Текст книги "Sword and Scimitar"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

Соавторы: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Richard looked at him with a slight air of suspicion. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘If I am to die then I would do so with a mind unclouded by doubts. Before I left London, Walsingham assured me that he needed the document in order to save many lives in England. He could have been lying to me. I would like to know if I was sent here On a dishonest pretext, or if I have done something for the good in this world. So, my son, tell me. What is so important that powerful men in England conspired for years so that we two might be brought to this place?’

Richard considered the request briefly, and nodded. ‘I already know the contents of the document, assuming that Walsingham was telling me the truth.’ He smiled. ‘My trust in his word is no longer quite what it was. You had better read the document for yourself. Be good enough to stand up.’

Thomas did as he was told and Richard lifted the end of the cot and swung it away from the wall. The surface had been plastered long ago, but the boisterous activities of generations of squires had cracked the plaster in many places and bare bricks were exposed. Richard knelt beside a section of the wall that he had exposed and drew his dagger. He eased the point between two of the bricks and carefully worked one out far enough to get a grip on it and extract it. He placed the brick on the floor and reached his hand into the dark opening.

His expression froze, and he stretched his fingers as far into the hole as possible before he cursed under his breath.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Thomas.

‘It’s not there.’ Richard looked round with a shocked expression. ‘It’s gone.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ten days later, 22 June, Fort St Elmo

The enemy guns fell silent and for a moment there was silence across the scarred ground .at the end of the Sciberras peninsula. The dust billowed slowly about the fort and settled on the bodies sprawled on the ground, making them look like stone sculptures. Some had lain in the open for many days and were bloated and corrupt with decay, the sickly sweet stench filling the air. It was mid-June and the heat of the day would soon begin to add to the discomfort, and bring the swarms of insects that settled to gorge themselves on the wounds and viscera of the dead and dying.

For the defenders, each day was torment as the sun beat down on them while they squatted behind the parapet, enclosed in padded jackets and armour that quickly became too hot to touch and as much a source of torture as protection from harm. Sweat streamed freely down their cheeks and dripped from their brows as they awaited the enemy. For some men, older or weaker than their comrades, the heat was too much and they collapsed, gasping for air as they tore at the buckles of their breastplates in an effort to remove their armour. Some died as their hearts gave out, gurgling incoherently while their swollen tongues writhed against cracked lips.

There was a sudden movement from the Turkish trenches and then a green banner rippled upright and drums and cymbals crashed out, accompanied by a throaty cheer. Heads appeared above the top of the trench and a moment later the first of the enemy swarmed into view.

‘Here they come!’ Captain Miranda yelled from the keep. He turned to the drummer standing ready beside him. ‘Sound the alarm!’

The shrill rattle of the drum rang out across the crumbling walls of the fort. The men who had been sheltering inside the fort spilled out into the courtyard and raced up the steps to their stations on the walls to join their comrades on sentry duty. At once the two cannon and snipers waiting on top of the captured ravelin opened fire, striking down several men as they reached the top of the stairs.

Thomas was behind the barricade erected beyond the rubble slope that was all that remained of the north-west comer of the fort. And Richard was with him, for nothing would persuade him to stay in Birgu after he discovered that the document was missing. They had been called to the wall an hour before dawn when the first prayers of the imams had been heard by the sentries – a sure sign of a pending attack. Thomas looked round as the Spanish soldiers assigned to his position crouched down below the level of the parapet and bent double as they ran to their places. Along the barricade stood tubs of water big enough for a man to leap in and extinguish the fire of enemy incendiary weapons. There were also small piles of arquebuses, loaded and ready to fire, and the defenders’ own stock of incendiary weapons – small clay pots filled with clinging naphtha, from which fuses protruded, ready to be lit before the pots were hurled amid the enemy. To each side of the barricade, where the parapet still stood and overlooked the ditches, other men readied the first of the fire hoops, and fanned the small braziers into flame in readiness to set light to them. Thomas and Richard squatted behind the centre of the barricade, beside the naphtha thrower and its two-man crew. One stood ready to operate the bellows while the other connected the leather hose to the keg containing the mixture that would burn with hellish ferocity once it was ignited by the flaming wick in front of the nozzle of the bellows.

‘Careful with that,’ said Richard. ‘Unless you want us to go up like a torch.’

‘I know what I’m doing, sir,’ the Spaniard replied with a grim smile. ‘Just keep out of my path, eh?’

The cheers of the enemy grew louder as they reached the edge of the ditch and started to scramble over the rubble that now filled it.

‘Stay down!’ Thomas shouted, waving back the handful of his men who had started to nervously glance over the edge of the barricade. The Turkish snipers kept up their fire until the last possible moment and, as if to justify Thomas’s warning, a ball ricocheted off a block of stone and clanged off the fan crest of a morion helmet a short distance to Thomas’s left. The man dropped back, dazed and blinking.

