‘For variety’s sake, let us hope he jibs this time. They must be as bored as we are,’ Crotte complains and fixes the spyglass back to his eye, watching the activity on the deck of the Belladonna. He mutters to himself and curses softly at what he sees. ‘Not in any degree and about we will go.’
The Aigle cuts cleanly through the waves, under shortened sail to make the slow trip north. They trail the Belladonna past l’Armor into the open bay where on a clear day, a lookout with a good spyglass can see the distant masts of ships outside the harbor of St Malo. Then, predictably, the Belladonna turns her bow into the wind, her sails luff briefly and then fill again as the ship makes the slow turn to reverse course, and sail back south toward Brest and the Wrecks cove where she will slow and then turn back toward St Malo. The Aigle follows at a distance far enough to keep watch, but not too close to invite a cannon ball. They do not know the Belladonna’s purpose, and this endless cruising gives no clue. The Belladonna waits.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Odysseus lowers the glass and heaves a sigh. Next to him Blais, the Galician lubber brought aboard in Vigo looks pensive. ‘For a signal?’
‘From the Wrecks?’ Crotte is skeptical, ‘the whale rock will have one for them if they come too close.’ He guffaws at his own joke.
The coast from Brest up as far as St Malo is lined with many coves. Some are open to the ocean, with long sandy beaches backed with salty marsh grasses and dunes or rocky cliff faces and overlooking headlands where villages are perched for protection against coastal raiders. Others are smaller, shoals hidden or exposed by tides, sometimes bordered with rocky outcroppings enclosing the blue green waters lapping at narrow sandy beaches. Small fishing boats rock in the shelter of coves, larger boats heeled over on the sands while fishermen careen the bottoms or make repairs.
Odysseus, sailing master on the Aigle sits on the shelf that serves as a mast head on the Aigle. His legs dangle, his back braced as he makes a slow sweep of the coastline and the Belladonna. He knows what happens next. The Belladonna will reduce sail to make a cursory inspection of the Wrecks, move a little farther south and then begin to change course to sail north again. Back and forth, back and forth.
‘Why are you here?’ Odysseus muses again to himself. Not for the first time does he wonder at the interest the Belladonna has in the Wrecks. ‘He looks but gets no closer. This captain is cautious. Do you know him?’
‘Or he has friends whose smashed bones lie at the bottom of the Wrecks,’ Poilu says, seated on a spar, arm wrapped around the mast and staring dreamily out over the sea. ‘They were not cautious enough.’ He shrugs at the question of the captain’s identity, ‘I cannot guess.’
Of all the coves sought by smugglers, the Wrecks is the worst. Every cove offers some geologic eccentricity to endanger a ship, a crew, a cargo. But the Wrecks is unique. It has every danger known to make coves difficult. The cove of the Wrecks is set within the stony embrace of two long rocky outcroppings extending into the sea. In the middle is a large rock, in the shape of a whale, and at the base are a jumble of more rocks, unseen when the tide is in and even when the tide is out, it is impossible to anchor a ship inside. Long boats must make the journey from ship to shore through one of the two narrow passages paralleling the outcroppings, where more dangers lurk below the water. The currents are strong, made stronger by the tide, the swell and the narrow passages. Navigation is dangerous. Waves crash against the outcroppings, sending spray high into the air and washing over the slippery rocks cracked and fissured over time, with blowholes exploding with air and water strong enough to kill a man. When storms rage, the waves are powerful and can carry a boat into a sea cave, trapping boats or men in a watery grave. What the Wrecks protects is a beautiful beach long and deep, a headland overhead, perfect for a village where friendly villagers and sharp shooters can keep watch over the loading and unloading of cargo. More caves, deep and dry are found at the base of the cliffs, a path, wide and winding leading up. Fresh water bubbles from springs. But to get to this pristine beach, the Wrecks must be conquered first and there is no room for error, no forgiveness for miscalculating wind or tide. Given all the options along the coast, the Wrecks is the one avoided by privateers and pirates.
