Текст книги "Sword and Scimitar"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

Соавторы: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

‘Yes, Grand Master. I apologise, sir. I will not disappoint you again.’

La Valette smiled warmly and was about to speak when the flat roar of a cannon sounded in the distance, then again, and a third time. Before the sound had died away, every man in the room was on his feet and hurried across to the window.

‘Where did the shots come from?’ La Valette demanded, straining his eyes as he looked towards the open sea. Beside him Thomas was also scanning the strip of horizon that was visible between Gallows Point and the tip of the Sciberras peninsula. As yet there was nothing to see, just the flat line separating the sea from the sky.

‘It came from beyond St Elmo,’ decided Colonel Mas. ‘The signal guns at one of the observation stations.’

Even as he spoke there was a flash from the keep of St Elmo, and a jet of smoke and flame ripped through the morning air. A second cannon was fired and a moment later the sound of the first echoed off the walls of St Angelo. As the third gun fired, there was no longer any doubt about the reason for the firing of the signal guns. La Valette drew a deep breath and continued to stare out across the harbour as he addressed the members of the war council. ‘The enemy has arrived . . .’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

By the time the five men had climbed to the top of the signal tower of St Angelo, the streets of Birgu were filled with people running for the walls of the town and any natural vantage point to see the approach of the Turkish fleet for themselves. Thomas was the first to reach the platform and saw one of the younger knights in the company of an elderly-looking soldier staring intently towards the eastern horizon. A faint dawn haze still lingered out to sea, concealing the separation of sea from sky.

‘Do you see them?’ asked Thomas.

The two men looked round and then stood to attention as they spied the Grand Master and the other senior officers emerging from the staircase behind Thomas, breathing hard.

‘No, sir,’ the knight replied.

‘Then where did the signal fire come from? Which direction?’

‘Further up the coast, to the north.’

Thomas raised his hands to shield his eyes against the glare of the low sun and tried to pick out anything in the haze, but as yet there was nothing, just the dull gleam of a gentle swell and the specks of gulls swirling above the surface as they fed on a shoal of fish. La Valette and the others joined him along the waist-high wall and stared into the distance. In the background the same pattern of signal guns rumbled as the warning spread along the coast and inland. Besides the occasional sound of cannon, a hush had descended on the island. The usual hubbub rising from the narrow streets and the faint sound of picks had died away and there was a stillness as the men of the Order and the islanders waited for the first sight of the enemy. It felt to Thomas as if the world around him was holding its breath, waiting for the sign that would forever change the lives of those caught in the thrall of that moment.

Sir Oliver hissed, ‘If some fool has raised a false alarm I’ll have him flogged . .

‘There!’ The old soldier thrust his arm out and pointed to the north-east. At once the other men’s heads turned to stare in the direction indicated, trying to pierce the haze for a sign of the enemy ships.

‘Where?’ La Valette growled. ‘I see nothing.’

‘I see it now,’ said Thomas. ‘There, just beyond the end of Gallows Point. A sail.’

Stokely muttered, ‘Just as long as it isn’t a single ship, or even a flotilla of corsairs setting out on a raid.’

‘We’ll know soon enough,’ Romegas said, then looked towards the old soldier with an openly impressed look. ‘Your eyes are keen. Especially for one of your age. What is your name?’

‘Balbi, sir.’ The man bowed his head. ‘Francisco Balbi.’

‘Italian, eh?’ Romegas sized him up. ‘One of the mercenaries recruited by the colonel then?’

Mas glanced over at Balbi. ‘Yes, you were the one claiming to be a poet as well as a soldier of fortune.’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘A poet?’ Romegas chuckled. ‘Well then, Balbi, I’ll wager you’ll find enough material for an epic in the days to come. Make us all famous, eh?’

‘Enough!’ the Grand Master snapped. ‘I can’t see any damned ships. Where are they?’

Thomas was surprised by the anxious tone in La Valette’s voice and deliberately responded as calmly as he could. He raised his hand and pointed directly towards the single vessel that was visible. ‘There, sir . . . And there . . . Oh . . .’

As if a fine silk veil had been stealthily drawn aside, the first sail was suddenly joined by others, one by one, until scores of them appeared on either side, spreading out along the edge of the fading haze.

‘Good Lord,’ Sir Oliver muttered.

