July 24, Early Evening
The Fatima
Amina was the first to arrive, and Saul could feel her irritation at leaving the Golden Sun from across the wide gulf still between them. If he was not certain that she was his daughter before, her discomfort at being anywhere but her own foredeck had been ample evidence. Most of his other commanders were relieved when they met, either aboard the Fatima or at the Red Fingers. The company of other officers. The freedom, for a short while, from the responsibility for hundreds, sometimes many hundreds, of lives. The urbanity of it, over basins of qahwa. quite removed from the corsair's day. And even the most seasoned sailors breathed a deep secret breath in the ports, few and far between. But not Amina. As far as he knew, she had not once disembarked at Palermo.
But then, neither had he, except where official business demanded it. He had only seen her once, when their flotillas, his from Tunis, hers from Cyprus, rendezvoused just south of the city, and he missed her terribly, yet he knew he had no one to blame but himself. It was his blood in her veins. Amara, daughter of the Sahara, hadn’t even liked river boats. Just as Amina had her eyes, Amina had his nose for the salt spray. And once she had named her own vessel, the galiot Daddy’s Test when she was twelve, Neptune had replaced him as her father and the Mediterranean had become the mother she knew far better than the one who had died when she was small. Her crew were her children, the stars that guided her were her companions, and her ship was her mate. That was the way of things for them, people of the waves.
He smiled slightly. What derision they showed these retching mercenaries for not having sea legs. There are those of us, he thought, who have nothing but.
“Why isn’t she coming closer?” Captain Robertson asked, from his place at Saul’s side. “She doesn’t mean to extend a bridge at that distance? Wouldn’t that make it difficult for her to return in case of trouble?”
Saul chuckled. The main purpose of his presence was to introduce himself to the senior commanders of the fleet, but he was not ashamed at taking pleasure in the younger man’s uncertainty. Captain of the most formidable soldiers in Europe he may be, but a Captain of soldiers nonetheless.
“Yes, it would. But we corsairs are at times forced to... Do things quickly, you understand. Watch, Robertson, and you shall see.”
Just then, David heard a short piercing bird call from the main mast. When he looked up he saw the hunched, bony old man the pirates called Seer. He shot Saul a questioning glance. The other grinned crookedly.
“At times, we’re forced to do them quietly as well.”
Seer then, to David’s astonishment, launched a thin, fibrous rope over to the Golden Sun’s main mast, where he now saw a woman take hold of one end.
“Isn’t that your man, Seer?”
Saul nodded with a smile.
“Our Master of the Sails.” He waited a beat. “And our lookout.”
“You mean to tell me that for these past days our safety has been in the hands of a blind lookout?”
“I cannot explain it to you, Robertson, and I won’t claim to understand it myself. He hears the world and feels the changes of the air on his face. All I can say for certain is that he had the job when I found him, and in twenty years I’ve never had a reason to replace him. You can see for yourself. However he does it, he does it.”
David thought this over a moment, but he had to admit the corsair had a point. He could now see the woman had straightened up and taken a firm two handed grip on the rope.
“She’s going to swing? At that distance?”
“She is.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“In the heat of combat or the dead of night, it is far less dangerous than the alternative.” He arched an eyebrow as the younger man briefly considered what activities for which this would be useful in the dead of night.
“But for a woman?”
“This is for your benefit, Robertson,” Saul chuckled. “In the usual way, it takes a matter of seconds, and Amina can do it with a pistol in one hand.”
David started to respond, but was cut off as Red Hand’s daughter jumped, fell for an agonizing moment and then curved smoothly toward them. At the last, where the arc fell below the line of the deck, she arched upward and let go, landing on her feet a meter from where they were standing.
“You were off,” Saul said, “by some distance.”
Robertson gaped at him, but Amina smiled. He noticed quickly all the other men near them were gaping instead at her.
“I didn’t want to scare our earth worm here.” She extended a hand to David and seemed not at all surprised when he kissed it, in the European manner. “Though now I am not sure. Perhaps he would’ve caught me in his arms, hmm?”
Saul laughed.
“David Robertson, this is Captain Amina Diarra, Rais of the Corsairs of the Red Hand. Amina, this is Captain David Robertson, commander of the Free Company.”
“Charmed, Rais,” David said, eying her appraisingly. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. He would guess no older than eighteen. Her skin was darker than her father’s, with a hint of the black found among the Africans, but her hair hung half the length of her back in the style of the Arabs. He imagined it was a source of trouble on a sailing ship, but judging by the affect she was having on his men it was probably a more than fair exchange.
