THEY’RE SO PURPOSEFUL. EACH GAZING ACROSS THE water, openmouthed; each tethered by its stern.
Soaring maypoles with rigging gently chittering; yards festooned with sagging sails; giddy sky-cages like rooks’ nests in a dry year; chains and iron beaks; an array of swaying sea-castles; a whole kingdom of quiet hulls and squeaky decks and booming holds and chambers and walkways and ladders and oarsmen’s benches: I don’t know exactly how to describe the ships, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
Silvano, the Master Shipwright at the Arsenale, showed us around the dockyard. He told us the biggest ship is almost two hundred feet long and will hold one thousand crusaders. She’s called Violetta. I thought it would be better to call her Sunflower, or even Gog or Blunderbore or something like that, but Silvano shook his head and gave me a wink.
“My wife!” he said. “Violetta.”
The oak hull of each galley is made of two hundred and forty different wooden parts, but they’re all set on just two huge frames. So complicated. So simple. No wonder everyone says the Venetians are the most skillful boatbuilders in the world.
“Where does all the wood come from?” I asked.
“Not Dalmatia!” said Silvano, and he stuck out his lower lip. “City of Zara people rebel for twenty years.” He waved his arms. “Foresta Umbra,” he said. “Forest of Shadows in far south Italy. Very difficult. Very expensive.”
“So everything’s ready!” Lord Stephen said. “Down to the last shaving.”
“Pronto,” Silvano replied. “Two hundred ships.” He rubbed his right thumb and forefinger. “Now money!” he said.
Lord Stephen smiled that wistful smile that just flickers around the corners of his little mouth. “Well, all these ships are young and impatient, aren’t they, Arthur? We mustn’t keep them waiting.”
“When you pay?” demanded the shipwright. “We Venetians keep our promise. You crusaders break yours.”
Before we left the dockyard for Saint Nicholas, one of our boatmen lit a torch and set it up in the stern. The water around us soon caught fire, and turned itself into flashing daggers and stars.