The others kept their silence, as did the knights, soldiers and civilians pressed together along the walls of St Angelo and every vantage point of Birgu. Across the harbour Thomas could see the heads and shoulders of men lining the walls of the fort. Several had climbed up on the parapet for a better view.

It was La Valette who broke the spell on the tower. He lowered the hand that had been shielding his eyes and turned abruptly towards his advisers. ‘There’s no question of it. That’s the invasion fleet. It’s too big for anything else. We must not tarry. The first enemy troops could be ashore well before nightfall. Every civilian has to be safely behind walls before then. Sir Oliver, you will take charge of that with respect to Birgu and Senglea.’ He turned to Romegas. ‘You will ride to Mdina and inform Mesquita of the situation and ensure he clears the centre of the island. Colonel Mas, take a party of horsemen and see to it that as many of the wells are spoiled as possible. And fire any farms or buildings you encounter, anything that can provide shelter to the enemy. Be back here by nightfall.’

‘What of the estates?’ asked Sir Oliver. ‘Surely you can’t mean to destroy them as well?’

‘The estates particularly. Would you want to return to your home after it had been despoiled by some Turkish officer and his companions?’ La Valette did not wait for a reply and turned to Thomas. ‘You will take a boat across to St Elmo and ensure that the garrison is ready to fight. Also, there are bound to be many islanders who make straight for the fort. I gave orders for all to make for Mdina, Senglea and Birgu, but some will panic and make for the closest shelter. There’s no space for them at St Elmo and they will need to be ferried across the harbour before the Turks make that impossible. See to it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Thomas nodded.

La Valette took a last look at the horizon, squinting as he struggled to make out the vast force bearing down on the coast. Hundreds of vessels were now visible: galleys, galleons and many smaller cargo vessels, a clear sign of the Sultan’s determination to take the island and obliterate the Order of St John that had plagued the Islamic world for the past three centuries. The Grand Master took a deep breath.

‘You have your instructions, gentlemen. May God have mercy on us all. Now go.’

The garrison of the fort were still standing watching the approaching fleet when Thomas and Richard entered St Elmo. The small courtyard was piled with baskets of apples and oranges, sacks of flour, roundles of cheese and kegs of gunpowder just arrived from the powder mills on Senglea. Thomas’s brow furrowed as he beheld the disorganised scene and he stopped a small party of Spanish troops crossing the courtyard to get a better view of the enemy from the keep.

‘You there! Why are all these supplies still left out? Get them into the storerooms at once! Where is your commander?’

One of the sergeants who was with the party pointed towards the keep. ‘Up there, sir. I saw Don Miguel on the tower.’

‘Right.’ Thomas gestured towards the kegs of gunpowder. ‘Start with that before some panicky fool sets the lot off.’

Thomas left the sergeant to bark out his orders and strode across the courtyard to the entrance of the keep. There was a large hall beyond the door where several long tables were still littered with the meals abandoned when the signal guns had sounded across the island. A serving boy was busy filling his pockets with bread rolls and looked up guiltily as the knight and his squire entered.

‘Where are the stairs to the top of the tower?’ Thomas demanded. The boy looked at him fearfully and shook his head. Richard spoke quickly in the local tongue and the boy turned to point to a doorway to one side of the hall. They hurried past him, through the arch, and found a short passage ending where the stairs climbed up in a series of flights. At the top, fully a hundred men were crowded along the parapet, gazing out to sea. Some wore the red surcoats with the white cross of the knights of the Order. There was no time to single out the commander and Thomas cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘Don Juan de La Cerda! Don Juan!’

Faces swivelled round towards the shout, some with startled expressions. A knight stepped back from the parapet and approached Thomas.

‘I am Don Juan de La Cerda.’

He was one of the older knights, thin and gaunt with a fringe of grey-streaked hair around a bald crown. He frowned as he looked Thomas over. ‘Who are you? I’ve not seen your face before.’

‘Sir Thomas Barrett.’

The knight’s eyes widened as he recognised the name. ‘The English knight.’

‘One of them.’

‘The one who has been much on everyone’s lips since he arrived.’ Thomas ignored the comment. ‘I am here on the authority of the Grand Master to take charge and ensure that the fort is ready for action.’

There was a brief look of surprise before La Cerda responded with a haughty air. ‘My garrison is ready. We don’t need you.’

