Adventure Magazine Cover — page 139: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 fifteen thousand Venetian ducats and valu- able goods. It was the second night out and a full moon hung in a clear sky;the man at the steering-oar guided the Nauplia within sight of the shadows of land. Near Michael groups of Armenian and Muscovite traders slept, men and women together, heedless of the clamor of voyagers at dice and wine, or the quarreling and sing- ing below decks where torches of pine-pitch made sleep difficult, if not perilous. Michael found that he missed Bembo’s light tongue and deeper philosophy. The jester would have been in his element on such a night. But Bembo had left him with- out farewell the day before the galliot sailed. The tumult and lights of the pilgrim ship formed a great contrast to the silence and speed of a smaller galley that swept out of an inlet with oars plying on either side and spray flashing in the moonlight. For a second Michael studied it, then took up his sword and ran aft to where the cap- tain slept by the helmsman. “Look at yonder craft,’ observed the Breton, shaking the slumbering seaman, “and then dream if you can.” The Venetian stumbled to his feet, gazed, and swore roundly. “Saint Anthony of Padua! I like it not.” He strode to the break of the stern castle. “Ho, there! Cressets! Women into the stern! Out with your swords, messers. There be pirates at hand or I am a blind man!” The gamesters sprang up. Men of the crew ran to fix torches in place at the ship’s side; fagots contained in steel baskets were kindled at bow and stern. The women, wailing and crying, were driven below decks. “Captain,” suggested Michael, ‘it would be well to man the sweeps and get the galliot well under weigh. Your sloping sides are comfortably devised for boarders. Our safety lies in ramming the galley with our wooden beak, such as it is.’ The Venetian, experienced in such mat- ters, saw the wisdom of this and was giving orders for the rowers to push out the great oars, when a tall figure appeared on the balcony below the steer ing- -platform and silenced him. ~ “Nay. No time for that. Summon up your oarsmen to fight on deck.”’ Michael, leaning down, saw that it was Rudolfo who spoke. The condoittiere had Adventure drawn his sword and was giving swift in- structions to his own men who tumbled up, pulling mail hoods about their heads and stringing’ their bows. “You hear me, fool!’’ Rudolfo cried at the Venetian. “I am in command of the armed forces of this cursed galliot. By the rood The captain shrugged, glanced at the on- coming galley—now not a dozen ships’ lengths away—and complied. The crew hurried to the danger point at the ship’s side, shepherded by Rudolf6, while the Nauplia barely moved through the water, for the wind was light. Young Mocenigo reeled upon deck, more than a little the worse for wine. Michael saw Soranzi peer from a cabin and straight- way vanish. The brazen sound of the ship’s bell voiced a warning to all who still slept. From the dark huddle of Muscovites and Armenians emerged men with bows—Oriental traders, well able to fight in a crisis. On the waist of the Nauplia tumult reigned. ~ Glancing up at the sail, the Venetian skip- per whispered to Michael: ‘‘Let the gallants do as they please. By Saint Anthony, I’ll keep our bow against the other craft.” Michael took his stand beside Rudolfo. The condottiere was a brilliant figure in the ruddy light of the torches, his silver-inlaid helmet glittering, his crimson mantle flung back from his mailed chest. He ceased his directions to his men long enough to look swiftly at the Breton and his teeth shone at his beard. “By the rood, messer, you stand behind me? I see you ‘love not the front line of battle.” Now Michael wore no armor under his jerkin and mere prudence had dictated that he shelter himself behind the high rail as long as possible to escape the first arrow flights of the pirates, until they should board. “As you wish, signor.” He pulled himself up into one of the plat- forms fashioned for archers to stand on. Rudolfo moved slightly away and Michael smiled at the inbred suspicion that took the condottiere beyond his reach. But the arrows from the galley rattled high against the mast and tore through the great square of the sail that bellied and flapped as the Venetian skipper came about to present his bow to the pirate crait. GOmicbooks:co