She wore the same billowing trousers as her father, though hers were a pale gold in keeping with her ship. Among pirates, he’d half expected her to be topless, but she wore a light tunic from her mid-stomach over her breasts, held together by a single, thin strap around her waist and loops on her upper arms, leaving her long back bare. But though she was beautiful and flirtatious, certainly, there was an edge to her. Like her father’s. Serious and hard. The edge of command. But in her was menace in it, and fire.
Of course, it could simply be that, unlike her father, who on his ship appeared unarmed though David was certain he wasn’t, she was armed to the teeth. Armed not simply to be effective, but for display. He wondered for a moment if this was the way of Corsairs, bearing their weapons on any ship that wasn’t their own. Even a friendly ship.
Even a father’s ship.
“ The Al-Rais stands on formality too much, Captain Robertson. We are not on my ship, nor are we even in the presence of our subordinates. You may call me Amina.”
“And you may call me David, Amina.”
“She admonishes me for my formality in the same breath she addresses her father as a lord,” Saul chuckled. “On his own ship.”
“Yes, on your ship. We could have had this chat on mine, you know.” Her eyes flashed as she growled, and that long hair seemed to tremble a bit. He couldn’t see how she managed it on the rigging.
“Protocol, my dear. This is the flagship. And speaking of which, have you had any of the Captains aboard your ship since Cyprus?”
“I haven’t. We cut all contact as per your orders until Palermo, and since then we’ve held back to protect the transports. We came within distance of Farooq yesterday, but the winds were up.”
“I suppose that is to be expected.” Saul nodded. “Nonetheless, the silence troubles me.”
“All ships arrived at the rendezvous on time. They’ve signaled clear daily. I have received reports from Ali at regular intervals for the past six months. I see no reason to worry.”
Saul glanced at David, as if remembering he was there, and smiled.
“We are friends here, I suppose. Come, it will be a while yet before the others arrive and I don’t believe, Captain Robertson, you have ever had a drink like ours. I think your people call it coffee and...”
“Rais, Rais, the Seer would like to see... I mean, well, he would like you to see him... I mean...” The boy who had interrupted flustered and then looked up at the two large men staring down at him. “Excuse me, sir, Captain, sir, a message, sir, for the Rais, sir.”
“At ease, son,” Saul said, and then he glanced at Amina.
“More conspiracies, I would guess,” she said. “I’ll be in time for the council.”
Red Hand nodded and she fell into step with the boy, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He was from Northern Europe, David guessed, and his pale skin turned the color of red wine at her touch. He chuckled, lightly, before she threw a look at him over her shoulder.
“A scarf, Captain.”
“Pardon?”
“A scarf. On my head. You looked curious about my hair. I tie it beneath a scarf.”
And with that, she was gone. A trail of love-sick mercenaries in her wake.
“Come,” Saul said, with a grin. “We will greet the others.”
~
Robertson was impressed, but more than that his curiosity was piqued. In their familial moment the two had dropped their guard and revealed something to him. Only the Fatima and the transports had docked at Palermo, while the Golden Sun had come in for the train and left the day before. That was why he hadn’t met any of the other Captains. He had assumed they were trying to escape the notice of the Italians, but it appeared this policy was in effect before they ever reached Palermo and was relaxed immediately after they left. He was not certain what this meant.
But it was a piece of information, nonetheless, and he got the feeling it was important.
~
There were nine of them. The commanders of his fleet, or what part of it had gathered here. It felt good. To see them after so long. There was an energy, a trust and familiarity, built up over the years they had spent together. Farooq, Captain of the Barbary Blade, commander of the second squad, who had been chained with him all those years ago on the Italian galleys. At fifty seven, his mind and his eyes were still spry, and there wasn’t a sword hand he’d trust more in the fleet, though his body looked a ruin from the oars. Omar, Captain of the Damnation, commander of the fourth squad, who‘d saved Rat‘s life at Naxos. Their mates, Qadir, Captain of the Serpent Raider, and Shahid, Captain of the Devil’s Dog, both of the second squad since its formation, and Lorenzo, Captain of the Wraith, and Shakir, Captain of the Black Fang, of the recently formed fourth squad. Their Rais, Diego Ramirez Covas, who believed Saul did not know he was Amina‘s lover, Captain of the Oran and perhaps the most popular of them. Handsome and dashing, he was the kindest of men, and at thirty-two was closest in age to Red Hand himself among his three lieutenants, Ali being twenty-six and Amina a mere eighteen. This was a peculiar kinship, particularly with the man defiling his daughter.
