Chapter 34
Timofey and Timur carried despatches from Jurko to Jeremi, who embraced his friend's oldest son.
"How is it going in Constantinople?" asked Jeremi, hoping he did not sound anxious.
"Well enough," said Timofey. "Jurij is like a bear with toothache, administering the city and dispensing justice like a regular monarch, with great efficiency and no enthusiasm at all. Helena came to fisticuffs with Mehmet's mother, who's as hard as nails and almost as efficient as Gryzelda, but not a match for Helena. She was in charge of the administration before her son slipped his leash and Helena was furious that she had ignored the reports of disappearing children. Jurij's been collecting all the unwanted children and any slaves who want freedom, and we have a hostage prince of the Giray family, who feigned dying in the cell they were keeping him in, and managed to bribe a doctor to pronounce him dead, and swam up to join us after they threw him over the walls into the sea. His eardrums burst with the depth he went, and how he survived without breathing while he was coming up, nobody is quite sure, least of all him, but he's free, and very happy. Here's Jurko's paperwork on what he's been up to, including a letter to the Sultan, and all sealed with his great seal so he knows Jurko is in Constantinople."
"I will pen a letter to go with it," said Jeremi. "A herald must meet with one of their envoys to carry this."
"I'll do it," said Timofey. "I've already taunted Mehmet once. He tries to project this air of silence and calm phlegmatism, but I spit on his phlegm."
"Be mildly diplomatic," said Jeremi. "Or I won't let you do it."
Timofey grinned.
"I'll behave," he said.
oOoOo
The heralds met in the middle of the battlefield and Timofey handed over the bundle.
"That's a lot of written work," said the herald.
"I brought up some reports which originated in Constantinople," said Timofey.
"You damned Cossack pirates! Sank a messenger ship? Despicable," said the Turk.
"Oh, I've sunk no messenger ships. Or any other ships for that matter," said Timofey. "The Swedes and Kurlanders might have sunk a few though."
"What?" said the herald, faintly.
"It's all in the despatches," said Timofey. "Mind, a word of friendly advice; if your Sultan is the type who is likely to shoot the messenger, I'd leave the despatches and make yourself scarce."
"He won't shoot me," said the young man, a few years Timofey's junior. "I, Kara Mustafa, am personal aide to my father-in-law, who is a vizier."
"Good luck, then, Kara Mustafa," said Timofey. "I'm Timofey Chmielnicki, son of the Grand Hetman of Red Ruthenia. I wish you luck."
"It is as Allah wills it," said Kara Mustafa, haughtily.
"Amen," said Timofey, crossing himself. He bowed, and withdrew.
oOoOo
Kara Mustafa was not given to humility. He was given to a good sense of self-preservation. He stepped by his father-in-law's tent first, and examined the documents. On top was the draft treaty from Jeremi of Poland or whatever they were calling the place. Kara Mustafa winced. The terms were those from a confident and generous victor to the defeated.
The letter in a forceful and individualistic hand was next.
Dear Mehmet,
I do trust, having sat, farted, and fucked in your throne you are happy for me to address you thus informally. Especially as I am given to understand that you are a little boy who thinks he can do a man's job.
I have been trying to run your city for you in as good a way as possible, with the least disruption possible to your people. I am aware I may not have dispensed justice in the way you might have chosen, but I trust you will permit matters to stand, since you'll doubtless have a crock full of more troubles by the time you get home.
Most things required only the application of a little imagination. However, I am deeply disappointed that you had not managed to stop the child-kidnappers and stamp on the child-brothel in your city; one might expect it of Venice, but I have always heard that, apart from a strange tendency to hold onto the outmoded institution of slavery, you were a civilised man. I should not have had to deal with this, your administration should have uncovered it three years ago when it started. I hope that you were unaware of what is the greatest betrayal surely in the eyes of God, whatever you call him, in the abhorrent nature of sexual gratification with a child. And if you don't find such things an abomination and abhorrent, I hope your fucking balls turn green and drop off.
Jurij Korybut."
Kara Mustafa pursed his lips in a silent whistle, and leafed through the records of justice done. The Polish king's son seemed capable of good justice, tempering justice with mercy, and ruthless application of retribution where deserved.
The Sultan was not going to like this.
Kara Mustafa poured sherbet into a goblet and added a light powder, which he gave to a page boy for the Sultan; then gave the documents to another page boy to take to the Sultan.
It was in the Sultan's choices now that his future rested. If he remained calm, the additive to the sherbet would have no effect.
If he lost his temper?
