Текст книги "Sword and Scimitar"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

Соавторы: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

La Valette looked at Thomas questioningly. ‘Well? Do you volunteer?’

Thomas shot a bitter glance at Stokely before he faced the Grand Master. There was no question about his response, but he needed a moment to accept the implications. He would never see Maria again. Never make his peace with her and perhaps more. And he might doom Richard’s mission to failure, even if his squire was spared the fate of accompanying him to St Elmo. If what he had been told about the document was true, the consequences of failure would be dreadful back in England. There were so many sound reasons to refuse La Valette, and only one reason to accept. One that was all that was ever asked of a knight.

‘I would be honoured to volunteer, sir.’

La Valette met his gaze for a moment and then smiled. ‘You passed the test, Sir Thomas. Yet I must decline your offer, despite the cogent arguments of Sir Oliver. I have no doubt about your ability to take up the command but for now I need you here. The command must go to another. I will think on it. Captain Medrano will suffice for a few days. He is a good man, but not quite the ruthless martyr that is needed. Now, there is work to be done here in Birgu. I call this meeting to an end.’

‘Sir, there is one other matter,’ Stokely intervened. ‘As we discussed earlier.’

A pained expression briefly crossed the Grand Master’s face before he nodded. ‘Of course. Thank you for reminding me, Sir Oliver.’

La Valette clicked his fingers and in an instant Apollo and Achilles had leaped to their feet and were nuzzling his fingers, tails wagging. He smiled fondly as he caressed their muzzles and then he drew a heavy breath.

‘It’s the dogs, they never stop barking at the guns. It is wearing the nerves of those in Birgu and Senglea. Sir Oliver believes it would be best if they were silenced.’

Colonel Mas’s brow creased. ‘Silenced?’

‘Besides disrupting our people’s sleep they are consuming rations,’ said Stokely. ‘It will go hard on those affected but there may come a time when we will have to dispose of them anyway. Better now, and save food that we may need later.’

‘It will go hard indeed,’ La Valette said gently as he stroked his hounds.

‘Of course there is no need to include your dogs, sir,’ Stokely cut in quickly. ‘Or at least these two, your favourites. It will make litde difference if they are spared.’

‘Perhaps.’ La Valette ran his gnarled fingers across the ears of the nearest hound.

Thomas was watching the Grand Master closely. This was an opportunity to open the route to the chest where a document vital to the safety of England was stored. He cleared his throat and shook his head sadly. ‘Sir, it will make a great deal of difference if these two are spared. At present the knights and the people stand side by side. We share the same dangers and privations. That is our strength. That is what binds us. We should not jeopardise that common feeling by being exempted from those edicts the Grand Master imposes upon the generality. If their dogs are to be silenced, then all dogs must share the same fate. Even these two, who are your favourites.’

‘Yes, they are . . .’ La Valette said quietly.

The beasts sensed that they were being praised and their tails wagged as they looked up at their master with adoring eyes. La Valette tore his gaze away and clasped his hands together under his chin.

‘Take them!’ he commanded his servant. ‘Take them back to the kennels with the others and see that it is done at once.’

The servant approached the table and took them each by the collar and drew them away from their master. As they reached the door, Apollo twisted his heavy head round and looked one last time at his master before being willingly led from the room for the last time. After the door had closed no one spoke for a moment. Then Thomas coughed lightly.

‘I am sorry, sir. It seemed to be for the best. I wish it had been otherwise.’

‘Yes, well, it is a necessary evil,’ La Valette responded in a matter– of-fact tone. ‘And they are only dogs, after all. The smallest of sacrifices to be expected of us in the days to come. The meeting is over, gentlemen. Please leave. ’

His advisers rose to their feet and filed out of the study. Thomas was the last to go, and he paused at the door and saw that the old man was staring at the floor where his dogs had been lying shortly before. It had gone hard with him to insist on the destruction of the old man’s hounds, yet they had barred the way to the archives and would have to be dealt with one way or another.

‘Only dogs,’ Thomas said under his breath as he closed the door quietly behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

On the second day of June, at dawn, the lookouts on the towers of St Angelo sighted fresh sails approaching the island. La Valette was holding his morning council on the platform above the keep and they watched thirteen galleys steer towards the entrance to the harbour, before they turned north-west to anchor close to the shore. The lead galley was richly draped with an emerald-green awning embroidered with stars and crescent moons. From the Turks waiting on the shore a cry rose up, repeated over and over.