Saul smiled at this, but his face fell. As great a force as their presence was the absence of their comrades. He had organized the Red Hand Corsairs into six squadrons the year before, each further combined into three flotillas, one to a region at a time. Of these, only a single full flotilla could be said to be gathered here. Ali was somewhere off Morocco, harassing the Spanish, the very same Spanish who had hired them. He had the fleet’s third Galleass, two of its bergantines and six of its galleys, making up squads three and five. Saul’s own squads, two and four, were here present, along with his transports. Amina and Covas had come alone, leaving squad six and the remaining three bergantines in the East, fulfilling prior commitments. While the Fatima, Golden Sun and Oran made up more than half their firepower, the Council gathered here was a quarter of his senior officers, and among the missing was his third-in-command. It was for the best, of course. He had taken just enough vessels to be cautious, while not so many as to making it impossible to evade the Turks.
But the expense was too great in general. Unless a treasure fleet happened by, to concentrate all the Red Hands together again, except for winter quarters, was to risk financial ruin, not to speak of drawing the ire of the Pasha. Unless things changed, this was the grandest assemblage he was likely to see, and it pained him. If it weren’t for his first mate, Rashid, and Seer, being present as well, the cabin would feel almost empty.
The price of success. But then again, changing things was why they were here. It was just a matter of making them see that.
“You’re a damned fool, boy.” Seer leaned forward from the rafter on which he sat. “A damned fool. On a fool’s errand. And for what? For fool’s gold.”
“Fool’s gold?” Covas smiled gently. “Maybe. But you get ten thousand pieces of fool’s gold together and they’re not for fools anymore.”
“No. No. They’re for corpses. Corpses.”
“I d’know abot all that,” Shahid said. “But I’s a wondrin what we’re doin’ here in the first.”
“What Red Hand has ordered us to do, Shahid,” Omar said.
“I’ot disputin that. Only wonderin’ why.”
“The King of Spain has already paid us handsomely, and the Free Company owes its share,” Rashid said. “Even if the Habsburg bastard cheats us out of the other half, we’ve made a fine profit.”
“We’d have made a fine profit riding the waves like Corsairs, too, Rat,” Seer said. “And we’d have more trouble dying.”
“How much of that would the Pasha take? And then the God damn Sultan on top and every dick-less clerk in the palace. No offense, Amina.”
“None taken,” she said, smiling and waving him off. Saul could tell she was enjoying this.
“I hate say Saul, I wondering same,” Farooq broke in. “We usually not gondolas. Guard Venetian convoy can see. Fetch same price, too. But transing dogs ourself?”
“Would you trust the Venetians, Farooq?” Amina asked. “I wouldn’t.”
“Seems like that’s the Free Company’s problem,” Qadir said. “Not ours.”
“Venetians would already be loading Turkish gold by now,” Lorenzo said.
“And the Turks would be loading Free Company slaves,” Shakir added.
Qadir shrugged.
“That would be their problem.”
“Now this is our problem,” Lorenzo said. “There’s no sense in debating it. We’re already here.”
“Convenient that. Top secret silence for months and then we’re in council after it’s too late to do a thing about it.”
“And what would you have done, Qadir?” Amina asked, grinning maliciously. “From where I sit, your only option was to swim. In this fleet, the men go where Red Hand goes.”
“And in Arabia the women go silent when the men speak.”
“Not all of Arabia,” Omar said, sharply. “Watch your tongue.”
“Relax, Omar.” Amina’s grin broadened. “Qadir’s just upset because his cabin boy has the rash.”
“Jezabel.”
“I might say the same.”
“Enough.” Saul’s gaze drifted over all of them. “We are here because we are paid to be here.”
“No! No! Damnable boy. You let them change our subject. Tell them. Tell them! We are here because you are a fool who means to fight the Sultan. Tell them!”
Covas and Rat held their breath. Amina looked at him expectantly. The rest fell silent and waited. After a moment, Farooq spoke up.
“This true my friend? Fight Turk?”
“I hate the Pasha as much as you, Red Hand,” Lorenzo said. He swore in Catalan and spit. “More. But we don’t stand a chance against him, not as long as the Sultan is buggering him. And we’re on the thin side. Hell, half that maw out there is Algerian.”
“Yes! Yes! Andalusian speaks the truth,” Seer said. Lorenzo grimaced.
“We corsairs. Find ships. Take them. That all.”