Except for Benito de Soto. While other captains saw their ships lost, and their crews facing near certain death, Benito envisioned a private kingdom where he could operate at will. De Soto set out to learn the secrets of the Wrecks. Patiently, in thunderous storms, high winds and calms seas, he studied the Wrecks, climbed the whale’s rock and watched the ocean rollers smash against it and the outcroppings. He explored the cave, swam the passages, sat on rocks through changes in the tide to learn when and where rocks revealed themselves, and mapped the twisting channels. The one member of his crew brave, reckless and driven enough to meet the challenges of the Wrecks with him was Lucien Grimaud.
‘I do not believe this captain has tried to get into the Wrecks.’ Odysseus observes. The crew speculates on the identity of the captain, but no one really knows.
‘It could be that crazy Frisan, Wijard,’ Poilu says, ‘remember him?’
‘Memorable as one of the few Benito kicked off the ship for being too crazy even for him,’ Crotte replies, ‘crazier than Teeth.’
‘Whoever he is, this Belladonna captain steers wide of the whale rock. He is wary of what he cannot see, but he knows there are many shoals in these waters,’ Odysseus adds.
‘So, he knows, but not enough to pilot himself. If it is the Wrecks, when the time comes, he will lower his long boats out farther,’ Poilu observes, ‘the crews will row over an open ocean just to gain or clear the passages. Dangerous.’
‘Why not pick up passengers in another cove?’ This query comes from the Galician Blais. ‘In and out quickly.’
The crew exchange amused glances and Blais blushes. Poilu replies kindly, ‘probably because they are hiding something.’
‘Probably,’ Crotte repeats and then he straightens. ‘Three ships, sail master,’ Crotte alerts Odysseus who swings the spyglass toward St Malo and sees the masts that have separated from the others. Three ships are moving into the open ocean, their bearing, for the time, west. He cannot tell from this distance if they are the same ships Crotte saw a few days earlier, but his instincts tell him that trouble is coming.
‘Are they coming for us, or the Belladonna – or both?’ Odysseus speaks aloud and waits for the opinions of his companions. He wonders what his captain would want him to do at this point. Lucien Grimaud is never afraid of a fight on land or sea. But even Lucien would count three ships as too many for the Aigle to fight and win. But should the Aigle abandon the Belladonna?
‘How long before they are here?’ Odysseus asks a question they are all thinking about.
‘About a day and a night, or a little less if no fog prevails, for them to bombard us with cannon fire,’ Poilu says scratching his scraggly beard.
‘I should talk to the captain of the Belladonna,’ Odysseus says. Crotte and Poilu lower their spyglasses and look at him with surprise.
‘I will ask for parlay,’ Odysseus hastens to add, ‘the quartermaster will talk with me. Those ships are not flying a flag, they are not Spanish navy, but corsairs with the intention to capture the Aigle and the Belladonna as prizes.’
‘The Aigle can outrun those ships,’ Crotte says slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully, ‘but the Belladonna would get into a long chase and eventually be caught. The Belladonna would need to abandon their post.’
‘Risky for you sail master,’ Poilu says in an objective tone, ‘but if you go over alone, white flag and no crew with you, it will not appear to be something other than what it is. A parlay.’ They sit in silence, watching the hazy shape of masts in the far distance.
‘Parlay it is.’ Odysseus elevates himself from the lookout and grasps the back stay hand over hand to the deck followed by Poilu. Odysseus goes quickly to his cabin and assembles a scrap of sail to a boarding pike. Back up on quarterdeck, he waves it. Minutes pass with no response. Odysseus props the pike against the rail and sits down to wait.
‘Maybe they see the flag attached to a boarding pike and do not know which to pay attention to,’ Bulle says as he handles the wheel and watches the Belladonna at the same time. Odysseus chuckles, ‘I did not think of that.’
‘You are a sailing master, not an old rascally pirate like me – or as likely them. You do know that you are not going on a ship in the Royal Navy. This is likely a corsair crew, no real discipline, sloppy, that ship has not been careened in a long time if ever.’
Odysseus nods, he too has seen the signs of a disordered corsair ship, kept in poor repair, used hard but never refitted. He expects the deck will be equally disorganized, the crew with signs of illness and as battle scared as the ship.
‘They have no reason to harm me,’ Odysseus tries to reason. Bulle barks a sarcastic laugh, ‘it is funny that you think they need a reason. They might think the Spanish will pay something for you. They kill you because you were fool enough to go to them.’ Poilu is silent, looking between Bulle and Odysseus. Suddenly, a white flag appears on the Belladonna quarterdeck, waved by a man. Odysseus quickly lifts his flag and waves it in reply.
