to face armed men to do so.’ His eyes swept around the ship. ‘Good, Cannick, well done.’
‘So why attack?’ Cannick was confused. ‘Pirates steal. If they can’t board, maybe they won’t attack.’
‘Look at them, they are attacking. They will be close in minutes. The time for wondering is by. If we stop to wonder why, all we will know for sure is how we are to die.’
He started to climb the ladder to the platform at the back of the ship. Without warning, he reversed his decision and dropped back down beside the veteran.
‘Cannick, change of plan. Bring the archers to the stern.’
Cannick was astonished, but masked his expression instantly. ‘All six of them, Captain?’ he shouted. ‘What about the enemy’s crossbows? It gives them liberty to loose untroubled, if ours are not giving them something to think about.’
Although he was voicing his misgivings, he had already signalled to the archers, who were by now running towards the stern.
The Captain looked at Cannick. For anyone else, questioning his orders would have brought a harsh penalty, but this war-hardened old man had taught him most of what he knew about battlecraft. He started to climb the ladder again, shouting back over his shoulder, ‘I don’t want stalemate. I need to win, and fast.’
He knew it was a gamble, but he had no choice. Most, if not all, pirate ships were bigger than his and more heavily armed, and usually with some sort of artillery. Reaching the rail, he saw that this one was no exception. The heavy ship was indeed closing fast, and its crossbowmen were readying in its bow. At the stern, however, was mounted the real threat: a springald – a huge crossbow-like weapon that had been swivelled towards them. It was pointing, it seemed, straight at him; they always seemed bigger, he thought, when they were aimed at you.
The Captain turned to the drummer. ‘Signal reverse stroke, for three strokes, then resume.’
The order was obeyed instantly. As he had hoped, his ship had slowed slightly – not enough to lose its momentum, and therefore control, in the stormy waters, but enough to cause the other vessel to overshoot slightly. They were still facing the springald, but at least the change had altered the part of his ship that the fearsome weapon was aimed at, and the pirates would have to decide whether to shoot at a target other than their first choice or go through the process of unlocking the springald’s mounting, reaiming it and locking it down again before letting loose its missile – which, particularly given the tossing conditions, would buy them some extra time. He fervently hoped it would be the latter.
As if to mock his tactics, the springald loosed with a chilling twang that could be heard above the storm, arcing the giant bolt at the mast. It struck the furled sail, ripping it, and carrying on into one of the benches. Screams rang out: not of pain from those hit, but of horror from those around them, hardened men as they were. The two rowers who had been struck had died instantly, and horrifically.
The archers had arrived beside him. ‘Aim for the steersman,’ the Captain shouted. ‘Start as soon as they are in range.’
One of the archers replied, ‘That would be now, Captain.’
They let loose their shafts immediately, desperate to end this as soon as possible after witnessing the destruction wrought by the giant bolt. Probably through luck, considering the movement of the ship and the high wind, their first volley flew towards its target, with one shaft catching the steersman square in the throat as he turned to look their way. The force of the blow flipped him backwards, and he disappeared into the sea.
The Captain shouted, ‘Shower arrows on anyone who comes to take over. Until they do, feel free to target the weapon.’
The springald’s crew had taken cover when they first saw the arrows fly but, under the persuasion of a huge man with a bared cleaver-like sword, they had quickly reappeared to reload the weapon, furiously cranking back the wire and slotting another bolt into place. Bellowed orders saw them lower its aim. Having witnessed the effect of their first attempt, they were abandoning the difficult shot at the mast and aiming for the rowers directly this time. It was a quick adjustment to make, for the vertical angle could be altered without unlocking it; although the mechanism allowed it to slide back to absorb some of the energy and reduce the chance of it ripping up the deck to which it was bolted, the massive power it released meant that it had to be anchored against lateral movement. As four arrows flew towards them, the men around the fearsome device took cover again but at that time a pirate could be seen running in a crouch for the swaying tiller and the archers switched their aim back to the steering arm and, as they did so, one of the men operating the springald took his chance to dive at the murderous weapon and hammer at the release mechanism.
Perhaps mercifully, the rowers were facing away from the other ship. Again, those killed never knew that it was coming. The devastation at that short range was, however, horrific. The huge arrow smashed directly into two benches and ploughed into the side of the ship, taking a chunk of the wooden wall with it into the heaving sea.
Three men died instantly. Another two had their heads bludgeoned and shattered by an oar whipped around by the passing missile. Incredibly, no one else was injured. The bolt had been eerily precise in its destructive passage. The ship’s drummer, well aware of the need to keep the vessel pointing into the maliciously relentless waves, beat relentlessly, bellowing at the rowers to keep working to maintain their position. Fortunately, and almost unbelievably, their discipline held in the face of such horror. They knew they had no option: to stop rowing would mean death in either case, from the sea or from the pirates.
The Captain had only glanced at the impact, his attention solely focused on determining the damage to his ship, for the moment at least. If it had been mortally holed, he would have had no option but to change his tactics and attempt to board the pirate vessel. In the current stormy conditions, that was a move that could sink both ships.
One of the archers turned to him. ‘Should we go for the springald, Captain?’ he shouted. ‘We can’t afford too many more hits like that.’ The Captain shook his head. His opposite number on the pirate ship was no fool and had quickly seen his ploy and, although the enemy crossbowmen themselves had been slow to react, they had clearly now been ordered to make their way aft as quickly as the conditions would allow.
‘If we do not get lucky soon, you will have their crossbows to worry about as well,’ the Captain yelled back. ‘Concentrate on the tiller.’
The archers had long since abandoned ordered volleys, and were now loosing as fast as their ability allowed, with arrows being shot before the previous ones had landed. Many were being carried adrift by the blustering wind, but enough were reaching the area of their target to give them hope.
The crew of the springald, however, were busy reloading, and the crossbowmen were nearing the stern. The replacement steersman crouched low, determinedly holding course; the Captain could not help but admire his courage. Behind the group around the springald, a man was trying to push past. The Captain stared through the driving rain, and saw a large shield in the man’s arms.
‘Shoot faster,’ he yelled. ‘They are bringing protection for the steersman.’
As he shouted, however, the instruction became unnecessary. An arrow – ironically one blown slightly off course – struck a metal fitting on the springald. It careered at a sharp angle and streaked a few short yards before spearing into the chest of the crouching steersman. The deflection had robbed the arrow of much of its speed, so it did not strike as hard as the one that had launched the previous steersman into the sea. Nevertheless, it was instantly obvious that it was a fatal blow.
Without any control, the ship started to drift into a turn. The crossbowmen had reached the stern, and one realised the danger and started to throw himself at the tiller. He was too late. The life had run from the steersman and he was slumped on the arm of the tiller, turning the ship completely broadside to the massive waves. The desperate man hauled him to the side and wrenched round the steering arm, but he must have known it was already an impossible task.
It was over in seconds. Three massive waves in quick succession