Tim Severin - Corsair

‘And when they catch him?’

‘They bring him back to the argousin-major, and collect their reward.’

‘And the Turk?’

‘He doesn’t run away a second time. His ears and nose are cut off, and from that moment onward he is kept chained to the bench, and not allowed to go ashore.’

HECTOR HAD BEEN only a fortnight in his job as a storekeeper’s assistant when he came to appreciate the truth of Bourdon’s claim that the management of the Arsenal was riddled with graft. He was standing at the iron-bound gates of the powder magazine, making a tally of the gunpowder kegs arriving from an inbound galley, when he noted something strange. There was a strict rule in the Galley Corps that whenever a vessel returned to port she sent ahead her ship’s boat loaded with all her kegs of powder. These were placed in the Arsenal’s thick-walled powder magazine for safe storage because some years earlier a fully armed galley had blown up in harbour, either by accident or sabotage, and there had been heavy loss of life. Hector had issued gunpowder to the same galley just two days previously, and now he observed that while the number of barrels he received back was the same as had been given out, several of the markings on the kegs were different. Since his days in the stone quarry of Algiers he had made a habit of noting down the different markings on the kegs, and when he checked with the head storekeeper his suspicions deepened. ‘Our gunpowder comes from all over France,’ the storekeeper told him blandly. ‘It depends on the contractors. They’re all small producers because there are no large gunpowder factories, and naturally each maker has his own marks. Just write down the number of barrels returned, and leave the list with me.’

When Hector mentioned the incident to Bourdon that evening, the pickpocket rolled his eyes in mock surprise. ‘What do you expect? The commissaire who organises the purchases of supplies for the Corps will have lined his own pocket when he placed the original powder contracts, and naturally the head storekeeper takes a cut when the materials are delivered into store. So he looks the other way when the captains and quartermasters on the galleys have a bite at the same cherry.’

‘But how do they do it?’ asked Hector.

The pickpocket shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but you can be sure that if there’s a way of turning a quiet profit, someone will have found it. My guess is that the galley captains are selling the better quality powder to the Marseilles merchants, and replacing it with low-grade, cheaper material. But it’s not your job to say anything. You don’t exist as far as France is concerned. You are a non-person. Even if you reported your suspicions to someone like comite Gasnier who has the reputation of being incorruptible, and he brought the matter before the authorities, you could not serve as a witness. Once you’ve been committed to the oar, you are legally a dead man. If I were you, I’d try to work out how the fraud is being done, and then keep that knowledge to yourself until you can use it to your own advantage. But be very careful! The people who run this place take good care that King Louis stays so besotted with his precious Galley Corps that he doesn’t ask awkward questions. They wouldn’t look kindly upon anyone who might upset their cosy schemes.’

JUST HOW FAR the Intendant and his staff would go to impress the King became clear when the head storekeeper summoned Hector to his office the very next afternoon.

‘I am selecting you for special duty. The Intendant has informed every department that next Thursday the Arsenal is to demonstrate its skill and efficiency in the Royal Presence by building, launching and equipping a new war galley in just thirty-six hours.’

Hector was too astonished to reply.

‘Of course it’s nothing more than a stunt,’ the storekeeper sniffed. ‘But that’s what Intendant Brodart has ordered us to do, so we have to put up with it. The Intendant boasted to the King and to the minister that the Arsenal is capable of such a feat. Premier comite Gasnier has known about it for weeks. Now it’s official.’

‘With respect, sir, do you think it can be done?’ Hector asked carefully. ‘I thought that a galley took at least a year to build, maybe twice as long. And the timbers have to be kept until they are seasoned, and that takes at least a couple of years.’

The head storekeeper regarded the young Irishman suspiciously. ‘Who told you that?’ he asked.

Too late Hector realised that much of the timber he had seen in the Arsenal was green, although according to the official records it had been kept in store for years. The head storekeeper, he concluded, was well aware of the fraud.

‘I don’t know,’ he said vaguely. ‘Maybe that’s something that the boat builders do at home and I picked it up there.’

‘The royal Galley Corps uses only the finest hand-picked timber,’ his superior said quietly, and with a slight edge of menace in his voice continued, ‘Anyhow we will not be issuing timber for this new galley from stores. Everything has been prepared, as you would have noticed if you had kept your wits about you.’

The remark reminded Hector of comite Gasnier’s comment when he had first seen him at the dry dock.

‘You mean the new galley which will be built in the presence of the King, has been built before?’

‘You have sharp eyes,’ admitted the storekeeper. ‘Gasnier’s dry dock gangs have been practising for weeks. Pulling apart a galley, then putting her back together again. Not the whole vessel, of course, just the more awkward sections. This time it will be the real thing, and I’m loaning you to Gasnier as a tallyman. Your task will be to keep track of the materials, ensuring a smooth flow. The royal demonstration is scheduled to start at dawn next Thursday and the galley must be ready to put to sea, fully armed and crewed, by noon on Friday.’

AS IT TURNED OUT, the King, who was known for his capricious decisions, cancelled his visit to the Arsenal at the last moment. But Intendant Brodart decided that the demonstration would go ahead, knowing that reports of its outcome would reach the court. Long before daylight on the appointed day Hector reported for duty at the dry dock. There he found some five hundred carpenters assembling on the edge of the dry dock, which was empty except for the 160-foot keel of the galley lying ready on its chocks. In the flickering light of banks of torches the carpenters were being divided into squads of fifty, each led by a senior shipwright and a foreman. Nearby were marshalled two companies of nailers, and behind them again a hundred caulkers were preparing their caulking irons and pots of tallow and tar. Each man was already wearing a cap whose colour told him on which particular section of the vessel he would work. Hector’s responsibility was to a gang of porters, forty men, standing by to carry the ready-cut timbers from stacks on each side of the dry dock. He was to make sure they picked up the right pieces in the correct order, and took them to the proper sector the moment they were needed.

‘Listen to me, men,’ bellowed comite Gasnier. He was using a speaking trumpet and standing on a scaffolding where he could look down on the entire dry dock and direct the progress of the building. ‘You’re doing a job that you’ve done over and over again in the past. So just follow the orders you get from your foremen and supervisors and think about nothing else.’ He paused while an assistant repeated his words in Turkish. Looking around, Hector realised that at least every fourth man in the building teams was a Turk. Among them he thought he recognised the hulking figure of Irgun, the odjak from Izzet Darya . ‘It is vital not to get in one another’s way,’ Gasnier went on. ‘Do your job as fast as possible, step back and let the next man get on with his work. Above all, there will be no talking or shouting. You are to work in silence and use hand signals. Anyone caught talking will receive ten lashes. Only supervisors and master shipwrights may speak, and then only in a quiet voice. All other instructions will be given by whistles, and there will be a drum beat every hour, on the hour, so that you can keep track of time. Now stand by for the signal to begin.’