‘Ready?’ Thomas shook his head. ‘The courtyard is in chaos, and soon a small horde of terrified locals are going to come pouring through your gate seeking shelter – while you and your men sit here and take in the scenery.’ He spoke loudly so that all might hear his words and the scorn in his tone. ‘Ready? If this is what you consider ready then the battle is already as good as lost. The Grand Master needs you and your men brought to order at once, Don Juan. I want half your men clearing the courtyard. Everything must be placed in the storerooms before the Turks land. The other half of the garrison is to form into parties and leave the fort and gather in every civilian between here and the approaches to Mdina. If they are too old, or infirm, then your men will carry them. They are to bring back any useful tools and portable stocks of food that they find. Anything else is to be destroyed. Leave nothing that will be of use to the Turks. Understood?’

La Cerda hesitated. ‘By what authority do you give such orders?’

‘I told you. The Grand Master sent me.’

‘You say.’

‘There is no time to lose.’ Thomas stepped closer to the knight. ‘If you waste another moment then I assure you that the Grand Master will strip you of command of this fort and find you a post worthy of your indolence. I suggest you obey my orders without further delay. I will not warn you again.’

Don Juan stared back briefly and then his gaze wavered. Abruptly he turned round and shouted the necessary orders. The sergeants drove the men down the staircases at each end of the platform, leaving a handful on watch duty and the two knights and squire.

‘You had no right to speak to me in such a manner in front of my men,’ La Cerda hissed furiously.

‘And you have no right to be in command of your men if you can’t do what is required of you. Now, while the orders are carried out I want you to accompany me while I inspect the fort. Provide my squire with paper and a pen to take notes. Richard?’

‘Sir?’

‘You will record my findings and recommendations for each post in the fort.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then show us to your quarters, Don Juan. As soon as my squire has his materials we can begin.’

The last shred of La Cerda’s defiance melted away and he nodded and turned to lead them down the nearest staircase. Thomas strode after him, too angry to feel much satisfaction at having faced the other man down. Before they reached the head of the stairs, he paused to take one last look at the Turkish fleet. The sun had risen high enough to bathe the island in its warm rays and out to sea the last of the haze had disappeared to reveal the full scale of the invasion force. It seemed as if the entire horizon was covered with the sails and hulls of vessels, now little more than five miles from the coast, arragned in a giant crescent across the surface of the sea. Thomas’s lips lifted in a brief smile at the appropriateness of the enemy’s formation, and then he hurried down the stairs.

For the rest of the day the garrison laboured to clear the courtyard. La Cerda followed meekly as Thomas toured the fort and dictated notes about the number of men allocated to each position, the siting of the fort’s cannon and the ground covered by each weapon’s firing arc. He questioned La Cerda on where the ammunition would be stored and what arrangements had been made for its replenishment once the siege began. He also demanded to know the arrangements for the treatment of the wounded and their evacuation to Birgu if communication with the other side of the harbour could be kept open.

At noon the first of the civilians began to enter the fort and Thomas and Richard stood above the gate and watched as an extended stream of humanity anxiously hurried along the dusty track that ran along the peninsula, just below the crest of the ridge of Sciberras. In the distance thin trails of smoke billowed into the air above glittering flames as buildings and stocks of food were fired by the parties sent out from the fort.

The people were ushered into the courtyard, their expressions anxious. Some of the children were crying as they clung to their parents. They had been raised on stories of the terrifying raids that the corsairs had made on the island and how families had been captured and sold as slaves, tom from each other’s arms forever. Only those too young to understand the danger wore smiles and laughed cheerfully at the exciting break from the usual routines of daily life. Older members of the family were helped by their kinfolk while some were bodily carried. A few brought livestock with them: a handful of goats, mules and large cane cages with chickens inside. The smaller animals were permitted to enter the fort, but Thomas knew that there would be no space within for the larger beasts, and in any case the garrison could not afford to feed them. They were taken from their owners at the gate and led round the corner of the fort and killed. Many animals were hurriedly butchered and chunks of meat tossed into barrels of brine ready to be added to the garrison’s stores. But the carcasses of the dogs and mules were thrown into the sea.

Early in the afternoon Thomas’s attention was drawn to a small party approaching along the track on foot. Their clothes were of good quality and he realised that this must be the household of one of the island’s estates. The party was led by a stout figure carrying a staff. Behind him came a handful of women in headscarves, led by a tall figure in a green cloak.

