of oarsmen, called “subcommittee”. The explosive bullets had done their duty. They had hit the Turkish ship in several places, causing serious damage. The mast had been felled and several leaks had been opened on the hull, which was now leaning on the right side. The pirates were lowering the small boarding boats on the opposite side, towards the open sea, both to abandon the ship that was about to sink, and because they never gave up and would have prepared to assault the Venetian ship. Both Andrea and Tommaso De’ Foscari knew well that the religion of those bastards taught them that to die in battle meant to be assumed in glory by their God. None of them would ever surrender. They would have fought until they all died, but if a single handful of those ruthless pirates had managed to get on board, several men would have lost their lives. Of course, soon the Turks would have been overwhelmed, but they would still have succeeded in claiming numerous victims. And Tommaso would not have wanted to lose even one of his men. Therefore the manoeuvre had to be precise. He drove the ship around the Turkish galleon, so as to be between it and the pirate boats. Andrea could at this point realize how deadly was the new weapon called blunderbuss. The fifty harquebusiers fired in unison against the small boats to the order shouted by Captain Franciolini, just in the moment in which the Sea Captain made him the agreed nod. The men hit by the blunderbusses’ balls were decimated like flies: heads that were pulverized, bodies that were thrown into the water like rag dummies, legs and arms that were torn from logs that were still dying for a short time and then bled to death. While the harquebusiers loaded their weapons again, the surviving pirates threw themselves into the water to try to escape the shot. But the second volley was no less destructive than the first. They were also ordered to fire some explosive balls with cannons, in order to sink the Turkish lifeboats. A few arrows hissed above the heads of Andrea and Tommaso, but none went to score. The harquebusiers and the bomb squad were well protected by the ship’s walls and mobile panels. In the sea they started to outline a reddish blotch, a kind of island of blood, whose inhabitants were fragments of burnt wood and corpses flushed. Luckily Andrea’s attention was turned instead to a single boat that was moving away from the place of the battle. It was a little bigger than the others, it had a small mast with a square sail, above which waved a red flag with a half moon and a white star.

«It’s the Sultan! He is running away with his trusted men», Andrea exclaimed, excited. «Let’s chase him. We could capture him and make him a prisoner. The Duke Della Rovere will certainly be grateful!»

Captain De’ Foscari put an arm around his friend’s shoulder, in an attempt to calm his soul.

«Let’s leave him. It’s not worth the risk. He’s still a dangerous man. We have won the battle. We can continue our journey, now without any more hindrances.»

«But... In a short time he’ll reorganize himself, and return to haunt our seas and terrorize our coastal cities!»

So saying, Andrea lowered his head, a bit mortified. And he saw what he never wanted to see. The blood, the corpses, the pieces of the boats destroyed. This time he couldn’t hold back his stomach. The gagging of vomit rose strongly. The movements of the ship, however slight, were now unbearable. He felt his legs give way. He fell on his knees.

Tommaso called a couple of armigers, who were immediately beside him.

«Take him below deck, to my cabin, and have him lie down in my bunk. He led the assault on the pirates very well, but he is a land fighter. And the blood, in the sea, has a completely different effect. Watch over his rest. I will spend the night here, on the bridge.»

CHAPTER 5

A warrior cannot lower his head,

otherwise he loses sight of the horizon of his dreams.

(Paulo Coelho)

In his awake sleep, lulled by the lapping of the waves, which flowed rhythmically under the hull of the galleon at anchor in the port of Rimini, Andrea’s eyes were filled with the images of the last two months, spent next to his beloved Lucia and the two beautiful girls, to whom he had become attached in a way he would never have believed possible. He loved Lucia, just as he loved Laura, the fruit of their love, just as he loved Anna, who looked so much like her adoptive mother. Certainly there was blood of the Baldeschi family in that little one, even if it had not come out of Lucia’s womb, but from that of a supposed witch who had finished her days in the flames. And the suspicion of who had impregnated that alleged witch had now become a certainty for Andrea. Cardinal Baldeschi, Lucia’s uncle, could not give any other explanation, but now he was dead and could no longer cause them any trouble, as he had done in the past. The mere thought of that grim character gave him the shivers. Not much time had passed since, after having settled all his business in Montefeltro, he left the Counts of Carpegnia and returned to Jesi on a hot day at the end of July. As in the previous occasion, seeing the walls, gates, towers, watch towers and bell towers of his city had aroused in him emotions difficult to contain. But this time he could enter the city with his head held high, strong of a noble title, protected by the Duke of Urbino. And with full rights he could claim to be appointed Captain of the people and to be able to get married with his betrothed.

After a brief stop at his father’s palace, just to freshen up and change his clothes, he rushed to the country residence of the Counts Baldeschi. He knew well, in fact, he would not find Lucia in the Palazzo del Governo, nor much less in the Baldeschi Palace in Piazza San Floriano. He had presented himself to the servants and made himself announced to the landlady. Lucia had been waiting a long time, but when she had crossed the threshold of the hall on the ground floor, Andrea was struck by her radiant beauty, as if it was the first time he saw her. She was wearing a green silk “gamurra”, which highlighted her feminine lines and features. Her hazel eyes, in the center of her pale face, were almost fixed on him. They were sweet and penetrating at the same time. The neckline of his dress generously showed his shoulders and the dimple between his breasts, his skin as light as milk. A necklace of white pearls adorned her neck and the hairstyle of her hair was designed to do justice to the beautiful face of the lady. The cascade of dark hair was pulled back by a braid that surrounded the nape of the neck, so as to leave the forehead completely uncovered. In the perfectly oval face, with delicate features, the lips stood out of an unnatural vermilion, given by the colour obtained from poppy flowers. The eyebrows just mentioned and the high, spacious forehead gave her the appearance of a real Lady. At her hips, one on each side, the two little girls of about six years old, completely similar to her in appearance, bearing and hairstyle, held her gently by the hand. The only differences between the two girls were the height and colour of their hair, one a little taller, long and with wavy blond hair, the other a little lower and with straight black hair, shaved at the top of the head to emphasize the width of the forehead. Andrea had understood, already from the other time he had glimpsed the girls playing in the garden of that same villa, that his daughter had to be the blonde. Without taking anything away from the brunette, she was a beautiful little girl and had two heavenly eyes just like his. Lucia had sent the girls to sit on a sofa and had brought her right hand to the knight, who taking it in his hands, had knelt down and kissed it.