‘Lower the boat,’ Odysseus orders. Bulle holds up a hand to stay that order. ‘Are you sure? The Cap’n will be hard to live with if you do not come back.’
‘Lower the boat,’ Odysseus says firmly and gestures to two deck hands, ‘Kofi, Jacob – lower the boat now.’
‘Just you?’ Bulle asks again. Odysseus replies firmly, ‘just me. I’m going to talk, not make more problems for us.’
‘They will expect the Cap’n,’ Poilu steps forward, ‘or our quartermaster.’
‘They may take offense,’ Bulle cautions.
‘Then so be it,’ Odysseus is watching Jacob and Kofi lowering the rowing boat. He climbs down the ladder. ‘Do nothing, except if I do not return, do not engage with three ships Bulle. Take the Aigle out.’ Bulle grumbles but at Odysseus’ sharp look he nods reluctantly. ‘You best be back before the Cap’n arrives.’
They watch Odysseus row with long steady strokes toward the Belladonna. Men on that ship are lined up on the rail and as the rowboat approaches, they lower a chain ladder. One man descends to grab the rope Odysseus flings and secure the small boat. Odysseus climbs the ladder and disappears over the rail.
‘Putain,’ Bulle breathes out glancing in the direction where Spanish warships are expected, ‘well Poilu, when exactly do we decide to run or to fight?’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Anything?’ Lucien uses his hand to shade his eyes from the sun’s intense glare.
‘By anything do you mean Aigle masts or Spanish?’ Ver is aloft, scanning the horizon with a spyglass. He lowers the glass, ‘nothing. Passing the il de Seine Island Cap’n. Crozon peninsula dead ahead.’
Lucien stares thoughtfully out over the ocean. Ahead to the west is a large island, Ushant, marking the western tip of France, the southern boundary of the Celtic Sea and the English Channel. Between that island and the coast are several smaller islands. Slightly north of the others, is the Île Segal. It is the smallest and much of it disappears under high tide. Experienced sailors give it a wide berth. But the pinnace is a shallow draft, made for coastal work and Lucien knows where to anchor his ship and wade ashore.
‘Do we turn west of Ushant or use Île Segal?’ Lucien addresses Loup, who has a studied look as though he too is considering what may lay ahead. ‘How many birds do we have Loup?’
‘Two Cap’n. Are we sending a message?’
‘To Odysseus. Give him our location, tell him to not to fear ghosts.’
‘So, it is to be Île Segal,’ Loup says as he relinquishes the helm to Lucien to go below and prepare a message by pigeon to the Aigle.
‘I think we should have a look before we barge in, uninvited as we might be.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Odysseus climbs over the rail, carrying the flag of parlay. Two men are waiting for him. The one standing directly before him is tall, powerfully built, burly arms folded over a muscular chest. His face and head are clean shaven, pale green eyes, almost translucent against the light brown color of his skin. He regards Odysseus dispassionately, looking him over with sharp intelligent eyes. Without being asked Odysseus raises his arms for weapons inspection. The man jerks his head to the seaman behind who steps forward to search Odysseus. He also takes the parlay flag away. Odysseus looks quickly past the quartermaster to the men at their duties noticing a man like himself, a sailing master near the helmsman, watching the men in the rigging trimming sails according to his orders. Behind the helmsman, near the binnacle stands a young boy, his attention fixed on the sandglass. Armed men patrol the length of the ship their eyes on the sea and the scanning the shore. Ropes are coiled and stowed, the deck is cleared of anything that could fly loose and cause injury. Odysseus grunts to himself, Bulle is wrong about this ship.
‘You are not the captain,’ the man states flatly, ‘the quartermaster?’
‘Sailing master,’ Odysseus answers. ‘Our captain and quartermaster were in La Rochelle and are now on their way back.’ The man says nothing.
‘You have seen the ships out of St Malo?’ Odysseus ventures.
‘Do I look blind?’
‘Do they concern you?’ Odysseus is slightly irritated.
‘I think they are meant for you,’ the man is blunt.
‘And yet I cannot help but think of what fat prizes we would make for three Spanish warships sailing in consort,’ Odysseus is equally blunt. ‘I might apologize for my lack of subtlety, but I fear time is against us.’