Richard chuckled. ‘There’s nothing like fleeing from an enemy to erode the most obvious distinctions between the common people and their betters.’

‘Oh, they’ll do well enough for themselves, you can be sure,’ Thomas responded.

Both men continued to watch for a moment, and Thomas found his gaze drawn to the tallest of the women who carried herself with Ml air of authority, slightly apart from the rest. As they came within a hundred paces of the gate he felt some memory stir deep within his mind. The detail eluded him for a moment, and he was aware of a vague, unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He strained his eyes but the distance was too great. Yet there was a growing sense of recognition and he felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine, even as his pulse quickened. His fingers clutched the edge of the parapet tightly and he craned his neck forward, staring.

Beside him Richard turned to him with a puzzled look. ‘What is it, Sir Thomas?’

Thomas opened his mouth to reply but his jaw just hung slackly. Then the woman raised her face, framed by dark, unadorned tresses of hair, to look over the fort as she approached, and Thomas shuddered in a turmoil of denial and hope.

‘It’s her . . . Sweet Jesus, it’s her . . . Maria.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘Maria?’ Richard started. ‘Impossible. She’s dead. Stokely said so. How can she be alive?’

‘That’s her,’ Thomas replied simply. ‘As sure as I live.’

‘Where?’

Thomas raised his hand and pointed. ‘The woman in the green.’ The finery of her clothes marked her out from the procession of frightened islanders and Richard picked her out at once. She was still some fifty yards away. ‘You must be mistaken.’

Thomas did not reply at once, fearing that Richard was right, and that he had allowed his deepest desire to see her again trick him. He stared hard, and his certainty that this was Maria grew with every step she made towards the gate. There was only one way to tell for certain and before he knew what he was doing, Thomas turned away from the parapet and strode across to the stairs leading down into the passage behind the gate.

‘Sir Thomas!’ Richard called after him. ‘Wait.’

He ignored the squire and quickened his pace, his boots echoing off the stone walls of the staircase. A hand grasped his shoulder. It was Richard.

Thomas shook him off and continued down the steps.

‘What are you going to do?’ Richard called after him but made no attempt to follow.

Thomas did not know, only that he had to be certain. Already the doubt was creeping back in and he dreaded the deadening blow to his heart should he be wrong. He emerged into the gloomy passage at the bottom of the stairs and saw that it was filled with people streaming past from the main gate. The woman and her retinue could not yet have reached the gate, Thomas reasoned. He stepped to one side of the passage and waited, his heart beating swiftly and a light, almost giddy feeling filling his head.

Then the man carrying the staff came out of the shadow of the passage. A moment later there was the woman and now he could see the fine patterns of green lace sewn on to her cloak. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, showing faint streaks of grey. She paused, not more than five paces from him, and looked around the interior of the fort. Her eyes, dark and piercing, passed over Thomas and the parties of soldiers carrying off the last of the supplies that had been heaped in the courtyard that morning. Lastly she looked with pity on the frightened huddles of civilians squatting on the flagstones, some openly crying with despair. The small group of servants who had been following her caught up and were pressed on by those behind, and their mistress stepped forward into the courtyard.

The image of Maria that Thomas had carried in his mind for over twenty years was not that of this woman, yet there were enough similarities to feed his burning desire for it to be her. He felt the urge to call out her name, but he could not bring himself to and thereby shatter the possibility that this was her. The woman took several more paces, each one slower than the last, until she stopped and stood quite still. Despite the people filing past either side of her, including those of her household, a sense of stillness bound her to Thomas and he was blind to the swirl of detail that surrounded them both, and deaf to the voices of the soldiers and the sobs of the civilians. Slowly she turned round and then, as if not quite daring to meet his gaze, her eyes tracked across the flagstones that separated them and up his body towards his face. Her lips moved slightly as she stared at Thomas.

All doubt was banished now and Thomas slowly paced towards her and stopped at arm’s length, not knowing what to say. What words could express twenty years of longing that had warred with the need to accept that the past could never be revisited?

‘Thomas . . .’ she said softly.

He half smiled, then caught himself and nodded. ‘Yes.’ Then he smiled again. ‘Yes . . . Maria.’

Her expression was filled with shock and bewilderment. ‘How can it be? How is it possible?’

He wanted to hold her, felt that he should, yet it was so long since they had last touched that it seemed he had forgotten how to and did not dare do the wrong thing and risk a rebuff. But he must say something.

