Warfare at sea was completely unlike warfare on land. On land you had to be careful, watching out for possible ambushes or key pieces of terrain. At sea, you had several hours between committing to battle and joining it.
The Redwyne Fleet was coming from the south, emerging first as pinpricks on the horizon, then growing larger and larger as they got closer. Lyonel's fleet was lined up to face them. At current speed, the Redwynes would be in combat range in about an hour. Long enough for the crews to be ready, too short for him to disengage and safely retreat to a port. He was committed and the first arrow hadn't been loosed.
Now the wait. The interminable wait for battle to be joined. His fleet sat, fat and floating in the waters of the gullet. In the front were smaller faster ships, between thirty and sixty oars. They were more spread out, intended to dart forwards and pepper the enemy ships with arrows and dart out of range again. The Redwyne Fleet would be tired from rowing, laden with supplies from Dorne, while his men were kept supplied by depots established on Massey's Hook and the islands, as well as ten large hulks kept to the rear. These hulks had been used by the rich of Myr to bring their wealth to Dragonstone, and so had considerable storage space for food and drink for the fleet. He'd enlisted smaller vessels to run the supplies from the depots to the hulks and from the hulks to the fleet.
Between the hulks and the smaller warships were Lyonel's largest battleships, anchored on his own Fury, bristling with oars, catapults and archers. They created great wooden barrier stretching across the gullet. When Lord Redwyne's ships pushed in, they would take the charge and break his fleet apart.
But first, the wait.
Most of the crew were silent, ready and alert, as his father had trained them to be. A few of the weapon crews were checking and rechecking the torsion cords and mechanisms of his great weapons. Not that he could do anything about it if they found a fault at this stage. Ardahan paced up and down on the deck, most of the crew eyed him darkly but didn't dare say anything. In his scale armour and with his wicked blade, which, every now and then he whipped out, tossed in the air and deftly caught, he looked like a devil in steel. Shahrbana was layingon the deck, arms folded beneath her haid as she stared up at the rigging above her. He hoped she would show more alacrity when battle was joined.
He turned his eyes back to the Redwyne Fleet. It was still just a matter of waiting, time and time and time. It was going to be a long day. If they met in the next two hours they would still have five hours of more of sunlight before the fleets had to break off. Enough time, just.
Wait. Were they getting closer? He put his myrish lens to his eye. When they arrived he first thought their silver would be his greatest use for them, but now he realised better. They brought a whole level of technological advantage to his army. This lens gave him greater vision than many commanders could hope for. Thirty of his men on this ship were equipped with powerful myrish crossbows that outranged and outpowered any made in the Seven Kingdoms. Once Hektorios got his workshop up and running he would have more.
He frowned as he cast his lens across the Redwyne fleet, not easy to make out at this distance, between the masts and hulls of his own smaller ships. Were they… Several of the Redwyne ships appeared to have their sails furled up. He fixed his lens on one of the ships he could tell definitely had their sails down and billowing. Sure enough, the sail was raised.
He moved the lens along to the next ships and saw the same. "Bastard," he hissed. Lord Redwyne was halting his fleet. No doubt giving them time to rest before setting off again. Rennic and Dale, both waiting with him on the prow, glanced at him.
"My prince?" Dale asked.
"He's halting his fleet," Lyonel said, still staring down his lens. "Lord Redwyne is resting his crews before sailing against us."
"Should we sail out then, meet him in the open?"
It was an option. Lord Redwyne was risking the initiative by resting his fleet this way. But should he take it? "No, we're too far away to be able to catch him unawares, he'll have plenty of time to react. We still have the supplies to last longer than him, so he'll have to attack eventually. And our plan should still work, whether or not his crews are rested. We hold position."
And so still, they waited.
Lord Redwyne gave his crews an hour to rest before Lyonel spied their sails unfurling again.
By this point the wind had lessened, so it would be even longer before battle was met. Would it be enough time for Ser Davos' squadron to close the trap? Not likely. But still, they had to try. "Order all hands to be ready," Lyonel said, not taking his eye off the enemy fleet. "What are you doing?" He muttered.
The enemy ships were behaving oddly. They seemed to be moving sideways? Some of them left some of them right, so they weren't attempting a large outflanking movement into the open sea. His father never judged Lord Redwyne a poor admiral, so it was highly unlikely that shortly after setting off from a rest his men had suddenly become a parade of disorganised drunks. What was happening? Then it hit him. "Shit!"
"What is it Prince Lyonel?"
"He's pulling all his ships together," Lyonel said, grinding his teeth together. "He's forming his fleet into a single giant fist, he wants to punch right through our line."
"Can he do that?" Rennic asked.
"He's got the numbers to try, and," he raised the lens again, "I can't tell, but he may also have the mass to succeed."
"Will the plan still work?"
Lyonel glanced at the sky. "Not in the time we have."
"What do we do then?"
