Читать книгу In The Lion's Sign - Stefano Vignaroli, Stefano Vignaroli - Страница 9

 CHAPTER 4

“Everyone is what he pursues.

I am what I am, I am what I love,

I love what I am.”

(Elio Savelli)

Andrea still could not understand why he had followed the Duke’s men without blinking an eye, just moments before the wedding ceremony with his beloved Lucia. His powerful white steed, still dressed for a party, was biting the road, without struggling at all to keep up with the armigers who were heading beyond the Esino river, towards Mount Returri. The ride was easy, without trappings, without even hiding it on the head. The thick blonde hair of Andrea caressed the air fluttering. The sleeves of the crimson doublet swelled and deflated at the whims of the wind. But Andrea’s mind was in turmoil. Thoughts incapable of being held in check crowded into his head and overwhelmed his temples, hoping to be taken into consideration.

«You have always pursued the hope of being able to unite in marriage with Lucia. And now the time had finally come, what do you do? You leave her there, on the churchyard of the Church!», the first thought began to torture him. «Remember, Andrea! Everyone is what he pursues in life! Not to reach one’s goals means to fail miserably.»

«I am what I am!», Andrea defended himself against himself. «I love to be what I am. And I am a man of arms, and as such I must obey those who command me. So I made the right choice. One cannot shirk one’s duty because of a damsel.»

«You love what you are, but you are also what you love», a second thought replied to him, without giving him a break, in an incredible play on words. «And who you love is Lucia. With her you should be one body and one soul. What difference was there in following these men now, immediately, rather than tomorrow, or tomorrow the other or in a week’s time? And your little girl, Laura, to whom you gave smiles until this morning, making her understand that now she could trust the affection of a father, what will she think of you? That you’re a coward, that you escape love and affection depending on how the wind turns. Was it not licit to at least explain to her why you are leaving?»

«I'm not a pussy, I’m a Captain of Arms!», Andrea’s warrior spirit replied with vigour. «If these men were in a great hurry to take me with them, there must be a reason, and a very serious one, from what I could read in the letter sent to me by the Duke. A warrior does not shirk his duty. Never! Much less for matters of love. Love can wait, the enemy can’t.»

Immersed in these mental disquisitions, Andrea had not even noticed that, having passed the watchtower at the top of Mount Returri, the group of soldiers he was following, having crossed the short village of Santa Maria delle Ripe, was heading, in a fast descent, towards the valley of the Musone River. He silenced all his thoughts and concentrated on the route. If they had to head towards Mantua, the road to follow was certainly not the one, which bent towards the south. Logic would have wanted that one covered the road Fiammenga up to Montemarciano and then went up again along the Adriatic coast, up to Ravenna, to then bend towards Ferrara. And from there reach Mantua in an easy way, without any difficulty. The road they were driving along led straight to the Swabian Castle of the Seaport, south of the mountain of Ancona, between the mouth of the Musone river and the one of the Potenza river. A castle built by Frederick II to defend and bulwark of an important port in which could station the Ghibelline fleet. To the only thought of the sea, Andrea had a gagging.