‘I have been recalled. La Valette sent for me. I came back, from England. I had hoped, prayed, to see you again.’

At once there was a frightened look in her eyes, as if she had suddenly discovered herself to be standing on the edge of a precipice. For an instant Thomas dreaded that she was going to recoil from him, turn away and flee. But the expression swiftly faded from her face and she smiled uncertainly.

‘Now you see me.’ She held out her hands.

Thomas glanced at the fingers, still slender as he remembered them but now there were small creases and a slight waxiness to the skin that told of her age. Nonetheless, he took a half pace towards her and took her hands in his, and felt a tremor run through him at the cool softness of her flesh.

‘I was told you had died,’ he said without thought.

‘Dead?’ She laughed. ‘No. Quite alive. For the present. And you? I have often wondered what became of you once you left. I imagined that you had returned to that estate you spoke of. Found yourself a wife perhaps, and had a family.’ She spoke with forced cheerfulness.

‘No wife and no family. But I have my estate at least.’

The stilted conversation was like a dam holding back a deluge of questions, declarations and things that demanded to be said.

‘I thought of you often,’ said Thomas. ‘Every day.’

She smiled, then the smile faded and she released her light hold oil his fingers and let her hands fall back to her sides and shook her head. ‘I tried to forget you. I tried . . .’

‘Sir Thomas!’

The shout instantly drew him back from the seething turmoil of emotions and he turned to see La Cerda hurrying across the courtyard towards them. A servant in a dark tunic with the white Star of the Order on his breast followed at his heels. Thomas was torn between his need to hold on to this fragile link with Maria and his duty. He glanced at her pleadingly.

‘Stay there, just a moment, I beg you.’

Maria nodded and Thomas turned to La Cerda. ‘What is it?’

‘A message from Birgu.’ La Cerda indicated the servant. ‘Speak.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The servant drew a breath as he tried to stand erect and deliver his instructions. ‘The Grand Master sends his compliments and requests that you return to St Angelo at once, sir.’

‘At once?’ Thomas frowned. He glanced anxiously at Maria. ‘But I am not finished here. There is still work to be done.’

‘Sir, the Grand Master demands your presence,’ the servant insisted.

La Cerda could not help a thin smile. ‘You have your orders, Englishman. I think I can take charge of my own command again. I thank you for your assistance. Now, you’d better go.’

Thomas gritted his teeth and then nodded. ‘A moment.’

He turned away and stepped towards Maria. ‘You heard. I have to go. But I must see you again as soon as possible. We need to talk.’

‘Talk?’

‘Of course, there is so much I want to say, so much I want to hear. Say you will speak to me.’

‘Very well.’

Thomas glanced round the courtyard and saw the door to the small chapel. ‘Take shelter in there. I will come and find you as soon as I can. I swear it.’

He took her hand and pressed it tenderly, feeling the tremor in her flesh and the flush of heat in his breast.

‘Sir Thomas, please,’ the servant said. ‘We must go.’

He released her hand and spoke softly so that only she might hear. Twill be back.’

She nodded and turned away, gesturing to her small retinue to accompany her to the chapel. Thomas watched her briefly and a moment later Richard appeared from the entrance to the tower. He stood to one side, a short distance away, and glanced at Maria’s back with a calculating expression.

As the boat crossed the harbour, Thomas willed himself not to turn and look back, as if in the hope of seeing Maria standing at the parapet gazing after him. Despite his stillness, his mind was a chaos of memories and wild hopes. It shocked him that even at his age, with all that he had experienced and the hardened outlook to the world that he had made himself adopt, he was still so easily filled with the wild emotions and unrealistic ambitions of youth. It seemed that the old adage was true: a man only grew older, not wiser.

Beside him Richard also sat in silence, unnaturally still, no doubt marshalling his thoughts at this unexpected turn of events. When the younger man finally spoke, as the boat drew close to the looming mass of St Angelo, Thomas could not help a weary resentment at the inevitable probing into his past, and his heart.

‘Why did Sir Oliver lie about her?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Revenge perhaps. He knew that I would grieve at the news of her death.’

Richard reflected a moment. ‘The question is, does her presence in any way affect our real purpose in being here?’

‘Why should it?’

‘It has made the situation more complicated for you, and I need your help in getting into the archives. I do not welcome any distractions.’

‘I will hold to my part,’ Thomas replied.