‘Stay down until I give the order!’ Thomas bellowed. He glanced quickly to each side; his men were watching him anxiously, clutching their arquebuses or pikes as they waited on his command. The clink of loose stones was clearly audible now amid the cheers and incoherent battle cries of the more fanatical of the enemy. Thomas controlled the impulse to rise up and peer over the barricade a moment longer, and then drew a deep breath, snapped the visor of his helmet shut and straightened up. For an instant he saw only the top of the rubble slope, then a pointed helmet and a turban to the side before suddenly a sea of faces as the Turks struggled to the top of the ruined wall, cutting off the line of sight of their snipers.

‘Now!’ Thomas thrust his pike into the air and with a roar his men stood up along the fifty-foot line of the barricade. There was a crash as the first of the arquebuses fired. The range was point blank and the swarm of targets impossible to miss. Thomas saw one figure in white robes and round shield lurch back amid his comrades, his scimitar spiralling backwards and out of sight as he fell. More shots blasted out on each side and several of the Turks fell as they clambered over the difficult ground towards the barricade.

‘Ready incendiaries!’ Thomas shouted and the men assigned to the task lit the fuses. ‘Release!’

With a grunt the men hurled the pots out over the barricade and the fuses flared and trailed a thin line of smoke in the morning air as they arced up over the heads of the nearest of the enemy and disappeared amongst them before shattering on the rubble with a bright flash, engulfing the Turks closest to the impact in flame and smoke. Their loose robes caught fire and the men screamed in terror and then agony as they threw down their weapons and beat at the flames while their comrades leaped aside, fearful of also catching fire. To the right Thomas saw the first of the hoops set alight. The men on either side holding the blazing hoop in iron tongs heaved it up on to the parapet and over the side of the wall. The roar of the flames briefly filled the air before cries of panic rose from the ditch.

Then the first of the enemy incendiaries flew up and over the wall, falling a short distance behind the parapet. There was a loud crash and Thomas turned to see a pool of fire licking up from the stone slabs on the walkway. He thrust his hand out, pointing towards the nearby stock of incendiaries in a wicker basket. ‘Move them! Quickly!’

The closest men were too preoccupied with firing their arquebuses to heed the warning. Seeing the danger, Richard dropped his pike and sprinted towards the basket, leaping over the flames. He grasped the handle just as some of the burning liquid reached it and small flames licked at the side. Thomas took a half step away from the barricade as his chest seized with fear. Richard gritted his teeth as he pulled the basket a safe distance away from the fire before stopping to beat out the flames on the wicker side. Thomas breathed out in relief and turned back to face the enemy.

The Turks, knowing that the only way to escape the fire and bullets of the defenders was to close on them as swiftly as possible, charged towards the barricade. But there was one final weapon standing between them and the Christians. Thomas waved the man with the naphtha bellows forward. He nodded and raised the long iron nozzle towards the enemy and pumped the bellows. A jet of naphtha liquid spurted out, and was instantly lit by the taper burning a short distance in front of the nozzle. A thin tongue of brilliant flame arced out across the attackers and rained down on them, searing heads, bodies and limbs. The defenders let out savage shouts of glee and triumph as their enemies roasted before their eyes. And still the Turks surged forward over the rubble, over their stricken comrades, and on towards the barricade.

Thomas held his pike ready. Richard hurried to his side, his weapon in an overhead grip. Then the Turks were all along the barricade, either side of the fiery avenue caused by the jets of the naphtha bellows. Through his visor Thomas concentrated his attention on an officer in brilliant scale armour shouting encouragement to his spearmen as they charged forward. Raising his pike, Thomas aimed at the man’s chest and thrust hard. The point slammed home but the armour was well-made and the blow did not puncture the armour. Even so, the impact drove the breath from the officer’s lungs and he staggered back, gasping. His men swept past and steel clattered and scraped on steel either side of Thomas as the two sides met.

Despite the overwhelming number of enemy the defenders had better armour and enjoyed a slight height advantage from their side of the barricade. Most of the Spaniards were armed with stout pikes which they thrust at the Turks to keep them at bay. Scimitars flashed as the Turks hacked at the shafts of the pikes, and any exposed hands or arms. A man wearing a lion skin over his head and shoulders burst through the crowd in front of Thomas and grasped the end of his pike just below the steel point. Instinctively he tightened his grip and wrenched it back. Another man grabbed the shaft. To his side Thomas saw a Spahi warrior scramble up on to the barricade and raise his blade high, ready to strike at Richard who was battling a white-robed fanatic.

