At the same time Trixi and Chris were sailing from Ramsgate, Pasha was coming ashore at Nauplia. The fast corvette from the Duras fleet at Marseille had made record time, news of the Greek defeat at Krommydi having reached him before he sailed. He carried two pieces of mountain artillery, six cannons, six hundred rifles, bayonets, and ammunition; also medical stores and two surgeons who would serve in the small infirmary Pasha funded in the Greek capital. And perhaps most important, he brought sixty thousand dollars in Spanish gold.
6
The fortress of Nauplia was filled with troops. Military commands had been distributed with a bountiful hand once the English loans had reached Greece the past year. Every man of any consequence imagined himself at the head of a band of armed men, and hundreds of civilians paraded the streets with trains of kilted followers, like Scottish chieftains. The streets were crowded with thousands of gallant young men in picturesque dress and richly ornamented arms who ought to have been in the field against Ibrahim.
Pasha's factotum said as much when he greeted Pasha shortly after he'd embarked.
"We've quite a display of Fanariots, apothecaries, clerks, and barbers pretending to be soldiers," he said with a wave of his hand toward the passing parade outside the window of the Duras warehouse, his disgust plain. "The tailors have come flocking from Joannina and Saloniki to get rich."
7
"Are any of those gloriously outfitted coxcombs going to leave town and fight?" Pasha sardonically inquired.
"Not when they can draw pay and rations for phantom troops and walk about with their grooms and pipe-bearers. The bazaars of Tripolitza, Nauplia, Missilonghi, and Athens are filled with gold-embroidered jackets, gilded yataghans—curved swords—and silver-mounted pistols for these opera soldiers."
"It's nice to see the London brokers aren't alone in getting rich from the English loans," Pasha cynically murmured.
8
"A shame Ibrahim brought disciplined troops this time."
"Trained by your French officers, effendi," the young Cypriot said.
9
"And not to be treated with contempt like the Arabs in the past who would run away at the sight of the armatoli, the Greek warriors. Although President Konduriottis and his Hydriotes haven't faced that fact yet. A month ago, he was hoisted onto his richly caparisoned Arab mare and, led by six grooms, set off like a conquering generalissimo. Followed by a train of secretaries, guards, pipe-bearers, and advisers, he was saluted with cannon from the ramparts, the fortress above, and the ships in the harbor. Of course he hung over the saddle like a sack of hay because he's so fat; two of the grooms had to hold him in place. He found the exercise trying. The ride to Tripolitza took him three days."
Pasha's brows rose; the city was only forty miles away. "What of his lieutenants?"
"The doctor Mavrocordatos, you mean, or perhaps Skourti, an old sailor he named lieutenant-general of the Greek army?"
"Jesus. Who the hell's fighting?"
"Not our president. After a fortnight away from Nauplia, he still hadn't gone anywhere near the enemy and, repenting of his boldness, he turned back to Nauplia."
"What of Navarino and Neokastron?" Pasha knew Ibrahim had landed south of the two forts at the end of February.
"They're still holding. Makriyannis is there with Bey Zade and Yatrakos."
Pasha smiled. "It looks as though I'll have to sail through the Egyptian fleet to bring in our rifles. Makriyannis should be needing some reinforcements by now." He and the young warrior were of an age and had been friends since the first campaigns in 1821.
"With the state of Turkish gunnery, even Ibrahim's fleet shouldn't be a problem. And Miaoulis is standing outside the bay with his thirty sail."
10
"Good—a little backup. We leave tonight if the winds allow. Now, Nikos, take me to see Gustave." They'd received news at Zante that he'd been freed from prison. "His escape was a close thing, I hear."
"A month is a long time in a dungeon, effendi. He's alive only by the grace of God. The others with him were hanged in the bazaar at Preveza."
"Were you with Odysseus when he took Gustave out?"
"Ten of us went to make sure we could bring him back through the Turkish lines. Odysseus had sent word Gustave's body was so swelled up and inflamed from torture, he was at death's door. The filth and stink in the dungeons were abominable. The prisoners had to push their noses against the keyhole to get fresh air."
11
Aware of Turkish methods of torture, Pasha frowned. "Will he live?"