This time the man glances at the quarterdeck behind Odysseus who wants to look too but refrains from turning to see the captain. He must wait for that courtesy to be extended. Whatever was exchanged between captain and quartermaster would not be observed by him.
‘My name is Jabari, quartermaster on the Belladonna.’
‘My apologies, but neither I nor the crew know your captain. May I know his name?’
‘What is your name?’
‘I am Odysseus Kanaris, sailing master on the Aigle.’
‘A Greek.’
‘How did you know?’
Jabari barks a laugh, a grudging grin spreading across his face. ‘Captain Amon Renacer commands the Belladonna. Now, come with me Greek, we have little time to talk.’
The captain of the Belladonna watches the two men walk forward to the bow. He turns around and lifts the spyglass again to study the sea. The sun is beginning to descend toward the horizon and soon it will be dark. The air is unseasonably warm, a mist is rising, and he thinks about what that could portend in a few hours. The Spanish will arrive with the dawn and the coastal fog. He stands motionless and ponders his options. He is still standing there when his quartermaster Jabari reappears.
‘The sailing master makes a good case for avoiding becoming a prize of Spanish privateers. He is not impolite, but we are unlikely to survive a chase. Anyway, I do not think you mean to leave. The signal is expected soon – yes?’
‘Hmm,’ the captain paces along the rail, ‘does he know the ships coming?’
‘His crew recognized the Rosario, the only ship to survive the Cantabrian battle. He also said his captain and quartermaster are sailing a pinnace from La Rochelle.’
‘When did they leave?
‘Two days ago, delayed by the storm we saw.’
‘Hmm,’ the captain paces away. ‘How do you find this sailing master?’
Jabari pulls a face, curious as to the question, but his captain’s back is to him, so he answers. ‘Not afraid of a fight, but realistic about three galleons against his sloop. He strikes me as brave and honest.’
The captain grunts but remains silent.
‘Captain, we could leave now and take our chances at losing them in the night,’ Jabari suggests, ‘the Spanish could take the Aigle but wait for us to return or they might just take the Aigle and leave. Either way, it is a problem for us.’
‘Not a problem Jabari. I see an opportunity.’
‘Captain?’
‘Send for the gunnery master. I will explain.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Dawn…
‘The fog is still too thick. My last sighting was barely of one ship,’ Crotte mutters. What happened to the other two?’
‘The two intend to attack the Aigle and the third to negotiate with the Belladonna.’ Poilu has spent the night reviewing every possible combination of ships and strategy. He lowers his glass, ‘more to the point, where is our sailing master?’
‘Odysseus could hardly row back in the fog,’ Crotte explains with exaggerated patience, ‘he could pass us by and land in Ireland. Where is our captain and quartermaster? The pinnace has a few guns at least.’
‘A sloop and a pinnace against three Spanish galleons. Not even Lucien’s luck is enough.’
‘Not enough for this,’ Crotte agrees gloomily and then perks up, ‘remember when he took the Aigle?’
Poilu chuckles, ‘Benito so happy I thought he might cry or beat the pup for taking the risk. Teeth however… ‘ Poilu veers back to their current situation, ‘Odysseus may have convinced the Belladonna to fight.’
Below, Bulle confers with M Fleury, the gunnery master. They have spent the night hours preparing for battle. Anything on deck that could interfere with fighting has been stowed, hatches secured, ports closed. Heavy boarding nets stretch the perimeter of the deck to slow down enemy efforts to seize control of the Aigle. Buckets filled with sea water for dousing fires have been placed around the deck. The men spent the night sharpening swords, daggers and boarding axes, pistols ready, extra shot and powder kept close. Pikes and marlin spikes are collected.
‘Cannons loaded M Bulle,’ M Fleury says, ‘the crews are in place, ports closed as ordered.’
‘Good,’ Bulle mutters, one hand smooths his mostly bald head. ‘They will likely have harquebus shooters on board.’
‘On the rails and aloft. They are Spanish, it would be near certain,’ M Fleury replies. ‘If they get close enough to see clearly, they are too close.’
