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Venice paced the piers of the dock at cape Zonchio. Feverishly walking up and down between his galleys muttering to himself, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding. His eyes could see, but he could not accept what they were seeing.
The horizon was entirely filled with Ottoman ships, masts and sails as far as the eye could see. When they had appeared the previous day, he knew. He knew that they were here to attack him. He just didn’t know why. He’d wanted to convince himself it was a misunderstanding and that Turkey wouldn’t do this.
They had their treaty! He’d given up so much to gain that treaty, paid him each year, gave him whichever Greek island Sadiq felt like taking. He’d even provided him ships and stood by idly as the Turks attacked Naples in Otranto. Turning his back on his fellow Christians for this man, on his family.
He’d done everything asked of him, he’d worked so hard to please the Gran Turco. He’d seemed pleased… when he’d brought him fine silks and even more so if he’d let him steal kisses hidden deep in the pillows in a banquet room. When Sadiq had whispered poetry into his ear while they were falling asleep in each other’s arms he’d even thought himself loved.
So then why was he seeing ships right now?
He knew he had to fight but his men were feeling their nation’s confusion and many captains refused to obey commander Antonio Grimani’s order to attack. The second day he’d sent out only two ships, one of which he sailed on himself. He had to see for himself, be closer to the battle than the Castello. He still hadn’t fought, he’d stood at the railing, digging his nails into the wood and searching for Sadiq’s face on the enemy ships. He didn’t know what he was hoping for by doing so. Was he really so stupid as to think that Sadiq would stop if he’d just see his face? He hadn’t found him. He could tell he was with the fleet, could feel the presence of the other nation tugging at his nerve endings like a crackling static in the air. A few times he thought he saw him, but there had been so many soldiers, on so many ships and behind the helmets, it was just a human sporting a similar beard each time.
Suddenly he was roughly grabbed by the shoulder. His commander Antonio Grimani shook him roughly.
“There you are! I gave the order to attack! Why are you not on a galley yet? Why is absolutely no one moving?!”
The commander was painfully dragging him onto a galley, trying to break his indecision when suddenly a giant Venetian ship passed the mouth of the port. Both Fiorenzo and Grimani stared at the behemoth of a ship in confusion for a few seconds but realised what happened when the men around them started chanting:
“Loredan! Loredan! Loredan!”
Sounded the uniform cry of the seamen all through the fleet. Grimani, however, didn’t seem to share their glee at seeing his fellow commander. With a curse, he threw his helmet to the floor.
“Why is he here!? I did not tell him to abandon his position on Corfu!”
The coming of the giant ship had interrupted Grimani’s attack, the Galley the unwilling nation had been dragged onto had only just made it to the mouth of the harbour when the two giant ships of Andrea Loredan and the ship of Turkish commander Burak Reis opened cannon fire. Never before had ships been made big enough to carry the weight of so many canons. Venice knew, he’d designed them. Both the ones Loredan was sailing, and the one the Turks had used.
He heard Grimani’s desperate trumpet calls behind him, calling the Venetian captains to attack. But Fiorenzo already knew they wouldn’t. Because he could only stand there on the deck, watching the two behemoths clash. Fire was flying, desperate men were bobbing heads amongst the waves after being thrown overboard, the roaring of the canons made his ears ring and Venice was shaking like a reed. He was so afraid of what he had created.
None of the Venetian captains sailed out. Grimani was growing frantic on the ship behind him- changing his orders to threats- now shouting “Hang them! Hang them!” Threatening to hang any commander that did not sail out. They were joined by eight more ships after this, but all others still just watched from the harbour. If he’d want to make good on those threats, he’d have to hang four-fifths of his navy. He’d might have to hang Fiorenzo himself.
Fiorenzo had to fight now, had to raise his shield against arrows, had to run around and help steer the ship by pulling ropes for the sails, but he did all mechanically, keeping as far from the conflict as he could and his mind was locked on watching the three giant ships battle.
With a loud crash, the two Venetian vessels rammed into the sides of the Ottoman ship and grappled it, moving from close fire to hand combat.
Battle continued for hours, Fiorenzo had almost found his equilibrium again. He’d settled into his expertise of maritime combat and was delighted to see his men gaining on the Turkish ship and preparing to board it, when it happened.
The one second there had been nothing but the noise of battle in the still and blazing heat of the Greek summer sun, the next there was a noise so loud it seemed to swallow all sound in it. A black hole of tremendous sound that swallowed everything.
And then there was fire.
The Ottoman ship had within a second turned into a towering inferno, setting the Venetian vessels ablaze. The powder room. Within seconds he’d gone from having some hope for a victory, to watching his best effort burn in front of him. Commander Loredan looking straight at him from over the railing. The man was already on fire. With his last efforts, he held high Saint Marc’s flag, trying to instil courage into Fiorenzo, but as his burning skull disappeared into the blaze, quite the opposite had happened.
Venice was frozen, he clutched the railing as his legs were giving out and could do nothing but stare, stare at the pyramid of fire in front of him. He didn’t move and just stared, aghast.
The fire seemed to make it look like night had fallen instantly, the clouds darkened the sky and the ferocity of the blaze made the distant water seem even darker.
A small Turkish frigate was helping soldiers who had abandoned the blazing ship out of the water. If they were Turks they were saved, if they were Venetians, executed. Venice made no effort to safe his own men. He just stared at the fire that ate them, hollowed out their bodies like hungry insects, or let the Turks slit their throats.
It was then that he finally saw Sadiq, in the small frigate as he pulled a man out of the water, straining to lift the heavy armour. His face was all hard shadows as he was illuminated by the blaze, painting a stark outline, but it was distinctly him.
Fiorenzo felt his heart clench as slowly the other had felt him as well and turned around to look at him. The dark eyes looked deep into his, both their faces dancing in the firelight. He held a breath and searched Sadiq’s eyes for anything, any sign of feeling for him at all. He’d hoped him to at least be slightly apologetic, that it wasn’t his desire to hurt him but that their nation existence required him to, any trace of that softness he had seen there before. He found nothing but an uncaring ambition.
He wished with all his might he could face Sadiq in that moment with his usual proud mask of nonchalance firmly in place but he was unable to muster the strength. He wept and extended his hand, pleaded why, pleaded to know if he didn’t love him anymore. Why had he hurt him? Why had he broken the promise? He’d clung to the railing, undignified and weeping. All the desperate things he was shouting at Sadiq were lost in the roar of the fire and Sadiq watched the desperate mouth form words for a few moments before he sighed and turned away. Their ships passed each other. Fiorenzo fell back and sat on the deck unmoving, the heat of the fire slowly diminishing as the ships were sinking and he cried soundlessly.
He wasn’t certain how long he’d been sitting there when two silent men had pulled him to his feet and carried him to his cabin where he continued his stupor while sitting on his cot.
The Venetian fleet withdrew seaward and the Ottoman fleet took its canons to Lepanto. The Venetian fleet followed it, there were still more battles to be fought in this war. Onboard of all the ships however men could feel heaviness settle in their limbs. The fireball at Zochino had left them traumatised, the Serenissima had lost his morale, had at once broken his pride and his heart.