‘Turgut! Turgut!’

Richard had attended with some of the other squires and turned to Thomas with an arched brow. ‘Turgut?’

‘Their name for the corsair we call Dragut.’

‘It is an ill day indeed,’ La Valette said. ‘Of all the men Suleiman could send against us, this one I fear most of all. He is as much a legend to the enemy as he is a demon to the Christian world. His men revere him and his worth on the battlefield is incalculable. And he brings thirteen galleys laden with his corsairs as well.’

‘This will not sit well with our people,’ said Stokely. ‘Soon every man, woman and child in Birgu will know that Dragut has joined the Turks. Something needs to be done to strengthen the resolve of our people, sir.’

La Valette nodded gravely. ‘And now, more than ever, we need to place our faith in the Lord our God and beg for his mercy and salvation.’

Dragut was rowed ashore in his gilded barge, and the cheers of the enemy reached a fresh crescendo as he stepped ashore. His procession around the northern harbour was screened by the bulk of St Elmo and the Sciberras peninsula yet the jubilant welcome of the Turks could clearly be heard from the battlements of St Angelo.

The sounds were briefly overwhelmed by the crash of the siege guns as they continued to bombard St Elmo without interruption. The once neat lines of the walls had been broken down by heavy iron shot and rubble partially filled the ditch facing the Turks. Only the cavalier tower to the rear of the fort seemed wholly intact. The steady crash of shot into the walls of the fort filled the air with a brown pall of dust that hung in the air like a shroud when the breeze dropped during the hottest hours of the day. The flags marking the extent of the enemy’s trenches were now no more than ten paces from the wall and La Cerda’s prediction seemed to be vindicated, Thomas reflected.

The Grand Master had given orders to provide the defenders with as much support as possible. Each night boats slipped across the harbour carrying supplies and returned with the wounded. The Turks, through carelessness or simple arrogance, had not yet interfered with the passage of the boats. Even though the defenders were under constant bombardment, they were ready to face the assaults that would follow the moment the first breach appeared in the walls.

The man that La Valette had chosen to become the fort’s new commander was Captain Miranda, a veteran Spanish soldier. When he had been presented to the war council Thomas had been impressed by Miranda’s outline of his plans for the defence of the fort. Colonel Mas had recommended him as a cool-headed and decisive leader, plain-speaking and, most important of all, the kind of man who inspired those he led.

As they waited for the first enemy assault the defenders were huddled below the remains of the parapet, grouped in threes, two arquebusiers to each man armed with a pike. Clay pots filled with incendiary materials were stacked at regular intervals. A handful of the dangerous naphtha bellows were readied for use on the cavalier – terrifying weapons that shot jets of liquid fire that consumed any man in their path. To complete the arsenal of the defenders, fire hoops were ferried across and placed on the walls, ready for use.

This last was a new weapon conceived by La Valette and demonstrated to his advisers only the day before. Barrel hoops were covered with multiple layers of linen which had been soaked in fat and tar and then steeped in boiling water. Thomas and the others had watched as two soldiers held one of the hoops in iron tongs at arm’s length while a third soldier set it alight. The fiery hoop was released and flared brilliantly as it ran down the wall of St Angelo and into the narrow channel that had been cut between the fort and Birgu. Thomas could imagine the terrifying effect that such a weapon would have on the Turks as they assaulted the crumbling walls of St Elmo.

As Dragut made his way round the harbour to the main camp sprawling across the landscape at the base of the Sciberras peninsula, La Valette dismissed his advisers and sent for the archbishop of Malta.

‘A penitentiary procession?’ Sir Martin scratched the stubble on his chin as Jenkins relayed the brief message that had been given to him by one of the Order’s servants a moment earlier. The Englishmen and the Italian mercenaries had only just sat down to their evening meal after labouring throughout the afternoon on the inner wall of the town’s defences. ‘Tonight?’

‘Aye, sir. At eight, from the steps of the cathedral, around the town and then into the market square for the sermon. Everyone in Birgu is to attend. All the civilians, and every soldier who can be spared from his duties.’Jenkins’s eyes sparkled with keen expectation. ‘Robert of Eboli is to speak.’

Richard exchanged a brief look with Thomas.