"Send out the first wave," Lyonel said. "We need to slow them down, if we can keep them away from the capital until dark, then we'll have a chance to launch a new attack tomorrow. Tell the captains they are to harry Lord Redwyne's ships but are to avoid boarding at all costs. Send the signals."
With all the speed of a cow, the ships started turning to where he needed them. Relying on flag signals and messages passed, or possibly shouted, between ships, meant that a change of formation or battle plan would always be slow in its execution. But once his squadrons were pointed the right way, they started moving out. The wind was against them, but now that it was slower, it was less of a drag on the ships as their oarsmen, experiences sailors every one, started pushing their ships out in two arcs, aiming to form up on either side the enemy fleet to start peppering them with arrows and bolts.
It was important that they didn't go too far, especially not further out than Massey's Hook. If they did that they risked being cut into three groups, and he wouldn't have the numbers or the mass to stop the Redwyne ships. He just had to stop them for a little while, just until the sun went down, then the enemy would have to halt, there was simply no moving such a huge formation across the bay in the pitch black of night. The entrance to the Rush was thin and the cliffs of the Hook were deadly, they would risk losing far more than they gained. They would have to anchor and wait until morning. A plan was germinating, a plan to defeat them the next day, but first he would have to hold them. If he let them slip past and link up with the remaining ships from the squadron at King's Landing, they would outnumber him too much.
They were still coming. By now, without his lens, the enemy fleet looked to be a single great mass of wood and sail. "Finish preparations," he ordered.
This was the part in battle that was most dangerous. His faster squadrons were out and engaging the enemy. From here he saw the glints of the tips of arrows that arced between the ships. But from this distance the only true order he could give would be the order to retreat, send across the waves with horn and drum. His hounds were off the leash.
They were still coming. His ships would slip in, exchange arrows and pull away again. None of it seemed to slow Lord Redwyne's progress. "I'm going to need my armour. Dale, keep watch," he tossed the captain his lens, heading below deck to arm himself.
()()()
Lyonel gritted his teeth. There was no avoiding contact with this warship. A great galley, over a hundred oars, the Redwyne colours blooming on the sails. "Make ready for boarding," he ordered. "They're coming for us."
No matter what he had thrown at them, Lord Redwyne's juggernaut had kept pushing, driving onwards, ignoring his ships that attacked it from all sides, obeying the order to avoid boarding at all costs. Now all that stood between Lord Redwyne and the open bay was Lyonel's last line, his most powerful warships. If it broke, Lord Redwyne would be through. He had to hold for all he was worth. And that meant, he was going to have to engage.
His last ships advanced in a crescent, a cup to hold the Redwyne Fleet in the last hours of light. The sun was falling, the sky burning orange. They could do it. "Ready arms!" Lyonel snatched up his bow, notching an arrow and looking at the looming shape of oncoming ships. He was going to smash right into the gap between the Redwyne ship and the one next to it. They would have to defend from two sides. "Archers to the sides! Warriors behind." He stepped up to the edge of the ship. Two shapes came up behind him. "You're not archers," he told Ardahan and Shahrbana.
"Melios and Amalia ordered us to protect you," Ardahan said.
"We stand at your side," Shahrbana added.
At the mention of Amalia his mind was flooded with images of her naked body under his. He forced the images down, now was not the time. He turned back to the enemy ships. A crewman was roaring at him, a battleaxe held in one hand. Lyonel calmly drew his arrow and let it fly. The crewman expression of fury turned to alarm before he keeled over the side and fell into the sea, blood trailing from the hole in his chest. Already the next arrow was on his bowstring.
His archers needed no further instruction and started shooting at the enemy ships. Any enemy that came into view was a potential target. At range, the greater height of the Fury gave them the advantage. He nocked and loosed arrow after arrow, his archers peppering the enemy deck. Few arrows returned, but Lord Redwyne's crews were experienced and diligent soldiers. Those with great tower shields were protecting their crewmates, who were gathering with grappling hooks and boarding ramps.
"They're coming for us, archers back, shields to the side!"
The archers swept back and heavily armed marines advanced, the front row with large tower shields and spear, pike and billhooks behind. He stowed his bow and took up his pollaxe.
"Prince Lyonel, they're coming from the other side!"
He turned and spat a curse that was carried away on the wind alongside the hiss of drawing swords. The second Redwyne ship was coming alongside, grapples already hurling overboard, catching on the ship. "Everyone stand your ground!" He commanded. This was it, they had to hold here.
Over the din of the sea battle around them, the sound of boarding bridges crashing onto the deck of the Fury barely registered. Lyonel joined the men gathering around the mast, his very best marines and knights, as ever shadowed by Ardahan and Shahrbana. The archers gathered at the fore and aft castles, to defend the catapults.
The grind of wood drawing across wood buzzed in the air as the ships ground against each other. Then the screams as the enemy charged across the bridges and the crash of steel on wood as they met his marines at the mouth of the bridges. He felt the adrenaline start to pump through him and he wasn't even fighting yet.