Kara Mustafa slid like an eel into the Sultan's tent, to kneel beside his father-in-law, and watched as the Sultan's eyes bulged in apoplectic anger as he read through the documents.
Then Mehmet clutched at his heart, and started convulsing.
In a very few minutes it was all over.
Kara Mustafa rose, and went over to the Sultan's body. It was fairly obvious that the youth was dead, but he went through the motions of checking for a pulse. He felt a moment's compassion for the boy, but then, he had been a little monster of vanity, and everyone knew he had a wound on the head where his father, Ibrahim the Mad, had thrown him into a cistern as a baby. And head wounds were always tricky things.
"It is necessary that we remain calm through this crisis," Kara Mustafa said. "The stress of this campaign has been too much for him to take at his tender age. As our Grand Vizier is currently with the main force of our fleet, fighting the Venetian blockade of the Dardanelles, I propose Köprüllü Mehmet Pasha act as interim Grand Vizier until a successor for his excellence the Sultan can be chosen."
"In which case, I propose that we open negotiations with King Jeremi immediately," said Mehmet Pasha.
"The hell we will! They are laughing at us!" cried Mirahor Mehmet Agha. "We can crush them!"
"Are you aware what is in these dispatches, Agha?" asked Kara Mustafa, coldly. "There is proof that the son of this Polish king has seized Constantinople and holds it to ransom. Jeremi Korybut writes that if we do not sign the treaty which he has sent, the people of our capital will be displaced, and the city razed and the ground ploughed with salt. There are letters from this Jurij Korybut sealed with the city seal. I think we should treat."
"How can we, without a Sultan?"
"My father-in-law as acting Grand Vizier will sign it, and I will counter-sign it," said Kara Mustafa.
"You are taking on yourself the position of Sultan?" cried Mehmet Agha.
"Yes," said Kara Mustafa. "No more child sultans; I will marry his sister, Gevherhan Sultan, and we will negotiate with these... Sarmatians. And then we will return home to consolidate our position until we are strong enough to regain what we have lost through the foolish vanity of this boy. I need you, Mirahor Mehmet Agha, because you will help us overcome these slights."
"Of course... your excellency," said Mirahor Mehmet Agha.
He would have to die, of course, reflected Kara Mustafa, but for now... he had his uses.
oOoOo
Jurko was eating breakfast when a Cossack ran in.
"Bad news, Ataman," he said. "Von Kettler sent some patrols out into the Sea of Marmara, and there's what looks like the whole damned Turkish fleet approaching."
"Bollocks," said Jurko. "Helena, we're going to have company but I have to go."
"Am I still your talisman if I take charge here?" asked Helena.
"Yes," said Jurko. "You have my heart in your keeping, and I will take yours with me."
"Keep it warm, and ready to love you when you come home," said Helena.
"What's the intelligence?" asked Jurko, as he leaped aboard his flagship.
"There's a bloke known as Kara Dev Murat Pasha, most of which means he's considered brave and comes bigger than usual, who's Grand Vizier and admiral, and he's been trying to get through the Venetian blockade to get to Crete," said Kuryło. "That's somewhere near Greece, I think. Wherever Greece is. He has somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty ships, and someone told him we're here."
"Oh, well, with Bohdan along we must have easily got three hundred chaikas, never mind the Kurland fleet," said Jurko, happily. "We have the weather gage. Where's my signal monkey?"
"Here, Ataman," said Michaś. "Juryk has gone to be with his father, as they don't have as much experience of signalling."
"Good," said Jurko. "A421, G444, X111, 1ABC, A421, A111."
"Fleet – to pass - through – enemy- fleet- engage the enemy more closely, Aye, my lord," said Michaś, and scampered off.
"Dear God," said Jan. "I hadn't realised it before, but being able to give precise instructions without having to pass within hail is going to make all the difference in the world."
"Yes," said Jurko. "I'm glad they attacked, since I found out where the bulk of the fleet had gone. If we can break their fleet, we can help to break the power of the Ottomans forever."
"Whilst the king breaks them on land," said Kuryło.
"Exactly," said Jurko. "It's almost unfair going after a lad not much older than Michaś, but on the other hand, young vermin grow into adult vermin, and he decided that he was old enough to lead an army on our peaceful lands. And he has plenty of adult advisors to help him. If he wants to play with the adults, I'll do him the courtesy of treating him as such."
Running before the prevailing easterly winds, the Sarmatian fleet bore down on the Ottoman fleet. Almost all the Ottoman ships were bigger than those of the chaikas, and some of them were bigger than the Kurland ships as well.