‘Aye,’ Bulle agrees. ‘But we have you M Fleury, and they do not. Get our men into position.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Lucien jumps from the deck of the pinnace and splashes into shallow water. Loup is behind him and together, spyglass and pistol held over their heads, they wade onto the narrow band of beach on the Île Segal. They climb the jumble of rocks to its highest point, bracing against the stiff wind blowing off the ocean. The fog hugs the coastline, thick and gray. They lift their spyglasses and scan the horizon.
‘There she is,’ Lucien recognizes the shape of the Aigle. He swings the glass to the last place he saw the Belladonna. ‘Do you see the Belladonna?’
‘Just barely,’ Loup replies, ‘they are in the same position with each other. We won’t see the Spanish, they would surely use the fog as long as possible. But they must be very close.’
‘Then we go now,’ Lucien starts back down to the beach. ‘I hope this works,’ Loup says.
‘We must force the Belladonna to show her hand,’ Lucien says.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Sail master!’ someone is shaking him awake. Groggy with little sleep, Odysseus sits up in the dark, surrounded by hammocks slung between beams, swaying gently with the roll and pitch of the ship. He swings his feet to the floor searching for his shoes. ‘Something happened?’ he asks the crewman Jacob anxiously.
‘You might say so,’ Jacob says, ‘M Jabari wants you on deck.’
Odysseus emerges from below to a deck enclosed in pale gray fog, Men swarming into the shrouds, disappear into the coastal fog enveloping the masts and sails. Odysseus shivers in the cold air, but the sun is rising, the fog beginning to lift. M Jabari turns to Odysseus.
‘Your friends have arrived.’ He hands the spyglass to Odysseus who raises the glass to his eye and gasps. One of the three Spanish ship is closer than he anticipated, on a course straight at the Belladonna. ‘The other two?’
‘As you predicted.’ M Jabari points toward the Aigle. Two Spanish ships are closing in.
‘Diaole!’ Odysseus mutters in his native tongue. He looks toward the quarterdeck where Captain Renacer stands facing the rear of his ship, spyglass to his eye. Odysseus frowns. M Jabari notes his expression, ‘yes, more friends arriving.’
They climb to the first lookout and Odysseus focuses the spyglass. He gasps, snatches the spyglass down, ‘that’s my captain! In the pinnace!’ He stares intently out across the sea at the pinnace sails spread and speeding towards them. What is Lucien doing?
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The pinnace races through wind whipped waves, dipping and rising, closing the distance to the ships maneuvering for battle. The wind is cold, the sea choppy and Lucien works the helm to keep the sails full and the pinnace dead center in the Belladonna’s wake.
‘They see us,’ Loup lowers the glass, ‘cannot tell if the Spanish can see us.
‘Not yet, and with a little luck we stay hidden behind the masts and sails of the Belladonna.’
‘If this captain does not change course…’
‘Then our gamble is lost.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Captain, the Spanish…’
‘I see them M Diniz,’ Captain Renacer addresses his helmsman in a calm voice, ‘stay the course.’ He turns around to look at the pinnace coming up fast behind him, dead on center in his wake. He calculates the distance and the time remaining, muttering to himself, ‘do not be late for this party.’ He can see the two figures on the deck of the pinnace, one aloft. A clever plan he thinks, if you can carry it off… Captain Renacer turns back to his crew.
‘M Butchart! Guns at the ready!’
‘Aye Captain!’
‘M Jabari, ready about.’
‘Ready Captain!’
On the pinnace Lucien sees the men racing into the rigging, ‘merde!’ He whoops and pounds on Loup’s shoulder. ‘He is coming about! He is with us! Brilliant man!’
‘Proof that captain is not the crazy Frisan Wijard.’ Ver declares. He finishes loading the cannon, using the ram to drive the ball home and bares his teeth in a grotesque smile, ‘guns ready Cap’n!’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Fuego!’
Spanish harquebuses explode, a flash of fire and thick smoke rolling up and down the deck of the Spanish ship. Bullets race across the rolling sea and thud into the hull, the masts, shattering the rail, killing a man who falls screaming from the rigging into the sea, and slams into Odysseus throwing him to the deck. He cries out, his hands scrabbling for the wound in his chest, blood seeping through his fingers and onto the deck.
‘Man down!’ shouts the crewman who rushes to Odysseus.
‘Get that man below and seen to,’ Captain Renacer bellows.
‘Hard to port! Now!’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Twelve Years After 