‘Should I have heard of this Robert of Eboli?’ asked Thomas. ‘Oh, yes, sir! He is a simple friar but he speaks with such passion and fervour that it is as if the Lord himself has blessed his tongue. I have heard him deliver two sermons in the cathedral and not one of the congregation failed to feel touched by a divine presence. Truly, sir.’ Jenkins lifted the wine jug, glanced at the Italians and scowled. ‘The other gentlemen appear to have worked up a thirst. At the rate they are working through the cellar, our present stocks may not last much longer.’

‘Nor may we,’ said Sir Martin. ‘Carpe calix et non postulo credo, eh?Just refill the jug.’

‘Let us hope that the procession and sermon help to bolster morale,’ said Thomas. ‘With Don Garcia not able to send a relief force for some months, the arrival of Dragut, and the likelihood that St Elmo will fall any day, it is hardly surprising that La Valette is appealing to God for help. Piety may be the only thing that can save us now.’

‘Piety, and a sharp sword.’ Sir Martin chuckled as he mopped up the last of the stew with a hunk of bread. ‘Who would have thought that dog meat could be so tender? Jenkins made a fine job of it.’ He popped the bread in his mouth and chewed. When he was done he pushed the bowl away and sat back and stretched. ‘Your squire is a sombre fellow tonight.’

Thomas glanced at Richard who was staring fixedly at the table as he mechanically spooned stew into his mouth. Catching his name, Richard glanced up. ‘I am tired, sir.’

‘As are we all, young man.’ Sir Martin swung his legs over the bench and swivelled round. ‘And so I shall rest before the procession. Tell Jenkins to rouse me at half past the seventh hour.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sir Martin rose to his feet and walked stiffly towards his cell. Richard waited until he was out of earshot before turning urgently to Thomas.

‘This is our chance to get into that dungeon at St Angelo. The dogs have been dealt with and there will be only a handful of men on duty. When are we likely to find a better opportunity?’

Thomas was doubtful. ‘There is the drawbridge to cross, the courtyard and the entrance to the stairwell, and then the sentries outside the dungeon itself. How do you propose to pass through all of that unobserved? Besides, we shall be expected at the procession.’

‘The procession, yes. But we could easily slip away before the sermon starts. The streets will be empty and there are ways to deal with sentries. We have to take our chances when we can. Getting into the archive’s what we were sent here to do.’

‘So you keep reminding me,’ Thomas replied flatly. ‘Very well, then. Tonight it is.’

The main streets of Birgu were brilliantly illuminated by the torches and candles held aloft by those taking part in the procession. The archbishop paced slowly at the head of the rest of his flock, holding a gilded cross above his head in both hands. Behind him came the Grand Master and the senior knights of the Order, bare-headed and dressed in plain black tunics with no belts or any other adornment. Instead of the usual boots, they wore sandals. Each man had his hands clasped together, head bowed as they chanted the Order’s penitent oaths, learned by heart when they had first joined the Order many years before. Behind them came the other knights, soldiers and civilians in a stream of humanity silently offering up prayers to God to forgive them their sins and show them divine mercy and deliverance from their enemy. Thomas and Richard had merged with the tail end of the knights and adopted the same humble posture as they wound their way through Birgu. The boom and rumble of cannon continued in the distance, accompanied by a brief red loom against the night sky above the Sciberras peninsula. While those in Birgu prayed, their comrades in St Elmo still lived under the guns of the Turks and the threat of imminent assault.

The night air was warm and the hooded cloaks that Thomas and Richard wore to conceal their identities were stifling. Even though he accepted his companion’s argument that this night presented their best chance to find the document, Thomas had grave doubts about Richard’s plan. It lacked detail and depended far too much upon good fortune for Thomas’s liking. And they would have to live with the risk of discovery afterwards, until the day when they were able to quit Malta and return to England. Or the day when they perished amid fire and sword along with the rest of the people trapped behind the defences of Malta.

Having paced around the limits of the small town, the archbishop led his people into the open square at the heart of Birgu. As they emerged from the street into the pool of light before the cathedral, Kichard gently tugged Thomas’s sleeve and edged towards the arched entrance of a bakery on the comer of the square. There they stopped, half concealed by the shadow of the arch, and let the rest of the people flow past and begin to fill up the square in their thousands. The archbishop reached the top of the steps leading up to the cathedral entrance and turned to begin praying. La Valette and the senior knights took up position on either side and then the most affluent and influential of the local people stood on the steps.