And soon, in fact, the valley of the Musone widened towards the Adriatic Sea. The imposing basilica of Loreto, dedicated to the cult of the Virgin Mary and protected by mighty ramparts were on their right, high on the hill, while Andrea and his companions followed a wide road for a few leagues, arriving in view of their destination. The outline of the Swabian castle, with its imposing donjon towering towards the sky, approached quickly. The sun was now setting towards the horizon and, putting the horses in step, you could hear the sound of the backwash and smell the salty smell brought by the wind. The sunset set the sky on fire in a bright red, fading into shades of orange where the sun was hiding behind the horizon line, marked by the mountains of the Apennines. Scenes and colours that would have infused the feeling of nostalgia in the heart of any person, let alone in that of Andrea, already in turmoil for the whole story he was living. He would have wanted to turn the horse around and run back to Jesi, to his beloved, to his home, to his affections. But once again, the nitrites of the horses and the cries of the armigers brought him back to reality. They were in front of the main entrance of the castle, in a large quadrangular clearing that, on the opposite side, opened towards the sea. While his escorts were shouting to the guards in the stands, to be recognized and to lower the drawbridge, Andrea looked at the port. The sea was calm, flat, almost a table. Some stars were already shining in the sky, a sky that was taking on the tones of turquoise and that would soon become much darker, wrapping things and people in the black cloak of the night. The silhouette of a huge boat, a three-masted sheep, caught Andrea’s attention. In his life he had never seen such a large vessel. And the fear that the next day he would have to climb on it gripped his heart. On the highest tree, the central one, waved the banner of the Serenissima Republic, a laying lion, the lion of St. Mark, with an open book, the Holy Gospel, between the front legs. When the drawbridge was descended and the huge doors of the portal opened, the captain of the castle guard went out and approached Andrea, handing him a folded banner. He bent to his address in an obsequious bow and handed him the banner.

Andrea got down from his horse, nodded to the Captain to lift himself from the reverent position and took the object from his hands. He unfolded the drape, in which, on a red cloth background, had been made, at the end of the embroidery, the golden design of a rampant lion adorned with the royal crown on his head.

«My Lord, Marquis Franciolino Franciolini, you’ll fight under the sign of the lion!», the lieutenant began to profess. «Tomorrow morning you will deliver this banner to the ship’s crew, who will hoist it on the flagpole, beside the flag of the Serenissima Republic. The Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere gave precise dispositions. The rampant lion, the symbol of your city, but also of Frederick II of Swabia, who granted in his time to adorn it with the imperial crown, will be the symbol of your strength and your authority.»

The Scroll was interrupted and he had a parchment delivered by another soldier, who had remained behind him, a short distance away.

«Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere appoints you, as written in this parchment, Grand Lion of the Bailiff, a title that gives you great powers and the possibility, indeed the duty, to accompany the Venetian commander on the bridge of the combat galleon.»

So saying, he rolled the parchment and delivered it in Andrea’s hands.

«Tomorrow morning at dawn you will board with your men and deliver the credentials to the “Capitano da Mar”³ Tommaso de’ Foscari. Two lions and two captains of arms will be united against common enemies, on one side the Turks of Sultan Sèlim, on the other side the Lansquenets. The Duke Della Rovere trusts you will hold high the honour due to your flag and to the one of the Serenissima Republic, our ally. And now, my Lord, allow me to lead you to your rooms to call for a deserved rest. Tomorrow morning you will be awakened early, even before sunrise.»

Andrea was confused, he didn’t know what to say, and so he remained silent. Certainly his friend Duke knew how to flatter him with the honours, but in doing so he always found a way to send him to the wreck. The fact of embarking on a ship didn’t please him at all, but by then he had arrived there and he couldn’t back down.

At night he turned and turned around between the sheets, getting little or no sleep. When he sank into sleep, he was assailed by nightmares that reminded him of the only battle fought at sea. Sea and blood, fire and death. And the figure of the Mancino who tormented him, approaching him until he became a giant, who accused him of letting him die among the waves. And he woke up in a bath of sweat, realizing he had slept only for a few moments. When the servant in charge of the alarm clock arrived, he felt almost relieved to be able to get up. It was still dark outside, but from the window he could catch a glimpse of the ship illuminated by the whitish light of an almost full moon. The servant helped him to wear a light armour, consisting of a wire mesh bodice with more compact reinforcements at the shoulders, forearms and neck. Above the armour, a half red and half yellow satin cloak. In the yellow part the design of the lion of San Marco, in the red one the crowned rampant lion.

«These clothes won’t be able to protect me from anything!», Andrea began to complain, with the servant who was helping him in the dressing. «An arrow in chest and goodbye Marquis Franciolini! And what about the stockings? Simple leather pants, without even metal studs for protection. Pass me the helmet, come on!»

