Toward a Dark Horizon

“Large galley, sir, with at least twenty-four oars and six guns mounted on the forecastle and the waist. She has the wind abaft of her starboard beam and is bearing straight on with little leeway.” “Do you see their flag, man?” Captain Ferlandini grabbed the glass scope away from his first mate and focused it on the approaching vessel. Ferlandini grasped the situation immediately. While the Veronica was close-hauled on the starboard tack into the wind, the galley was putting herself before the wind and would quickly bear down upon the Veronica. “All hands on deck! All passengers below! Helmsman! Boxhaul off hard to larboard and bring her by the lee! Top men, lay aloft and set sails aback lest we overturn.” The Veronica leaned hard to the port side dumping all the surprised passengers on the deck as the abrupt maneuver was performed. The direction-reversing turn felt like a whale had plowed into the boat. The ship lurched and groaned but held together. When the wind was finally at the Veronica’s starboard quarter Captain Ferlandini shouted to the top men, “Unfurl all sails.” The sailed filled and the Veronica leapt forward. He ordered the helmsman to bear fully before the wind. Without orders being required, the deck crewmen loosened and re-set the lines from the lower corners of the sails to allow the sails to receive the full effect of the wind. “Report, man.” “It’s a war galley, sir, large and well equipped. See the ornamental carving on the bow? Someone of importance has come calling.” The first mate straightened his close-fitting waistcoat and pulled plumed hat low over his brow. Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks. “Aye, and I know who it is.” Running free, the Veronica was ahead of the galley. The caravel might have been able to outrun it if the galley’s captain had not also known how to turn and give chase. The galley now turned seaward pointing astern of the Veronica and would soon cross her wake in range of the galley’s guns. “Hear the oars? They’re getting close,” said Sara. A steady ‘sloop, splash’ sounded over the waves. “I can hear the grunt of the oarsmen!” said Margarita. “Give it everything you’ve got, men. They mean to take over the ship.” The crew worked the sails, reset the sheets and steered a course before the wind. The Veronica groaned and surged ahead. The galley came closer. “Report, first officer!” He handed the looking glass back. “Sir, the galley’s got forty oarsmen, a pair of bow chasers that could strike us now and six cannon amidships—culverins. I think each throws ten pounds of round shot. If she crosses our stern she can rake us to ruin. Sir, the captain has a Levantine head covering like a giant onion. What could it be?” “Not what, but who. It’s Kemal Reis.” The ship drew closer and fired a warning shot toward the Veronica. The galley ordered the Veronica to heave to. Captain Ferlandini knew the chase was finished. “Back off the sails. Helmsman, turn to windward.” The maneuver took the wind out of the sails, slowing it to a stop and to drift to lee. “Kemal Reis, who’s that?” said Sara. Margarita shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve heard of him,” said Señor Galvan. “He’s a commissioned officer in the Ottoman Navy and a favorite with the Sultan.” “I heard he rescued Jews and Muslims from the southern coast of Spain—during the recent conflict.” Señor Romero joined in. “He’s got a bad reputation, though. He takes whatever he pleases from ships he captures—trade goods and slaves,” said Alma. “Including women for—“ said Mara. “All passengers below—now!” Ferlandini’s first mate bellowed the order. “And women, hide yourselves.” A few shrieks followed as passengers scurried below. “Silence!” A moment later a sailor threw down the rope ladder. Ferlandini squared his shoulders. His hands made fists and his knuckles soon turned white. Kemal Reis, a compact man, scaled the ladder agile as a monkey. A number of his crew followed him, each smelling like apes, dressed in dirty trousers and shirts that sported a hole for each fight they had engaged in. Kemal bounded on deck. “Secure the vessel, men. See that nobody moves.” A swarm of men with gleaming scimitars herded the crew forward. The Veronica’s men went for their swords, but Kemal Reis called them off. “No fighting today, lads.” Kemal smiled. His narrow mustache gleamed with much oiling. “Just surrender your swords.” Sara heard the clank of many weapons hitting the deck above. Sara, her curiosity overtaking the orders given, poked her nose out of one ladder well. She could see the big onion on his head was an over-sized turban of brocade wound many times around. As for the rest of his outfit, he wore wide silk pantaloons, shoes with a backward curl at each toe and a red sash with long tails. She dropped down the ladder again and listened. “Captain Ferlandini.” “What do you want, Kemal?” Ferlandini dropped his sword. “Do you have any cargo I would want?” “Not a thing. Sorry.” Ferlandini crossed his arms over his chest. “I think I’ll just have a look. Men, go below and look for something to make this visit worthwhile.” Sara dropped down the ladder lightning fast, but caught her skirt on a nail. When she reached her space, She and Margarita hid under their beds, blankets pulled completely over them. Several of the invading crew scattered to the various ladders and could be heard tromping around below, overturning everything in their way. They returned with a few oaken casks, some large terracotta jars and five bolts of fine linen. One man found some wheels of cheese. “Just this, Commander—a little sherry, luxury fabrics and olive oil.” He held it up for Kemal to see. “And look at this—“ The man shoved Sara Elena forward. She looked at her shoes. Kemal strode over for a better look. He lifted her chin with a calloused forefinger and stroked her cheek. Sara avoided his eyes.