“Except the Pasha is taking the ships,” Covas said.
“And the gold and the silver and the armor and the spice and the fucking biscuits,” Rat sneered. “Sorry, Amina.”
“Fucking biscuits is right. Don’t apologize.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. “But you are all missing the point. Whether we can or should challenge the Pasha is irrelevant. We are not challenging the Pasha. We are playing ferry for mercenaries and running the largest blockade the world has seen in any of your lifetimes. The question is what it gains us, and whether it is worth what the Pasha will do to us if we are discovered.”
“And what do you say, Amina?” Covas asked, quietly.
“I have had my say already,” she said, equally quiet, her eyes blazing dead aim at Saul. “More than once. Now I say the Rat is right. We are here. We have a contract. We will fulfill it. But after the Company is landed at Malta, I would like to return to business.”
There was a silence, and Saul knew this was the last one. It was now or never. He rarely opened his authority to debate and vote, but he was a Corsair. Red Hand or not, he was a Corsair. And this they must go in together. Though he knew without looking at their faces that with Amina against him, he had already lost.
“I follow Red Hand,” Omar said, at last. “As do my men. If he leads us to Mecca and orders us to burn it to the ground, I will follow him still.”
“Shit to the Pasha,” Rat spat.
Covas eyed Saul and Amina before he spoke.
“Our city is ruled by the Turks. Our ships are rowed by slaves, Spanish, Berber, Moor and Arab alike, for distant causes. Men and women no longer look to their own hearts but to Istanbul. Even the seas have lost their liberty. I for one am willing to fight.”
They were strong words. But they were token. He had seen Amina nod to the man, almost imperceptibly. She knew, too.
He held up his hand.
“The rest may hold their peace. Though my daughter may not believe it, I have every intention of leaving Malta when the last of the Company have disembarked. We have not been paid for the return voyage and so we are under no obligation. Our purpose here is solely monetary. The fall of the Knights of St. John will place the Western Seas as fully at the mercy of the Sultan as the Eastern, if not moreso without the Venetians to keep him in check. I believe this is bad for business. We will not, however, go further than our obligations. I have already acquired sources in Provencal, where we will put Diego’s plan in practice when we are through here. A few more days, my friends, and we will be gone from this place.”
Seer shook his head, but the rest were satisfied, it seemed, and ready now, finally, to return to the matter at hand.
“What’s the look of things?” Omar asked.
“The Captain has charged us to verify his intelligence. As I’m not eager to run into the Turkish Armada, we’ll do so with all haste. Diego, you’ll take the Oran and the Barbary Blade south east to Marsamuscetto Bay. You’re to thoroughly...”
“I’ll go,” Amina interrupted. “I tire of babysitting cooks and medicos anyway.”
“You’ll go?” Saul arched an eyebrow. “We need the Golden Sun with the fleet. You’ll take the Oran then?”
Her brow furrowed in distaste, but she nodded.
“No. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to remain here and take charge of the guns. If things disintegrate, the Fatima will have to provide the cover fire to protect the civilians. The Sun will beat a hasty retreat.”
Amina appeared ready to argue, but his tone was firm.
“Yes, sir.” She glanced at Colvas and her eyes clouded over for a moment, the pain in them evident.
“I watch him lady,” Farooq whispered, quietly, so that none of the others heard. “No worry.”
Saul saw her straighten up and told himself to remember to thank the broken down old man.
“As I was saying, the two of you are to make absolutely certain there are no Turkish ships in the area. None. I want to know about fishermen, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Colvas said, his eyes firmly on Amina.
“As soon as the survey is complete, the Barbary Blade will split off and return to the fleet at full speed.”
There was a hush, but he was Al-Rais again, and there would be no argument.
“Good. Is there anything else?”
Rat looked around at his comrades, and it became all too clear that none of them would ask the question on all their minds. Amina had likely fought this battle and lost as it was, and she was gazing at the maps on the always, distant now. It was up to him. The cowards.
“I got one, sir.”
Saul cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“The Turkish fleet... Is the commander... Saul, is it Piali?”
The older man paused and then nodded.
“If he catches sight of you...”
“I know.” He touched his chest and straightened up. “That’s all, Captains. Diego and Farooq, return to your ships and make ready to depart. I want oars in the water within the hour.”
He stood and made room as the two men left hurriedly to prepare. Then he grinned.
“As for the rest of you, rub rose water beneath your nostrils. We’re having a party. With the officers of the Free Company, and as little as Christians bathe, these bathe least of all.”