‘Let’s go,’ said Richard.

‘Not yet. Wait until the last of them have passed by us. No point in drawing attention to ourselves by heading the wrong way.’

Richard nodded and eased himself back into the shadow of the arch. Glancing down the street, Thomas could see that there were still several hundred more people to come, and he returned his attention to the square. It already seemed to be filled but the crowd steadily pressed forward. Children and young men climbed on to statue pediments and clung to the pillars of the more prestigious buildings fronting the square. By the entrance to the cathedral the archbishop stepped aside to give his place to a tall, thin friar whose angular face was framed by a white beard and tonsure. He gazed steadily round the square and then raised a hand to quell the last of the murmured talk and prayers.

‘Brethren! Hear me!’ He addressed them in French, the common tongue of those who fought and lived in Malta since the Order had first arrived. His voice was high-pitched and carried clearly across the square. ‘Beloved brethren, we are blessed to be here this day. There are amongst us those who feel accursed that they are beset by enemies whose false belief and cruel nature are works of evil. That they are, and it is right that we should fear them. In the place of faith and virtue their hearts are filled with cruelty, lust, avarice and mindless obeisance to the tyrant Suleiman and the false prophet.’ Robert of Eboli paused briefly to let his words sink in. ‘So much for the character of our enemy. That is why they are not worthy of victory, that is why they shall not triumph. God is merciful to the good and the pious, to those who know their sins and freely and openly repent of them in the loving sight of the Lord. They shall know his love, and his protection through the travails and fortunes of life ... We few, we devout few are indeed fortunate. This place has been chosen to fight the greatest battle between the light of Christianity, and the darkness of Islam. The great test of the age is upon us, and only complete devotion to our cause can ensure our victory. In the time to come, the Christian world will look on our great feat in wonder, and each of you will hold close to your hearts the inestimable treasure of knowing that you were here, at the side of the Grand Master, fighting in the battle of battles. There are kings and queens in Europe who will hold themselves accursed that they could not be where you now stand.’ The friar threw his arms out. ‘Who here would shame themselves to change places with such a king or queen? WHO?’

His words echoed round the square and Thomas saw that not a hand was raised against the force of such rhetoric and the fear of being shamed in the eyes of their peers. As his eyes ran over the people on the steps below the friar, they abruptly stopped at a figure standing in the light of a torch. A woman. Though she wore a dark veil over her hair, her face was clearly visible and Thomas felt his heart lurch. He took half a step forward.

‘What is it?’ Richard demanded. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s Maria, there.’ Thomas pointed.

She was standing next to a man in a knight’s cloak. His head was bowed so that his features were hidden, but his proximity to Maria made it clear that they were not strangers.

‘I must speak to her. ’

‘No!’ Richard seized his arm and held it firmly. ‘Not now. We have work to do.’

Thomas’s eyes were fixed on Maria and he felt his heartbeat quicken.

‘You cannot go to her tonight,’ Richard hissed. ‘This might be the only chance to find what we came here for.’

‘She is what I came here for.’

‘And she will still be here after tonight. Our chance to get the document will not. Sir, be strong. Fail me here and now and thousands may die in England.’

Thomas felt tom between his conscience and his heart. ‘I do not know what is in that document you seek but I know that I must speak to Maria.’

‘And you will. I swear that I will do all that I can to make it so,’ Richard said earnestly. ‘Now come, we should leave, at once.’ Thomas was still staring across the square. The man raised his head and the light of the nearby torch revealed his features clearly. Sir Oliver Stokely. He bent his head to whisper something to Maria and she smiled briefly, as if to humour him.

The raw emotion that burned in Thomas’s breast twisted violently like a blade and after an instant of confusion, a torrent of thought, of possibilities, coursed through his fevered mind. Recent exchanges and events fell into place and the hope of a moment before crumbled before a tide of anger and a bitter sense of betrayal. ‘Sir Thomas. Come. Before the moment is lost.’

He allowed himself to be steered out of the archway and down the darkened, empty street, and a moment later Maria, Stokely, the friar and his rapt audience were lost from sight. As their footsteps echoed lightly off the walls of the buildings lining the street, Robert of Eboli’s voice came after them.

‘All must ask for forgiveness, or perish in the fires of hell . . .’