All at Sea…

After the discussion in the Golden Lion, the Heroes finally determined on getting their slaves form Schlotau in Herzlavakia, rather than raiding into Translavonia and on 25th August, they set out. They had hired the services of Nicolo D’Avola and his well-known and trusty mercenaries and along with them went Radovan, Pavel, Miguel and Yezid, leading a very expensive pack train loaded with spices and clear glass tesserae.

Apart from a very brief brawl in a tavern in Vrsar, the journey to Schlotau was uneventful and the loads of spices and glass were all sold at a satisfying profit. The party returned to Triente on the 17th September with a coffle of 120 prime Slavic slaves. As the Santa Pelagia Ventura (always called by Pavel, ‘Good Penny’) could only accommodate 80 slaves, 40 were sold off for a handsome profit at the slave market in Triente.

Such were their preparations and the endeavours of their factors that on the 19th of September The Ventura, escorted by the Seawolf (known by Trientan sailors as Orca and by Pavel as Bad Penny) set sail south-westwards in a fine and pleasant gale. The Tramontana blew steadily from the north, sending the little fleet scudding south eastwards at a pleasing pace.

However, before they had voyaged sixty nautical miles, three lateen sailed vessels were spotted trailing them down the trade route and gaining on them with every gust of wind. Before long there interlopers were identified as Orentine pirates with combined crews upwards of eighty men, our heroes mustering but sixty.

Radovan placed the Seawolf between the Orentine corsairs and their quarry, the Ventura. The Corsairs came on in line abreast, probably intent on overwhelming the Seawolf, before going on to pursue the slower Ventura and soon they had her within bow-shot. By this time, fortunately for our heroes, the medium sized Corsair had fallen astern of her sisters. Nonetheless, the two Orentines massed two dozen archers on their foredecks and began to shower Seawolf with their shafts.

Seawolf mustered only three crossbowmen and six archers at her stern, who soon began to suffer in the unequal fight. However, behind Seawolf’s sternpost Pavel prepared and lit one after the other of the ships supply of fire-pots and handed them to Miguel. The Iberian launched the fiery missiles from his whirling sling, the very first landing on the prow of the smallest Corsair. The incendiary burst on contact with the vessel splattering three of the Orentine archers with fiery oil and setting fire to the deck. The pirates fled to the waist of the vessel in panic, immediately taking the pressure off Seawolf’s remaining archers. Seeing his vessel in mortal danger, the captain of the Pirate ship immediately rushed personally to the rescue. He kicked the blazing tow and pottery shards over-board and other hands followed with brooms and sand to douse the lingering flames and save the ship. The bold captain returned amidships to rally his terrified archers and the vessel once again joined the attack on Seawolf.

Miguel had meantime launched two more fire-pots towards the largest of the Corsair vessels, but failed to land a hit on the tossing deck. As the smaller Orentine re-joined the fight, Ventura spilled sail to drop back in support of Seawolf, joining the shafts of her four crossbowmen and half a dozen archers to the duel of archery. Perhaps encouraged by this reinforcement, Miguel finally landed a fire-pot on the fore-deck of the largest of the pirate vessels. This burst with dramatic effect amongst the piratical archers, setting fire to six of them and causing a fire to take hold of the decking timbers. As on the smaller ship, the terrified archers fled in panic and at this point, the pirate admiral decided that his quarries were too dangerous to pursue any further. The Corsairs hauled off and began to drop behind our beleaguered flotilla.

The rest of the voyage along the coast and through the straights of Kerkira, to the port of Taragon was plain two reef sailing and our Heroes all reached the mysterious port in one piece. Here They were assailed by the sights and scents of the exotic Orient; scantily clad silken slaves cavorted curvaceously in the doors of taverns, advertising their wares to all, their heavy unfamiliar perfumes blending with the outlandishly spiced aromas of culinary dishes being prepared for their delight. While Yezid devoured a tagine of spiced lamb with couscous and Miguel and Radovan quaffed the local wines, Pavel sated other desires.

After sampling the delights of the port for a couple of days, the adventures settled into more commercial endeavours, selling their Slavic captives to new masters. The pick of the female slaves went into the harems of the port’s nobility and wealthy, whilst the less fortunate went into domestic service or to its taverns and brothels. Most of the male captives went into service as slave soldiers, the most successful of whom could expect to rise in both fame and fortune and eventual freedom.

Having made their money, the merchant Venturers bought silk and spices, all packed into watertight tun barrels for the return journey. Seawolf and Ventura set sail on the tide on the 27th of September, sped on their way by a fine fresh sirocco, prospects for the return voyage looking promising indeed.

However, the promise didn’t last… as the ships turned to enter the straights, the fresh sirocco turned to a roaring Bora, driving relentlessly force 8, going on 9 from the northeast. The vessels had no choice but to run before the gale, directly away from home.

Ventura had difficulty in making steerage almost immediately… In an attempt to remain close to her sister, Seawolf too began to wallow. The cries of men follow the creaking of rigging; suddenly the clouds snatched away both the sky and the daylight from the eyes of the sailors; rain drenched winds under iron grey skies robbed men of their sight and senses. The clouds resounded with thunder and the heavens flashed with frequent lightning, the Heroes and their crew glimpsed imminent death before their very eyes.

image of storm with ships

On Seawolf Pavel's limbs became numb with cold fear; he groaned and, stretched both his hands out towards the stars, as if appealing to the spirits of the sea. As he looks on, the storm, screaming with the voice of the north wind, struck the sail head-on and lifted the waves to the stars. The oars were broken, then the prow of the ship turned and presented its side to the surge, and a steep mountain of water followed in a mass. The sailors hung on to whatever they could lay a hand on, to hold fast aboard, as the vessel crested the wave. Pavel and two other hands were seized by the breaker and plunged almost to the seabed, where the swell seethed with sand. Two poor souls failed to surface ever again, but Pavel strove and struggled to raise his head above the waves; flung clear of the floundering ship, his life passed before his eyes...

Praying to whatever Gods crossed his frozen befuddled mind Pavel swore to lead a good and holy life, restraining from inciting violence and hatred, and turning the other cheek if only he could be saved!

Both the Ventura and Seawolf were broached by the savage wind. The Bora carried both ships, flinging them onto from the deep into the shallows of Bareggio’s shore; a pitiful sight to see, and it dashed them against the shallow waters leaving them on the desolate sandy shore.

The huge seas, filled Pavel’s eyes, one moment immersing him in its murky green depths, the next, raising him to the heights at the crest of a wave. He was hurled headlong, face down; but still breathing and cast up on the lonely beach. During the night the savage Bora burned itself out and calm returned.

By the same miracle that cast Pavel up alive, beached Ventura and Seawolf on the same desolate strand, barely a league away. Although battered and splintered, neither ship was catastrophically damaged. A next few days of calm allowed Seawolf to be towed afloat, using the ships surviving boat and some locally hired fishing craft. She then managed to haul off Ventura too. Only the men washed overboard with Pavel were lost and the tuns in Ventura’s hold were left substantially un-breached.

When the calm bestirred after a few days, a kindly Sirocco once again set in and our battered band made their home port in safety, finally arriving on the 15th October. For much of the voyage, Pavel sat alone, gazing silently out to sea; his aura of invincibility somehow diminished by his near-death experience.