A Jester’s Fortune

Below the Hungarian Littoral was the Independent Republic of Ra-gusa, which Turkey still claimed but was too weak to conquer any longer, and let it go in semi-autonomous bliss, long as tribute was paid to the Sultan, while all inland was Muslim-Slavic, termed Bosnia or Herzegovinia. South of there was Montenegro, another semi- autonomous province of the Turkish Empire, but which still held a small Venetian enclave with a fine harbour, called Venetian Cattaro. Montenegro was almost totally Muslim, too. The Turks still ruled Albania, even more mountainous and forbidding than Montenegro; but that too was pretty much in name only, and Venice still clung like weary leeches to the harbours of Durazzo and Volona, with shallow, narrow coastal lands, as Venetian Albania.

Venice still held the Ionian islands, down at the mouth of the Straits of Otranto, off the Albanian coast: Corfu, Cephalonia, Zante and Cerigo, plus some appendages only goats could love. Off the lower Io-nians, the Turks owned the Morea, which was their name for the Greek Peloponnesus, famed in Homer's works, part of the long-ago exterminated Byzantine Empire.

'The coast is mostly Catholic… Hungarian, Croat and Venetian,' Simpson related over a second decanter of port. 'Inland, though, they are Muslim, all down through Albania and the Morea. Forcibly converted long ago, though you couldn't tell a Balkan Slav Muslim from a European. Now, you still have some Greeks, Eastern Orthodox Church, down in the islands, the far southern lands… sheltered by the Venetians. Betwixt Venetian ports and such, the coast is Muslim, so it's rather tricky, depending on where you go ashore. Far inland, there are many Eastern Orthodox Serbs, still clinging to their mountaintops. Turks never could get at 'em easily. Toppled their empire in a night and a day, Lord… four hundred years past. They've a Serbian Orthodox Church of their own, stead o' looking to Roosia or wherever other Slavs look to as the seat o' their religion. Oh, lowermost Montenegro, there's the port of Dulcigno. Muslim, independent, home of the Dulcigno Corsairs. Just behind them, by the Albanian border, is the Rebel Pasha of Scutari. Not quite as bad as the Barbary Corsairs, but they're aspiring people. Split off, like the Mamelukes who rule old Egypt? 'Tis a hellish stew, the Balkans and Dalmatia.'

'It sounds very much like it, sir,' Charlton grunted.

'Well, worse than that, sir. D'ye see, uhm…'

Don't tell me, they're cannibals! Lewrie scoffed in quiet derision; and they ate Captain Cook! He needed more port. Badly!

'So much trampling back and forth, Captain Charlton,' Simpson grimly mused. 'All of 'em were great, one time or another. Even with the Turks ruling most of it, the people're so intermixed. Every little valley… all those peoples, religions, languages in some places. Any slightest thing sets 'em off, and then it's holy war, neighbour 'gainst neighbour. They take their tribal backgrounds and their religions damn' serious in the Balkans, they do, sir. Red-Indian, massacreing serious. Give 'em a wide berth, that's my best advice to you.'

'Yet where does the best Adriatic oak come from, sir?' Rodgers enquired. 'From the eastern shore? Or from higher up, round Trieste, or Fiume?'

'Bit o' both, but mostly from the north, Captain Rodgers,' the good major allowed. 'From Venice and Trieste. What the Hungarians do, in spite of orders from Vienna…' He gave them a hopeless shrug.

'So we must investigate that shore, I take it, sir? In spite of the problems?' Lewrie asked, not liking the sound of it. 'The Venetian ports, too?'

'Aye, the Venetians.' Charlton perked up like a spaniel at the sight of a fowling-piece. 'I'm told their fleet is still a factor in this region. What's their strength, and where do they base?'

'Well, sir… officially that is,' Simpson told him, 'they have twenty ships of the line, still. Two-decker 68's, what we'd take for an under-gunned 3rd Rate 74. Some 60s, same as an overgunned 4th Rate 50? Smallish. Ten real frigates, again smaller'n we're used to, most of them like our 6th Rates, and shallow-draught. Fixty or sixty sloops, brigs o' war, xebecs or oared galleys, all told. Laid up, in the Lido at Venice, the various ports… most of 'em in-ordinary with their guns landed. Haven't seen much of them at sea since their last war with the Tunisian Corsairs back in '92, just before their Admiral Angelo Emo died.'

'And the Turks, sir?' Charlton wondered.