Seeing the danger to his son, Thomas released his hold on the pike and the two men on the other end tumbled back. Thomas snatched up a mace that was leaning against the inside of the barricade and swung it in a short, vicious arc at the shin of the Spahi before he could strike. The iron head smashed through flesh and bone and the man crumpled on to his side. Thomas swung the bloodied weapon again, this time smashing the Turk’s skull open in an explosion of blood, bone and brains. Richard, still heedless of the danger that had threatened him, was thrusting his pike again, forcing his enemy to duck to one side to avoid being hit in the face.

A sharp blow to his left shoulder knocked Thomas round and he slashed out with the club, knocking his attacker’s sword aside. Then, for an instant, there was no enemy within his reach and he glanced quickly to each side to see how the rest of his comrades were faring. Three men were down, sprawled on the flagstones behind the barricade. A man who had lost his hand clasped the bloodied stump to his chest as he staggered towards the top of the staircase. Then his head jerked to one side as a sniper on the ravelin picked him off. He fell headlong, only yards from the shelter of the staircase.

A flicker of motion to the right caught Thomas’s eye and he just had time to step to one side as a curved blade slashed down. With a deafening clatter it deflected off his shoulder guard. He turned quickly and hammered on the blade with the mace, knocking it down on to a rock atop the barricade. The blade shattered and the Turk who had wielded the weapon screamed a curse and threw the guard and handle at Thomas, which struck his breastplate harmlessly. The man’s curse was abruptly cut off as Richard piked him in the side of the chest. With a groan the man pulled himself free and staggered back into the throng of turbans, spiked helmets and robes.

An arrow whirled close by Thomas’s head and he saw that some archers had taken position on the mounds of rubble and were shooting over the heads of their comrades. The defenders were higher up than the Turks and made clear targets.

‘Watch out for the arrows!’ Thomas bellowed the warning above the din of batde. It came too late for the soldier operating the naphtha bellows. An arrow struck him high in the shoulder and his hand spasmed and he released one of the handles on the bellows. The nozzle dropped down. At once the nearest of the Turks let out a savage cheer.

‘Richard!’ Thomas called out. ‘Take the bellows!’

Richard nodded and dropped his pike as he ran across to the wounded soldier and took the weapon from him. On the other side of the barricade the Turks had begun to surge forward, sensing that the chance to overwhelm the defenders was within their grasp. Richard grasped the handles and hefted the bellows up on to the barricade, resting the nozzle on a flat stone that had been positioned there for the purpose. He pressed the handles together to prime the weapon and then again to pump the liquid out towards the enemy. It flared into a glittering arc as the taper ignited the mixture. Richard aimed directly at the mass of Turks surging towards the middle of the barricade and the fire burst upon them, lighting them up like walking torches that screamed and swirled as they burned to death. With a grim expression he worked the bellows, pivoting them from side to side, spraying fire into the terrified horde. Those at the back stopped advancing over the rubble, staring in fear at the horrific scene in front of them, and then they began to fall back, seeking shelter on the rubble sloping down into the ditch.

Their fear spread from man to man and soon even those who had reached the barricade fell back, until only an officer remained shouting his defiance at the defenders and contempt at his retreating men. He swung a heavy scimitar from side to side across the top of the barricade to drive his opponents back. Then he clambered up and stood, clearly visible to all, and waved his men forward. One of the Spaniards took up an arquebus, crouched down, took aim and coolly shot the Turkish officer under the chin. The ball burst through the top of his turban in a spray of blood and he stood for a moment, still as a statue, then fell back amid the scorched and bloodied bodies of his men on the outside of the barricade.

Thomas saw with relief that they had broken the attack.

‘Get under cover!’ he ordered, waving the men down on either side. ‘Richard, you too.’ He was still standing in clear view behind the bellows.

Richard lowered the weapon and crouched down behind the barricade to pinch out the small flame on the taper and make the bellows safe. If the enemy attacked again, the taper could be quickly relighted from one of the slow fuses used for the arquebuses.

Thomas cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Sergeants, keep watch on the enemy!’

He made his way to the left of the barricade and picked his way along, counting the casualties and offering words of praise and encouragement to the Spanish soldiers whose grime-streaked faces cracked into grins at having driven off yet another assault and survived. Some had not been so lucky. Of the forty men who had held the position that morning, four were dead and another five wounded, three of whom were still able to bear arms and refused to quit their posts. The others crawled towards the stairs and made their way to the shelter of the infirmary.

When he returned to his place at the centre of the line, Thomas slumped down beside Richard with a weary sigh.

‘Water?’ Richard held out his canteen and Thomas gave him a grateful nod as he took it, removed the stopper and tilted his head back, taking a mouthful and swilling it around his parched mouth before he lowered the canteen and handed it back. He looked up at the clear sky. In a few hours the walls would be baking, with no shade for the men. He would have to ensure that there was plenty of water available to see them through the day. Now that the initial assault had failed, the enemy would take to sniping at the defenders, while their officers attempted to harangue them into forming up for another charge.