Nikos nodded. "He's past the crisis and on the mend. Thanks to you. The diplomats were too slow and timid, the consul afraid Ismail Bey would hang him up by his balls if he took Gustave out. But money always works with the Albanians and Turks. We brought five thousand groschen to convince Ismail Bey he wouldn't miss one prisoner."
"How soon can Gustave sail home?"
"Perhaps in a fortnight. The doctors at the infirmary disagree—he has a wound from leg irons that's deep."
But Gustave managed a credible smile when Pasha walked into the small hospital.
"Marie will be pleased to see you're mostly in one piece," Pasha said, smiling. "She's the one who made sure you were rescued."
"Along with your men and money. Thank you." Gustave's voice was faint, his body visibly wasted now that the swelling had subsided. His eyes, sunk deep into their sockets, held a wariness Pasha hadn't seen before.
"Nikos will make arrangements for your journey home just as soon as the doctors release you," Pasha declared, sitting down beside the bed, understanding what torture could do to a man. "It's good to see you alive. Marie will be pleased."
A warmth momentarily displaced the apprehension in Gustave's gaze. "Her memory kept me alive in that hellhole," he whispered.
But he was the one who'd not succumbed to the torture, Pasha thought, nor given up. "I told her we'd teach her how to sail when you came home. Do you think it's possible?"
Gustave emitted a croak of laughter. "Probably not in our lifetime. She'll put us in the river sure enough."
"Tell her when you see her, I've not forgotten my promise. I'm off to Navarino soon. I'll give your regards to Makriyannis."
"You've heard, I expect, that Ibrahim's troops aren't like the sultan's army. They could pose a real threat," he warned.
"Thanks to Ibrahim's French officers. It gives one pause to be aiming at a countryman."
Gustave moved his head on the pillow in negation. "Not so long as they're fighting for the Turks—just pull the trigger. Be careful, Pasha," he murmured. "Don't let them do this to you." A sheen of tears gleamed in his eyes. He remained a prisoner to horrific memory, his dead friends haunting his dreams.
"I'm caution itself," Pasha assured him, this man who was about to put himself within range of Ibrahim's artillery and troops. "Don't worry about me. Nikos has orders to see that you follow all the doctor's orders," he went on with a smile. "Marie is impatient for your return."
"I'm marrying her when I get back to Paris, despite my family."
"Good. She deserves you. Now wish me luck. I'm off to see if Makriyannis can use my help."
"Tell him to kill a few Turks for me," Gustave whispered.
"I'm sure he'll be happy to. Do you want their ears?"
Gustave's eyes sparkled for a moment. "I'm supposed to be civilized, so I'll say no."
Pasha shrugged. "If you change your mind, Makriyannis always has a few." He touched his friend's gaunt hand lying atop the blanket. "Get well,
mon ami
, and Godspeed on your journey home."
A tear spilled over and ran down Gustave's cheek, sliding into his growth of dark beard. "I owe you my life."
"No," Pasha softly murmured. "You were strong enough to survive in there. Not many men do." Patting his friend's hand, he stood. "Invite me to the wedding," he said with a smile.
"Stay alive."
"I intend to." And with a salute, he left.
Fifty Egyptian warships were in the bay at Navarino when Pasha's vessel came within sight the next morning, the rifles and ammunition having been transferred to a lighter Greek craft. With the breeze up and its white sails spread, the cutter wove through the huge frigates at anchor, under fire from the Egyptian fleet for a mile or more. But the ship bore no crippling damage when she reached the Greek defenses—a measure of the state of Turkish naval gunnery.
Makriyannis came out of the entrenchments and welcomed him, his hug genuine, his smile broad. "If the Turks ever learn how to aim their cannon, it'll be time for all of us to go back to our villages. It's been almost a year, Pasha Bey, since you left, and we're both still alive. God is gracious to his sinners."
"Even Koletis and Gouras haven't been able to see you hanged in the civil war this year, I see," Pasha noted jokingly.
"A curse on them," Makriyannis muttered. "They both chill my heart with their greed. But someone has .to fight the Arabs while they fight each other."
"I've brought you some rifles to help even the odds."
The young warrior grinned. "Look around you, Pasha Bey. It's going to take more than rifles to win this battle. The walls are in ruins, we have no water, Ibrahim is close up, ready to make another assault. And he has ten thousand troops."
