Bourdon gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Only how to make this mark,’ he said, pointing at the letters GAL branded on his cheek. ‘That’s how they make the brand permanent. They rub in gunpowder as soon as the hot iron is lifted.’
‘I’ve worked in a quarry,’ Hector interjected. ‘I’ll show him.’
‘Good. The gunpowder must be kept separate at all times. Even empty barrels can contain fine particles which may explode,’ warned the gunner, then turned towards Dan. ‘I need you to make sure that the correct charge is loaded into the mortar’s chamber, and that the firing fuse is properly inserted in the bomb, and in working order. You’ll find all the tools you need in that canvas bag over there.’
As Dan prepared the mortar, Hector and Bourdon checked over the bombs. They removed each bomb’s wooden plug, mixed and poured in more gunpowder through a funnel, made sure the powder settled evenly in the hollow sphere, and finally tamped home the plug again. It reminded Hector of the days when he was setting blasting powder into the rocks of the Algiers quarry. Careful to observe the gunner’s safety instructions they returned the empty barrels to their place against the rail. The sailors and the galley’s gun crew normally stationed on the rambade had made themselves scarce. Even Piecourt was standing far enough away to avoid the worst effects of an accident.
‘I’m ready to try a ranging shot,’ called out the technician. ‘Line up the vessel, if you please. The bow must point straight at the target.’
Piecourt squinted ahead at the town, then blew a series of calls on his whistle. Obediently the oarsmen dipped their blades into the sea, the starboard side pulling ahead, while their companions backed water. The galley slowly swivelled. A sharp blast on the whistle and the oarsmen maintained the galley in position. Glancing astern, Hector saw that the officers of St Gerassimus had all gathered on the poop deck. They were too distant for him to recognise individuals and he wondered which was the captain, the celebrated Chevalier who was said to be such an implacable adversary of the Muslims. Even when Chabrillan had hosted his celebration of the Festival of Galleys, the galeriens had been forbidden to look directly at the Chevalier and his guests. To do so, the oarsmen had been warned, would be treated as insolence and punished with the lash.
His thoughts were interrupted by a deep coughing thud, a large cloud of dense black smoke, and the galley shuddering along her entire length. Beneath his feet Hector felt the bow of the galley suddenly dip into the sea as the massive recoil of the mortar thrust downward. A ripple spread out from her hull as if a giant rock had been dropped into the water.
The bomb could be seen high in the air, a black spot trailing smoke and flame as it raced upwards, hurtling towards the shore. Then it arched over and dropped back towards earth, only to splash harmlessly into the shallows, a hundred yards short of the town wall. There was no explosion.
‘Bring the vessel in closer, please,’ asked the gunner.
Again Piecourt’s whistle blew. The galeriens took a dozen strokes, then paused. The galley glided nearer to the thin line of surf.
Another bomb was loaded, and this time when it was fired, the projectile landed halfway up the beach and there was a muffled explosion.
‘Closer yet, please,’ asked the gunner. ‘Bring the galley nearer to the target area.’
‘There may be shallows here,’ Piecourt warned. ‘I’ll not risk the ship. If we come much closer, it may bring us in range of the town’s own cannon. They could have a few great guns, and be holding fire, so as not to waste powder. Just one shot could do us a lot of damage.’
‘I cannot increase the angle of the mortar,’ complained the artilleryman. ‘It’s already set at forty-five degrees for maximum range. I can only add to the propelling charge, and that might burst the barrel.’ He gave Dan a worried look. ‘Get your friend from the quarry to help you measure accurately. We don’t want any mistakes.’
All through the afternoon Dan, Hector and Bourdon worked on the rambade. They checked and primed the bombs, loaded them into the gun’s maw, cleaned out the mortar’s chamber after each shot and cleared the touch hole, helped the artilleryman to recharge the mortar and set the fuse, then to fire the weapon once the oarsmen had placed the galley in position. Bomb after bomb was sent towards the town, sometimes dropping short, occasionally veering off course and falling wide. One detonated in mid-air with a premature explosion that sent fragments of the metal casing pattering into the sea, an accident that drew a frightened intake of breath from the artilleryman. With practice, they learned just how much powder was needed to propel the bombs to reach their target, and just how much coating of powder was needed so that the missiles exploded on impact. The plunger fuses were soon abandoned for they usually failed to work. By the time the sun was setting, every bomb they fired was landing on target, and they could see the dust spurt up when they hit.
But there was no apparent effect on the town. The place remained silent and still. No one emerged from the gates, nor was anyone seen on the battlements. No one fled into the hills. No fires broke out. It was as if the place was abandoned and uninhabited. Only a thickening of the dust haze above the buildings hinted at the destruction that must have taken place. By the time the light faded nearly all the bombs in the ammunition store had been fired away, and there was a tone of disappointment in the gunner’s voice as he called a halt to his bombardment.
Piecourt ordered the oarsmen to row a safer distance offshore and there the St Gerassimus dropped anchor.
Black with powder smoke and half deaf, Hector and his two companions returned to their oar bench and were shackled in place. ‘We did more damage to the galley than the town, I think,’ said Hector quietly.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Dan.
‘The rambade shuddered badly every time the mortar fired. It was worse after we increased the charge in the mortar’s chamber. The deck planks started to lift. By evening the beams under them also were loose. When Bourdon and I went aft to fetch more powder from the magazine, the water in the bilge was rising faster than usual. I’m surprised that no one else noticed.’
‘Perhaps they did and they kept their mouths shut. The officers were all too far away, and the rest of the petty officers are too frightened of Piecourt to interfere. He seemed to enjoy bombarding the town. He’s someone who relishes other people’s discomfort even if it’s only at a distance. I doubt that the townsfolk enjoyed their day.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the galley was being shaken to pieces,’ said Hector. ‘I’ve seen a galley built and know how fragile the joints are. Once the main fastenings give way, there’s little to stop the vessel falling apart.’
‘What would you say are our chances of surviving in that town,’ muttered Bourdon. He was shaking his head from side to side, still trying to clear his hearing, and staring towards the distant land.
‘I expect they would hang us from the walls after the damage we’ve been inflicting.’
‘Not if they knew we had been forced to our work.’
‘And how would you get there?’
‘I’d go for a swim right now if it wasn’t so far,’ said Bourdon with a wink and shook his sleeve. One of the gunner’s work tools dropped into his hand. It was the thin spike used for cleaning out the touch hole of the mortar. ‘Never seen a better picklock. I lifted it from his tool bag when he was packing up, and he’ll not miss it until the morning. I could have us loose in no time at all.’ He folded his fingers over the implement, and when he opened his hand again, the tool had disappeared as if by magic. ‘Told you I was a good pickpocket,’ he said, a confident grin on his branded face.