Текст книги "Sword and Scimitar"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

Соавторы: Simon Scarrow
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Colonel Mas appeared at noon, moving from position to position gathering reports on the morning action and casualty numbers to pass on to Miranda. Despite holding a senior rank, Mas had chosen to defer to the captain. The garrison looked to Miranda and he in turn inspired them with his courage and coolness under fire and the colonel had the good sense not to disturb the arrangement.

He listened to Thomas’s account of the assault and noted the number of losses on a creased sheet of paper, then refolded it and slipped it inside his haversack.

‘How goes it elsewhere?’ asked Thomas.

‘Not well,’ Mas admitted. ‘They sent a party round the north of the fort under the cover of the attack and broke into the cavalier. It’s in their hands now. The rest of the fort is surrounded, except for a narrow track leading down to the jetty.’

‘If they have the cavalier then the route won’t be safe.’

‘It is safe. We’re using a drain. The grate has been removed and the opening has been camouflaged. It gives us some means of communication with Birgu, for what it’s worth.’

Richard peered across the rubble-strewn walls of the fort towards the free-standing cavalier tower rising up between the fort and the sea. There was a green standard flying above the parapet and now and then a head bobbed up to look down into the fort. ‘They’ll be able to see right into the courtyard.’

Mas nodded. ‘Have your men be cautious when they come down from the wall for ammunition, water or food. From now on Miranda wants the men to stay at their posts. They’ll be safer that way. He wants the officers to meet at dusk in the chapel. Be careful getting there.’ He nodded a farewell and then bent low and scurried towards the next section of the wall.

Thomas and the others sat in the afternoon sun, occasionally taking out a dry biscuit or strip of cured meat to chew on, as much to help the long hours pass as to feed any appetite. Overhead the sun beat down on them and sweat dripped from their brows as they slowly stewed inside their cumbersome armour. Several times there was a brief flurry of shots and shouting from one of the other sections of the wall and the men would stand to their weapons in case it heralded another general assault. But each time the fighting quickly subsided and the skirmishing resumed.

At last the sun dipped far enough towards the horizon to cast long shadows across the walls of the fort and give some relief from the heat the defenders had endured for several hours. As the light began to fade, a trumpet sounded from the Turkish lines and men who had been crouching amid the rubble of the fort crept away, returning to their trenches. As soon as the last of them was in cover, the batteries on the crest of the ridge thundered out again and resumed bombarding St Elmo. Instinctively the men lining the barricade flinched and squirmed down a little further.

Thomas touched Richard’s arm. ‘I’m going to report to Miranda, You take command here until relieved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Richard replied and smiled at his formality. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Keep your head down, understand?’

Richard nodded, and Thomas took one last look at him in case there was never another chance, and felt the familiar stab of guilt and affection as he turned away.

He moved at a crouch until the angle of the wall no longer concealed him from the cavalier or the ravelin. He glanced at both towers and saw heads bob up as the Turks kept watch on the fort. Then several shots were fired from the cavalier as the enemy caught sight of movement along the nearest section of the wall.

Thomas took advantage of the diversion and rushed across the open space towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard. There was a faint shout from the direction of the ravelin and a rippling volley of shots. Stone chips flew past him but Thomas ran on and started down the stairs, taking four or five at a time in a wild rush that threatened to make him lose his balance. At the bottom of the stairs he threw himself against a nearby stretch of wall that was out of sight of the enemy and gasped for breath. Around him the courtyard was filled with rubble and dust that caught in the throat. There were few men about, now that the enemy could reach most of the inside of the fort with their weapons.

When he had recovered his breath Thomas edged his way round the courtyard towards the chapel, which was fortunately out of the line of fire. A small group of men sat to one side of the door playing a desultory game of dice and barely looked up as he passed them and entered the chapel. The building was quite unlike a normal church; it was built into the fabric of the fort, with a handful of windows high up on the walls which made it a gloomy place for the garrison to come and worship. Although it could hold up to four hundred people at a time, there were only a few men that evening, gathered on facing pews in the space before the altar. Most of the officers and the friar, Robert of Eboli, had already arrived as Thomas walked along the aisle, undoing the straps fastening the gorget to his helmet and then removing the helmet.

Captain Miranda was sitting on a chair. His left arm was in a sling and his right leg was fixed in place by splints sawn from the shaft of a pike. A bloodied bandage was wound tightly about his knee. Like the others his face had been burned raw by the sun and his skin was red and peeling. Colonel Mas had also been wounded since midday and was barely recognisable under the bandage that covered one eye and half of his head. Most of the other officers had also been wounded and Thomas reflected that the scene was more like an infirmary than a gathering of officers. All of them looked exhausted and filthy and what had once been neatly trimmed beards were now straggling and matted with blood and the remains of hastily snatched meals.