"How many are here?"
"Sixteen hundred. And stay here they will. I had their caiques sunk so they can't get away."
"And they didn't murder you?" Pasha drawled.
"My Roumeliots gathered round me and they changed their mind." His mouth quirked in a grin.
The only true fighting force the Greeks had were their warrior bands, each commanded by a leader the men elected to follow. The guerrilla-style war had been successful in the preceding four years, against the incompetent commanders and troops sent out from Constantinople.
But Ibrahim and his troops from Egypt were very different from the sultan's army. The Egyptians had been trained by disciplined French officers. They advanced in Napoleonic ranks, fired in volleys on words of command, and charged with bayonets, while their cavalry waited the moment to charge and complete the rout of the enemy.
Since Ibrahim had landed in February, he'd twice met a large Greek force in the field and vanquished them.
And the men in the following days and nights at Navarino fared little better. Ibrahim's cannons, bombards, and mortars gave them no peace. Ibrahim's gunners and engineers, Frenchmen too, laid the fort in ruins. Those within the walls worked to patch the damaged walls as they crumbled, and fought as well day and night. Water was rationed out at seventy drams a day, and destroyed by thirst, the exhausted defenders waited for the sixteen thousand Greek troops at Chorae to come to their assistance.
But the leading commanders, at odds and jealous of one another, sat on the high ground at Chorae, watching the fort at Navarino through their glasses, not stirring a finger. The lagoon was full of drowned men like frogs in a marsh, floating in the water; the island and fort were full of corpses. But no help came.
When Ibrahim had taken all the outlying positions, he set up cannons from the ships and storehouses and crowded guns above the fort only a pistol shot away. At dawn, he attacked. The defenders held their ground, and the battle continued all day and evening until even the Turks grew tired and stopped firing at midnight.
Ibrahim sent two men to parley and negotiate a surrender, but the Greeks refused his offer, determined to fight to the last man.
In the following days of fighting, he sent envoys twice more to ask for surrender, only to be refused—which caused him a dilemma. Desirous of winning the Greeks to his government, he wished to treat this garrison honorably and by doing so facilitate his future conquests. So he needed a surrender. And had not the English doctor, Julius Millingen, betrayed the fort to Ibrahim, telling him of the lack of water and provisions in order to save his own life, those inside the fort might have been able to deceive Ibrahim as to their strength.
12
Upon learning of their desperate straits, Ibrahim brought up more guns and placed them all round the fort, while Makriyannis's men tried to ready the weakened structure for the next assault. At daybreak a last messenger was sent, asking if the defenders wished to parley.
With Millingen's betrayal, many had lost hope. There was no food or water left and very little ammunition. A vote was taken and it was agreed Makriyannis and Pasha would go to make terms.
When they presented themselves at Ibrahim's splendid tent, they were shown to an inner chamber where Ibrahim received them. He had two officers with him who supported his two hands with much ceremony so that his greatness might be acknowledged. Unfortunately, he was fat as a porpoise and pockmarked, diminishing any air of distinction.
"Where did you come from?" he asked.
"From the Roumeli," Makriyannis replied.
"From Nauplia," Pasha answered in Greek.
"My agents tell me you're a Frenchman," Ibrahim countered, "although you look as much a brigand as the others. Work for me instead of these klephts who are bound to lose and I'll pay you one hundred piastres a month. I've two hundred French officers in my pay."
"Your Highness is too kind," Pasha gently said, "but I've taken a liking to Makriyannis and his amusements."
"Have you been amused during the past week, Giaour?" Ibrahim ironically queried, taking in Pasha's clothing, skin, and hair filthy from gunpowder and dirt, his lean form and unshaven face gaunt from hunger.
"There's a certain degree of excitement," Pasha drolly said.
"Have you had enough excitement that you're here now to talk?"
"We're under constraints from others," Makriyannis interposed. "Some aren't prepared to die just yet. Although Pasha Bey and I are more than willing to lay powder mines and blow your Turkish force and ourselves into the sky."
"What do you want?" Ibrahim said, knowing unflinching men like those before him were capable of causing him a great deal of harm.
"We ask for European ships to take us out."