"Fire at will,", said Jurko to his gunners.
As the ship came up to the Ottoman fleet, the guns were fired, as were those of the other ships. Cannon balls flew from the enemy and passed harmlessly overhead. This was not so for the Kurlanders, whose ships were higher; but then, they also carried more guns.
"Send 'Fleet, to pass, astern, port, regroup, use sweeps,'" called Jurko. The gay flags burst out, and were echoed as each ship saw and acknowledged. The rolling thunder told of the firing of the two-decked Dutch-built Kurland vessels.
They regrouped, going tight against the wind, the crew manning the sweeps to give assistance for the last part of the manoeuvre.
"'Pass, through, the enemy, fire, board, storm,'" Jurko ordered. "Send 'Commander, Cossacks, Join, admiral, go starboard.'"
"Will Chmielnicki get it?" wondered Kuryło.
"Juryk will," said Jurko. "Look at the boy, talking earnestly. And there goes X909, acknowledged."
Chmielnicki's ship acknowledged, and altered course slightly. Then they were sailing back through the Ottoman fleet again, and Chmielnicki's chaika slid to the starboard of the Ottoman flagship as the 'Princess Helena' slid to its port. Grapnels flew out, and singing 'Raise your glasses, brothers,' Jurko led his men over the side, surprising the men waiting with muskets by rolling as they arrived on board so the shots were discharged, on the whole, harmlessly overhead. And then Jurko was up, sabre in hand, laughing in delight as he launched himself on the giant of a man in the gaudiest brocades.
The man was good; and vicious. Jurko had to work, his concentration fully taken by the fight. The man had a brutal curved scimitar, which was heavier than his own cavalry sabre, and he knew how to use it. Jurko feinted, and disengaged, glad of the lessons from Michał Wołodyjowski to fight small, making his responses faster. Then he slipped on blood on the deck, and his leg went from under him. The big Turk grinned and raised his scimitar for a double-handed blow from above. Jurko used all he knew of hopak with the one secure foot, and his left hand, to spring sideways and hammer the foot which had slipped into the big man's solar plexus. The force drove the man backwards. Jurko noted, almost detached, that this hurt his ankle. And then Jurko was up, ignoring the pain, while his opponent was off balance, the Cossack's sword coming up under the ribs.
"Damn, that made a mess of a perfectly good kaftan," said Jurko, regaining his balance, and acknowledging a twisted ankle. He took his opponent's sash to bandage it, and looked around.
Around him, the rest of the crew were subdued. A man with a hammer had gone below, as was their custom, to free the slaves on the oars, who swarmed up to add their efforts to the fight. Jurko sighed that many of Chmielnicki's men would not think of this, and would thoughtlessly sink the ships with the slaves aboard; but stories of his deeds had spread, and some of Chmielnicki's men were remembering them.
Jurko nodded, pleased. He could not take the time to feel compassion for any slaves who were forgotten by those who boarded and stormed; but he could give thanks for any who were saved. The Swedes were sinking their ships, and he felt a spurt of anger.
Well, those who saved ships would have a part of the prize money from selling those ships into the Rzeczpospolita navy, and those who did not, would not.
It would be a harsh lessons to the mercenaries. And he might pray for the souls of the poor oarsmen, at least released from a living hell by death.
"There's a prize sending, 'send-carpenter,'" said Kuryło.
"Send the carpenter, then," said Jurko. "If she was holed low down, they may have trouble saving her; but take a note of who took her, they rate their place with prize money for trying."
The battle lasted about four hours, and they lost two chaikas. The Cossacks swam to the next nearest friendly ship without any ado, a few wounded being dragged by their fellows. They had lost some two hundred men in the hand-to-hand fighting, mostly Swedes, and had captured eighty ships intact, the rest scuttled by their own crews or by Swedes, or damaged too badly by cannon fire. Jurko noted those crews who had tried to save ships.
"And they'll get prize money; those of you who scuttled will not," he said to the Swedish commander, as he spoke to all the commanders on the Duke of Kurland's flagship, being the largest.
"Hey, what do you mean?"
"The agreement was, you took plunder and kept it to share according to the rules of your unit," said Jurko. "You had the opportunity to loot the ships. You then threw away most of the loot by sinking the ships. If you choose to drop your hard-won money to the bottom of the sea, that's your problem not mine, Not to mention how you will sleep at night for murdering the poor bloody galley slaves."
The man drew his sword, an ugly look in his face.