«No helmet, my Captain. You’re all good. On board you have to be light, you have to be able to move easily, to run from one side of the galleon to the other and, if necessary, climb trees. An armour like the ones you are used to wearing in land fighting would only be a hindrance. Trust me, my Lord!»

«I trust you, and I also believe that I will not reach Mantua alive. If seasickness won’t kill me, the enemy will do it. I will be an easy target for the Turkish pirates. They will shoot me with arrows and feed on my corpse. Ah, what a fine destiny I’m going to meet, just to please my friend the Duke!»

«You have nothing to fear, my Lord. The galleon is really safe and suitable for resisting any attack by other vessels. And Commander Foscari knows his business. He knows how to govern the vessel and fight at sea like no other in the world. You will see. And now, refresh yourselves. You will need to be strong to face the journey», and so he clapped his hands, letting other servants with trays coming into the room.

The servant who had helped him dress, took a silver chalice and had his hands washed with rosewater. Then he invited him to sit at the table. The other servants placed in front of him, in sequence, three trays. In the first one there were some cups, some filled with donkey milk, some with Sicilian orange juice, others with steaming cow’s milk. A second tray contained sweet food, milk bread, donuts, cookies, marzipan, pinocchiate⁴ , cannoli⁵ with cream, puffed, arranged in saucers decorated with large salad leaves. The third tray was dedicated to salty foods, anchovies, capers, asparagus, shrimps, accompanied by a cup filled with sturgeon eggs with sugar. Apart, in some jugs, there were wines, from muscatel to trebbiano to fermented sweet wine. Andrea was afraid that, once aboard the galleon, everything in his stomach would go up to his jaws. He would have vomited everything he had ingested. But the scents that tickled his nostrils were too tempting, so he soaked some cookies and two donuts in donkey milk, gobbling behind the cup of warm cow’s milk. He was careful not to touch the salty foods and, above all, the wines. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp, after which he declared himself ready to reach the Venetian boat.

Seen up close, the Venetian ship was really impressive. Andrea had never seen such a large vessel, not even that of the Turkish pirates faced more than a year ago. He noticed with pleasure how the galleon was extremely stable. The waves passed under the hull, but the mammoth ship, in fact, just did not seem to move. His attentive eye did not miss the curious metal panels, which covered the wooden sides of the boat in several places. While trying to understand what they were for, his attention was drawn by the ship’s captain. Tommaso De’ Foscari was hurling himself out of his arms, beckoning the young man to go on board through a comfortable walkway placed between the pier and the left side of the ship. Not without some fear, Andrea reached the bridge, greeting his new companion with a bow. While he was handing the banner to Foscari with the rampant lion, to be hoisted on the flagpole near the other flag representing the lion of St. Marco, he realized that being on top of that ship did not bother him at all. The galleon was a different thing than the one on which he had lost two of his best companions, the Mancino and Fiorano Santoni. The movements due to the lapping of the waters under the hull were not felt at all.

«As you can see, my dear Franciolino, this is one of the best ships in the fleet of the Serenissima Republic», the ship Captain began to explain to him, surrounding his shoulder with an arm. «It’s a very large ship and therefore it is very stable. But at the same time it’s also agile and easy to manoeuvre. In addition to the wind it can be propelled, if necessary, by two orders of rowers. Among the crew, servants, rowers and soldiers, there are more than five hundred men on board. Almost an army. And that’s not all. It’s a very safe ship. I noticed, a little while ago, how you were looking at the metal bulkheads on the sides. They protect the hull from the enemy’s incendiary balls. When needed, they can be lifted, creating a barrier even higher than the walls of the ship itself, and between one bulkhead and another, fire vents can be inserted, bombards capable of throwing explosive projectiles at opponents. But there is even more. On board we have as many as one hundred harquebusiers, men capable of using in an excellent way the new deadly firearm invented by the French. I can’t wait to show you this war machine at work.»