‘Just promise me that you will not be reckless with your life before I have secured what I came for.’

‘That rather depends on the Grand Master. We shall know his will soon enough.’ Thomas turned and pointed out to sea. The white sails and dark hulls of the Turkish fleet were only a few miles off the coast and they had altered course to the south and were sailing slowly past the mouth of the harbour, well beyond the range of any of the cannons mounted on the walls of the Order’s forts. ‘And it depends on them.’

Richard placed the tip of his thumb between his teeth and thought on. The boat rounded the rocks of St Angelo and the oarsman pulled towards the small jetty at the foot of the fort.

‘What do you intend to do about the woman?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I have no idea. It is hard enough to countenance the fact that she is alive and she is here. I must speak to her and find out what is in her heart. It has been many years, and our parting was not on happy terms. For all I know her affections for me may have dimmed long ago. I can only see her again and discover the truth.’

‘And if the truth is that she still. . . loves you?’

Thomas frowned. ‘I honestly don’t know. If I have been given a chance to put right those wrongs that I have carried on my conscience then I will, with full heart.’

‘And if her affections are no longer yours to have, what then?’ Thomas turned to him with a wry expression. ‘Do you think I would lose the will to live? You forget, I have long since grown used to the idea of merely living. And now I have things to live for. The Order and Maria. I pray that I may save them both and live to enjoy the satisfaction of having done so. Does that put your concerns to rest, Richard?’

‘For now.’ Richard turned his gaze towards the open sea. ‘’Tis a pity that I failed to complete my mission before the trap closed.’ The oarsman backwatered one blade and pulled hard with the other and the small craft turned beam on at the last moment and rubbed gently against the tarred ropes alongside the jetty. The servant sent to fetch Thomas leaped on to the jetty, mooring rope in hand, and tied it securely to a post before helping the knight and his squire ashore. Thomas brushed down the creases in his cloak and gestured to Richard to follow him up the narrow flight of stairs leading up into the fort.

The Grand Master was in his study with several other knights, clustered about the window as they watched the main body of the Turkish fleet inching across the calm sea. The rearguard was still some miles to the north and would not pass the harbour for some hours yet. Thomas indicated to Richard to remain with the handful of squires and servants waiting outside the office.

‘There must be at least three hundred ships,’ Thomas heard one of the knights estimate as he approached.

‘At the very least,’ a taller man replied, whom Thomas recognised as Marshal de Robles, the senior military officer of the Order and one of the men who had been a rival to La Valette before the latter had been elected to the post of Grand Master. Thomas had expected to see Stokely in attendance as well but there was no sign of him.

When La Valette caught sight of Thomas he nodded discreetly and then turned to address them all.

‘The enemy is making for the south of the island. It is clear that they intend to land in Marsaxlokk Bay, or some of the smaller inlets along the adjoining coast. We can’t hope to prevent them gaining the shore but we can try to delay them. Accordingly, I have given the order for Marshal de Robles to take a thousand men and shadow the enemy fleet as it passes along the coast.’ He faced the marshal. ‘You may fall on any attempt to land but you are not to risk a general engagement. Strike quickly, kill as many as you can, and then fall back before they can be reinforced. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir. But the men’s blood is up,’ de Robles added. ‘They will want to test themselves against the enemy as soon as they can.’

‘Then it is your duty to restrain them. They will have their chance to prove their valour soon enough. ’

‘Yes, sir. I will keep them firmly in hand.’

‘See that you do.’ La Valette indicated another of his knights, a striking-looking man with shoulder-length blond hair. He looked to be no more than thirty and wore a neatly clipped moustache. He smiled as the Grand Master singled him out.

‘Chevalier La Riviere. You have been tasked with commanding a smaller, separate force of mounted men. It will be your job to ambush and harass the enemy once they have come ashore and the marshal falls back to Birgu. You, too, must take no unnecessary risks. I just want the enemy to think that we have men waiting behind every rock and wall on the island to fall on them and cut their throats. This contest will be as much a battle of nerves as it is .1 c onventional siege, and subterfuge and trickery will have as much a part to play as courage and skill at arms.’ He paused and looked round at his officers. ‘This will be a fight to the death. Outnumbered as we are, the only route to victory is to maintain the will to resist longer than the Turks can maintain the will to conquer. Make no mistake, this struggle will be as bitter, savage and brutal as any in history.’