'Lord, sir! The Turks?' Simpson laughed, as did the rest of the Austrian officers. 'In the Black Sea, to keep an eye on the Roosians, mostly. What else is left, and that ain't worth much, mind… is anchored inside the Golden Horn below the Sultan's shore-guns, should they turn mutinous on him. At best they patrol the Dardanelles, to keep out tricky folk like we infidels, so the world may leave 'em be, sir.'

'So we wouldn't encounter any off the Balkans, sir?' Fillebrowne enquired. 'Not even a revenue cutter or two?'

'Not in a month of Sundays, sir.' Simpson chuckled. 'Balkans are so poor to start with, there's little revenue to protect! And the local pashas, however they style themselves, too weak to collect or enforce it. Should there be some money scraped up, it never goes beyond a pasha's purse, you may be certain… the Sultan bedamned.'

'Seeraьbers,' one of the Austrians sneered. 'Der pirates, Ja? Sehr viele… zo mahny ist, meinen herren kollegin?'

'The kapitan refers to you as his colleagues, sirs,' Simpson translated. To Lewfie's ears, even hearing the man's name for a second time, it still sounded hellish like 'Von Glottal-Stop/Atchoo'!

'He warns there are many pirates on the coast,' Simpson added, 'like the Corsairs of Dulcigno. With the Turks sunk so low they can't, or no longer have the will to guard their coasts, some local buccaneers have gotten into the game. Albanian, Montenegran, Bosnian, some Greeks from the Morea…'

'Die Uscocchi,' Kapitan Von Glottal-Stop growled, as morose as a drunken badger; the fourth bottle of port was making the rounds, with some local stuff, too-a gin-clear paint remover. 'Ja, danke herr kapitan.'

Simpson squirmed, turning a furious eye on the fellow for a second. 'Croatian pirates, d'ye see, sirs. Their rulers, the Hungarians, try to keep 'em in line, but…'

'Ungarischen, pah!' Herr Kapitan Von Gargle-Umlaut-Argey-Bargey spat in anger from the other side of the table. 'Arschlochen! Die Ungarischen Kriegsmarine, die Godtverdammte Uscocchi, ist!'

'He says the Hungarians don't try too hard to rein 'em in, sir,' Simpson unraveled for them, blushing. 'Being so 'new to the sea, Croats make up a fair number of their sailors so far.'

'Like good English smugglers, Major?' Lewrie japed. 'The best seamen in time of war? Worth your time to snare 'em… 'pressed, or as volunteers?'

'May one catch them first, Commander Lewrie,' Simpson agreed, a touch bleary. He wasn't feeling any pain himself by then. 'I must confess our compatriots the Hungarians have recruited many for their flotilla. Or turn a blind eye to their doings, at times. For their continuing goodwill. After all, the Uscocchi are stronger than most of the freebooter bands. Damn near own the myriad of islands along the coast, d'ye see. And their presence keeps the other raider bands out of Hungarian waters. I told you, 'twas a hellish stew in the Balkans. There's hardly a coastal community safe from piracy or slaughter. Not much to loot, d'ye see, though… 'tis mostly tribal or religious grudges being worked off. Greeks 'gainst Turks, Turks 'gainst anyone Christian, Croats 'gainst Bosnians or Serbs, and vice versa. And 'gainst Moslems, which is pretty much everybody else down the coast. Your best hope, Captain Charlton, is to see that British merchantmen keep well out to sea, over towards the Italian shores. Venetian waters are safe enough, and down 'round the Straits, Naples keeps a lid on things. The Papal States, though… in the middle of the western shore… not much of a navy, these days. Nor army, either! So you'll see raids over there now and again. Though even the Uscocchi don't stray far from their home waters in the islands. Too easy to hide 'mongst 'em, sir.'

'Uhmm, yahyss…' Charlton drawled, suppressing a yawn. 'Now, as to those prizes we fetched in, Major Simpson… or any others we may take, once we hit our stride, hmm? Does Trieste support a Prize-Court, since Austria is a belligerent 'gainst France?'

'But of course, sir!' Simpson beamed. 'Survey, inspect and valuate any prize you fetch in. Imprison or parole any passengers or crews who are French, allied with them or shipping contraband. We've already discussed it, the governor, the burgomeister, and I. All are most enthused at the opportunity. Once condemned and purchased, those ships and their cargoes will be most welcome on Trieste's markets.'

'Supplies, sir,' Charlton pressed gently, 'victuals, firewood and water. Perhaps the odd cask of gunpowder,