Continuing to speak, the Captain had led Andrea to the bridge, where he had taken the helm, explaining how in marine jargon the front part of the ship was called the bow and the rear stern, the left side port and the right side starboard. Then he began to shout orders to the sailors in order to prepare the ship to sail. The orders, pronounced in strict marine jargon, were completely incomprehensible to Andrea.

Drop anchor - Retract the tires - Lower the mainsail - Drop the pimp - Hoist the foresails, they were all commands whose meaning he did not fully understand. In any case, he could observe how, at each Captain’s command, the crew moved in a fast and precise way, without any uncertainty. In short, the galleon detached itself from the dock and set sail, starting sailing north, with a nice sirocco wind that inflated the sails to the maximum. Foscari held the rudder firmly in his hand and continued to explain to Andrea what he was doing.

«The Adriatic Sea is a closed and also rather narrow sea between the Italian and Dalmatian shores. And therefore it is quite safe. It is unlikely that sudden storms break out, as they do when you cross the ocean to reach the New World. However, we have not to underestimate the fact sometimes the wind turns and becomes dangerous. The “Garbino”⁶ , the wind that blows from the land, can lift the sea and cause even massive swells. In addition it makes it difficult to steer the ship, as it pushes the boats out to sea. As you can see, we always try to sail rather offshore to avoid the shallows, but always in view of the coast, so that we never lose course. The “Garbino” can fool you, making you lose sight of the coastline and therefore disorienting navigators, especially when the sky is cloudy and you can’t get oriented thanks to the sun and the stars. We sailors fear another wind, the “bura”, the “Buriàn”⁷ , which brings snow and frost, and blows especially in the winter season. The “bura” is sometimes so strong to sweep away everything it finds, including the sailors on deck who, if they end up in the icy waters, have little hope of surviving.»

«My dear Tommaso», Andrea interrupted him, by now having become familiar with his new friend. «I must confess that I am very afraid of the sea. I don’t even know how to swim and I had a very bad experience last year off the coast of Senigallia. So, I would prefer you to avoid telling me certain details. You already gave me the creeps. If you go on like this, I will be nauseous and then I will be in pain for the rest of the navigation. Today instead I can see a beautiful day, the wind that is caressing us is warm and pleasant, and this ship is so stable that I do not feel any discomfort. Therefore, let me enjoy this voyage, and maybe tell me about your exploits as a warrior. I know that you fought against the Turks on Dalmatian soil... But, what I see there towards the shore is the outline of the Rocca Roveresca? Have we already reached Senigallia?»

«The ship is fast and the wind is favourable. Yes, we have already reached Senigallia. And since you talked about Turks, be ready to meet them, because these waters are infested by Sultan Sèlim’s pirates.»

«I know this very well. Ah, if I could make them pay for what they made me lose a year ago! Two of my best friends lost their lives in the clash with those unfaithful bastards. And I got away with it by a whisker.»

«Excellent, my dear Franciolino. So, if we are going to have to fight them, while I will govern the ship, I’ll leave you to give the orders to gunners and harquebusiers. Now I will explain how.»

The navigation continued quietly until late afternoon. Captain Foscari was about to prepare the galleon to dock at the port of Rimini to spend the night, when a lookout, from his position at the top of the highest mast, shouted: «Pirate ship to starboard! Galleon flying the Turkish flag, in battle trim.»

«It’s Selim!», Andrea whispered to Captain Foscari, already beginning to feel a certain excitement at the idea of the fight.

The Sea Captain shouted some orders in seafaring jargon. Andrea didn’t understand anything, but he could admire again how, at each command, the crew of the ship was moving in perfect synchrony to comply with the will of the captain. In a few moments, the protective metal panels of the right side of the ship were lifted, the fire mouths were loaded and the bomb squad set themselves in combat position. The harquebusiers, instead, loaded their weapons, moved to the left side of the galleon, near the port wall.

«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.»