The right side defences broke first. The heavy tower shield's left a gap and a pike speared through the gap, punching into the eye of the man holding it who jerked up for a moment before keeping to the side and crashing to the deck, blood leaking from the hole in his face. The opening was all the enemy needed and they swarmed into the gap, forcing their way onto the deck.
"First group, go!" he ordered, and half of his reserve group charged to meet the enemy and throw them back. He stayed behind with the second group. The last thing they needed was to throw all of their strength at one side only for the enemy to break through simultaneously on the other. These men were his best and were fully rested, he had faith that they could drive the enemy back on one side. The sun had reached that part of the day where the last light fell in minutes. Not long now, not long. But not so long that he could avoid fighting. The left hand side defences also broke. There wasn't a crack, pierced by a sudden darting pike. Just time, effort and exersion until his men were pushed back. He glanced at the sky, the orange was gone, it was just dark blue now. "Charge!" He roared and led his last reserves into the fight.
A Redwyne soldier rushed him, spear low, a snarl on his face. Lyonel raised his pollaxe and stepped back, before bringing the weapon down, the hammer side of his weapon breaking the soldier's fingers on one hand. He followed up by driving the spike of the weapon into his chest, quickly pulling it out again and raising the shaft of his weapon to block a downward sword strike. He hooked the blade away and drove his shoulder into the enemy, pushing him away, where another of his soldiers drove a spear into his side, then another.
He turned just in time to catch an enemy leaping at him from the boarding ramp. It was too dark to make out the sigil on his chest, but he saw the faint glint on the sword blade raised high above his head. He was roaring a battle cry until suddenly he wasn't. A snap and a crack and a black cord was wrapped around his neck, it slackened for a heartbeat before pulling taut and bringing the warrior crashing down on his head. Something else cracked.
Then Shahrbana was before him, the whip coiling back to her hand. Another enemy charged her, sword held low for an upward slash. But Shahrbana lashed out with her whip, catching him across the eyes. The soldier dropped his weapon to clutch at his face with a scream. But the scream was cut short when Shahrbana leapt in with a great slash of her scimitar that carved through both his forearms and severed his head in a spurt of black blood. Her head snapped around to look at him, he couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel them. "No time to rest prince, fight or get away!" Then she leapt into the fray, whip lashing and scimitar slashing. But as she rained blows down on a heavily armoured knight, another marine came up behind her with a great battle axe. Lyonel was about to rush after her when a bloodied marine charged him, forcing him back on the defensive. He redirected the blow and swept the man's legs from under him, driving the spike on the butt of his pollaxe into his chest.
The marine about to attack Shahrbana from behind had his axe raised, he was too far away. A lashing crack split the air as Ardahan whipped the axe, holding it fast. The marine looked back to see what had caught his axe and would have just seen Ardahan come at him up close with a wide slash that cut a spurting torrent of blood from his armpits and then cut through his face. Now back to back, the two warriors left a whirling trail of death as they carved their way across the deck.
It was dark now, too dark. The enemy were pulling back onto their own ships. "Prepare to back water!" He cried above the fading din.
The battle didn't end, it faded away, the enemy stumbling back to their ships and the ships pulling apart like awkward lovers.
Lyonel's men cut the grapples and dumped the boarding ramps into the sea, floating away until they could extend their oars fully and back water, the rest of his fleet pulling back.
"Cease fire," he ordered his catapults as they pulled away. Now was his crucial time. He had to prepare for battle to resume at dawn. So as the wounded were carried below deck and the dead wrapped and brought below if they were men of rank or dumped in the ocean if they weren't, he started issuing his orders. He sent longboats to pass his orders to the rest of the fleet. His largest warships would form the front line, both to protect his smaller ships while they arranged themselves, and to hide their movements. With the sun having set and the moon hidden by dark clouds, the only lights they could operate under were lanterns extended from the stern and prow. Lyonel had his large ships hang many lanterns behind them to extend light as far back as possible, relying on the mass of his ships to hide the movements as his smaller vessels started receiving his messages and falling in behind them.
Lord Redwyne's fleet, not willing to risk a night voyage to the mouth of the rush, moved to the shore of Massey's Hook and doused their lanterns. Smart, if they'd kept them on he could have moved into range with doused lanterns and let loose with catapults fire. No such luck.
He sent another longboat to the shore, further down the coast from where Lord Redwyne's ships had come to a rest. He frowned, adjusting his orders to send them even further down, looking back at the vague dark mass of the coastline he couldn't remember where that was, had it been a finger's length down from the tip, or more? Less? Better safe than sorry. The messengers would find somewhere to disembark and deliver their messages to Ser Davos, he wanted that squadron sailing, he hadn't been able to deploy them in the battle today, but tomorrow, he wanted those thirty ships.
Dale and Rennic both insisted that he sleep, he needed a few hours before dawn came and battle inevitably resumed. "I will, just one last thing," he said. "Send for the captains on the ten nearest ships. I'm going to need them."
