MEN WERE FLUNG all ways. Panipat was hurled into the air. Huge though he was, the force of the collision tossed him head over heels like a child’s doll. He slammed back down onto the deck, stunned. A dozen of the freemen were caught under the hull of the enemy ship. They disappeared in a welter of broken planks, ripping, grinding noises and horrendous cries. At the stern end those who had survived the impact began to bail furiously as water swirled in about their feet.
We weren’t broken in half, just impaled upon the front of the Turkish ship, like a fish caught by spear. And, whether by luck or deliberate act, the Turks had breached us towards the stern end, so that it was the freemen who suffered most and the Arab and other slaves who remained unharmed above sea level in the prow.
Panipat got to his feet and began to rally the men. The quartermaster was already at our cannon, with Captain Cosimo beside him, striking a spark for the fuse from the flint box. It was to be a fight to the death.
Our gun fired off. David against Goliath. A bang and a whistling noise. The acrid smell of gunpowder. The cannonball struck the foresail of the bigger ship and tore a huge rent in the fabric.
‘Take that!’ Our crazy captain shook his fists above his head. ‘Ram my boat, would you? Now you’ll pay for it!’
A stream of foul insults came from the quartermaster, directed towards the enemy. The rest of our crew and oarsmen joined in, creating a din to rival the cries and orders coming from our attackers. The quartermaster picked up another ball, preparing to reload our cannon. A volley of small cannon shot rattled out from the ship above us, and the quartermaster fell across the cannon, blood streaming from his face.
One of the Arab oarsmen began to whoop and shout.
In a fury Panipat seized his knife and stabbed him through the neck. Blood spurted out splattering over those beside him who began a caterwauling lament. From the Turkish ship arrows showered down around Panipat. One caught him in his leg. He snapped it off and threw it aside disdainfully, still standing upright among the chaos and uproar.
I had been jolted across the width of the boat. Now I half rose and hunkered forward to the prow to help the captain. Together we levered the dead quartermaster off the cannon.
‘We’ll aim for the sailors this time,’ I said as I lowered the barrel.
‘Yes,’ the captain snarled. ‘Try to blast some of those murderers out of the water.’
We fired another shot. With a thunderous clap, flame spouted from the mouth of the gun. The cannonball cut a swathe through the men standing at the rail of the Turkish ship.
‘We got them!’ I shouted. ‘We got them!’
The captain laughed in delight. ‘Let’s send them another message, the same as the last!’
But the effect of our success on the larger ship was to bring more armed men to the rails just above us. I saw them gathering and quickly grabbed another cannonball. Just as they were about to fire, I thrust it down the open end of the barrel.
‘The metal will burn you,’ the captain warned me. ‘Be careful, boy—’
The skin of my hands singed on the red-hot metal. I yelped in pain and jumped back.
In that instant the Turks let off another round of small cannon shot. I stared in horror as, just in front of me, Captain Cosimo crumpled to the deck. The front of his shirt was pierced in several places. Blood ran freely from these holes.
The sound of the battle suddenly seemed to come to my ears from far away. I got down on my knees beside our fallen captain, hardly aware of the cannonball whizzing past my own head.
I tore off my shirt to try to staunch the blood flowing from the captain’s wounds. The deck was slippery beneath me, red with his blood flowing from his body as fast as an outgoing tide. My captain was dying. I knew it, and so did he.
‘My jacket,’ he mumbled, blood seeping from between his teeth. ‘Give me my jacket.’
I reached out and drew over his peacock jacket. Awkwardly I lifted it and laid it upon him. He gave a sigh as he stroked it, the pallor of his face turning from tan to wax in less than a minute. And he died there, before me, with what appeared to be a look of satisfaction on his face.
I rocked back on my heels. He was gone. Our brave, foolish, proud, crazy Captain Cosimo was no more. I was bereft. Apart from the debt I owed him for all he’d taught me in the months I’d been on his boat, I knew that I had lost a friend as well as a mentor. My face was wet.
A shout brought me to my senses. Lomas was gesticulating at me. ‘Get you to cover, boy! Hide yourself !’
There was no time to grieve for Captain Cosimo. The enemy were recharging their guns while arrows, spears, and rocks thudded onto our deck. Although they gathered up what they could and threw it back, many of our men fell under this onslaught. The sail-maker went over the side with a spear in his belly. The Turks’ strategy was plain: they would massacre us from the safety of their decks and then come aboard and release the slaves. I rolled myself into a ball and cowered as far under the protection of the gun platform as I was able.
Then a different noise resounded through the boat. Given the circumstances it was the strangest sound I’d ever heard. The remainder of our men were cheering and whistling.
I peered out and saw a ship swiftly approaching us.
A ship of the line, a troop ship, flying a flag bearing the crests of Castile and Aragon.
With another similar ship coming up behind.
I too began to shout for joy – but had enough sense to do so without emerging from my hiding place.
The first Spanish ship came up, guns firing, on the Turks’ stern. The enemy sailors ran to the other end of their ship to defend themselves. The second Spanish ship sailed round to our starboard side and tried to edge closer. They threw netting down over their sides so that our survivors could clamber up. The hull still held, and though the few men left there floundered in the water, they managed to get out.
The Turkish ship now tried to disengage from us to win free of the fray.
‘Make them stay until our men get off!’ Panipat called to the Spanish sailors above us. ‘She’s holding us together. If she pulls away we’ll sink in seconds!’ He bellowed out to the remainder of our men. ‘Abandon ship! Abandon ship!’
I was at the top of the netting when I heard the voices of the slaves.
‘Help us!’ they begged. ‘Don’t leave us to die!’
‘We are drowning! We are drowning!’
Below me, as the Turkish ship tried to pull away from us, it was causing the prow of our galley to settle. The sea was making ready to claim her.
I looked to our rescuers.
The Spaniards were too busy with the fight to see or care what was happening below them. No one would come to the aid of the chained men.
‘Mercy! Mercy!’ The pleas of the slaves were both desperate and pitiful.
The shoulders of one of the Arab slaves, a short stocky fellow, were already under water.
I hesitated; the prow dipped again.
The man’s neck and face submerged. His voice gurgled as the water seeped into his mouth.
The rest shouted louder. The dying cries of the drowning men proved too much for me. I slid back down the netting to meet Panipat on his way up.
‘Give me the key,’ I said.
Panipat shook his head. ‘They can drown like rats on a sinking ship. It was they who brought us to this state. We would’ve got clear had they not rowed sluggishly and refused to obey my orders.’
It was partly true. If the Arab oarsmen hadn’t worked against us then we might have pulled away earlier; but in the main, it was bad luck and Captain Cosimo with his poor eyesight that had led us to disaster.
‘They don’t deserve to drown,’ I began. ‘If the captain—’
Panipat drew back his fist and sent me sprawling with a punch in the mouth. ‘They will die where they sit,’ he declared. ‘Every one of them.’
A yowling came from the throats of the chained men. The two remaining Arab slaves were tearing frantically at their shackles as the water rose up. One had contorted his body and was trying to bite through his own ankle. Of the four slaves on the port side, three were up to their necks in water, and although the last one, the tallest man, Sebastien, tried to support them, the weight of the shackles and chains was dragging them down. The boat settled again, and one of them went under. It was Jean-Luc. I saw bubbles breaking from his mouth and the terrified look on the faces of the remaining three.
I turned to Panipat. ‘Give me the key!’
‘You will never have it,’ Panipat declared. ‘Never!’
And saying this, he snatched the key from the cord at his wrist. Then he opened his mouth wide and put the key inside.