It had been several days since he, Richard and Colonel Mas had joined the garrison. In that time he had noticed the growing reluctance of the enemy to renew their attacks after each one had been thrown back. They had taken to sniping, and small rushes at the defences to try and hurl incendiaries in amongst the defenders. The garrison had once numbered eight hundred men. When Thomas had arrived in the fort there was barely half that number and now only three hundred remained. A handful of reinforcements arrived each night from Birgu, and it was clear to the defenders that the Grand Master was husbanding his resources for the struggle to come once St Elmo finally fell to the enemy. It would not be long now, Thomas reflected.

He looked at his son. ‘You should have remained in Birgu.’

Richard shook his head. ‘I didn’t have much choice once I found the document was missing. Someone has discovered more about me, about us, than is healthy. I have failed in my mission and I would not have been safe if I had stayed in Birgu. At least no one is going to come after me here.’ He chuckled drily. ‘The trouble is, if the Turks don’t annihilate us, and by some miracle we are relieved by Don Garcia, then it’s likely that I will fall into the hands of La Valette’s interrogators.’

‘I rather think that is the least of our problems,’ Thomas replied quietly. ‘The Turks have completed the battery covering the harbour. There won’t be any more reinforcements coming from St Angelo.’ He glanced at the soldiers slumped behind the barricade. Many were injured and wore soiled bandages, and their haggard faces spoke eloquently of their exhaustion and resignation to their all but inevitable fate. He turned back to his son and felt a great sadness come over him.

‘I should have escaped with Maria all those years ago and taken her back to England with me, whatever the risk. Then none of us would be here.’

Richard shrugged. ‘It’s too late for all that. Nothing can be changed. There’s no point in blaming yourself, Father.’

The word slipped from his mouth before he realised it and both men turned to each other.

‘I was hoping you would call me that, before the end.’ Thomas patted him affectionately on the arm. ‘Thank you.’

‘I am your son,’ Richard said simply.

Thomas smiled. ‘My son ... It has a good sound to it. I’m proud of you. I know your mother would be too.’ Thomas looked down at the ground between his boots and thought for a moment. ‘What a mess we make of life. We have but a short time in this world and this is the result. Such a waste ... I should have made a better life for us all. I am sorry.’

‘There is no need to apologise,’ Richard said wearily. ‘Besides, if we die as martyrs for the cause, then we are assured a place in paradise, eh?’

Thomas was silent for a moment. ‘Do you really believe in heaven, Richard? In God, our faith, the Bible?’

His son shot him a concerned look. ‘It is dangerous to voice such questions in others’ hearing. I’d keep them to yourself.’

‘We are beyond worrying about such dangers now.’

Richard puffed his cheeks out and thought briefly before he continued. ‘Are you saying that you don’t believe in the Church of Rome?’

‘No. Not the Church of Rome, nor any church or faith. It is all dead to me and has been for years.’

Richard stared at him and shook his head. ‘Then what is the point of this struggle? Why are you prepared to die in the service of the Order?’

‘I am here because I have nothing to live for. Maria is lost to me, and I cannot protect you. All that is left is to fight to prevent the tyranny of another false faith holding sway over the world. Suleiman threatens the world I know, that is reason enough to oppose him. Tell me, Richard. Do you believe in God?’

Richard was silent.

‘You are no fool,’ Thomas went on. ‘Surely you must have wondered why every prayer goes unanswered, why God stays his hand from preventing evil?’ He paused. ‘Have you ever read the Epicurean paradox?’

Richard shook his head.

‘I think it goes something like this:

If God is willing but not able,

Then he is not all-powerful.

If he is able but not willing,

Then he is malevolent.

If he is both willing and able

Then why is there evil in the world?

If he is neither willing nor able

Then why call him God?’

He waved his hand at their surroundings. ‘If ever there was a need for God to show himself to give the slightest encouragement to those who serve him, then it is here and now. And yet there is nothing but us and the enemy.’

Richard frowned. ‘I have thought about it but I do not like the implications.’

Thomas nodded and let the matter drop. But there was one question he did want an answer to. ‘This document that has been the cause of our troubles, what exactly is it?’

‘It is better that you do not know.’

‘But you were going to show it to me back in Birgu.’

‘I was wrong. If you are taken alive, there is a danger that you will reveal what you know of the document. I’m sorry, I cannot say any more. Please, let the matter rest.’

Thomas felt a bitter pang of disappointment that Richard would not trust him. He was silent for a moment before he eased himself up into a crouch and peered cautiously over the top of the barricade. The rubble– and corpse-strewn ground in front of him was still. Then he saw a slight movement and saw the flicker of a feather behind a large chunk of masonry and ducked down just as the sniper fired. The bullet struck a rock close to where Thomas’s head had been and then ricocheted overhead towards the heart of the fort.

The hours stretched out as they huddled behind the barricade and both sides sniped at anyone rash enough to expose themselves.