‘Glad to see you are still with us, Sir Thomas.’ Miranda forced a smile. ‘You are one of the few who can still stand.’

Thomas nodded and took a seat on one of the pews, trying to ignore the ache in his limbs and the discomfort of clothes he had been unable to change for over a week. There was no small talk as they waited for the last officer to arrive, and once he was seated Miranda addressed his subordinates.

‘There are fewer than a hundred of us left to man the walls, and most are already wounded. The Turks have the cavalier, and with that they can provide covering fire for any attempt to cross the ditch using the trestle bridges they have thrown up against what remains of the parapet. Gentlemen, the end is near. We have all but run out of gunpowder. I doubt that we will survive the morrow.’ He paused. ‘We have fought a good fight against great odds. It is a struggle to be proud of. We have endured far longer than was thought possible. Let us hope that we have won enough time for the Grand Master to prepare Birgu and Senglea for the onslaught to come when we are no more. I have given orders for the chapel’s tapestries and sacred objects to be destroyed or hidden. Once Robert of Eboli and the other brothers have carried out that task they will make the rounds of our positions and take confession and administer the last rites to those who wish it. Colonel Mas will oversee one last filling of the water butts before the cisterns are fouled with enemy bodies. The rest of you should destroy anything that might be valuable if it falls into enemy hands.’ He paused and looked round at his officers. ‘There is a signal fire prepared on the keep where it can be seen from across the harbour. If the fort falls then the last of us should set light to it. After that, it’s every man for himself. Does anyone have anything to say?’

One of the younger knights nodded. ‘Sir, is it too late to evacuate the fort? We could ask for volunteers for a rearguard while we signal Birgu to send boats.’

Miranda shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that. The moment the enemy realised what was happening they would overwhelm the few men left and then slaughter the rest as we attempted to escape. Besides, there are too many wounded to evacuate. We must resign ourselves to our fate and resolve to go down fighting in a manner that reflects the highest standards of the Order of St John.’

‘What of the wounded?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘We cannot let them fall into the enemy’s hands. I’ve seen what the Turks do to their prisoners.’

Thomas watched Miranda’s reaction closely.

‘The wounded will be brought in here. Each man will be given a dagger, to use to fight from where he lies, or to use as he will,’

Miranda replied carefully, for suicide was a sin. ‘When the Turks get over the walls, every man that can must fall back here. The chapel is where we will make our final stand. If any man decides to appeal for mercy, that is his choice, but I would expect none from the enemy. They have paid a high price in blood and are thirsty for revenge.’ He paused. ‘There is one piece of good news I will share with you. We captured a prisoner today who says that Dragut was felled by a shot from one of our men as he inspected their siege guns.’

The officers murmured their pleasure at the news.

‘It is a sign.’ Friar Robert stood and raised a hand and stabbed his finger at the ceiling. ‘The Lord is watching us, and has reached out his hand to smite our enemy.’

‘It was a bullet that killed Dragut,’ Thomas said mildly. ‘He was not swatted aside.’

Some of the officers smiled, but Robert turned and glared. ‘Do not be impious, Englishman. We have prayed for deliverance and the Lord has begun to answer our call.’

‘I am glad,’ Thomas replied, just before a Turkish cannonball struck the roof of the chapel and plaster and dust fell on to the pews beside the entrance. The officers winced, and after a brief silence Thomas said, ‘It seems that we might not have prayed enough.’ Robert pointed at Thomas. ‘How dare you mock? Do you cast doubt upon the Lord, our God?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This smacks of heresy. Captain Miranda, this man should be arrested and his faith examined.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Miranda growled. ‘Right now I would give my weight in gold for a company of heretics to fight at our side.’ He sighed and rubbed his brow. ‘I imagine that exhaustion has c louded Sir Thomas’s mind. He meant nothing by his comments. If you like, Robert, you should say a prayer for him while you are praying for further divine help.’

For a moment the priest held his ground, an angry frown on his face. Then his expression eased and he bowed his head and sat down. ‘We are all tired, sir. And so I forgive Sir Thomas.’

Thomas gritted his teeth and responded in an ironic tone, ‘And I accept your forgiveness.’

The door of the chapel opened and a sergeant ran inside and called out, ‘There are boats, sir. Heading out from Birgu!’

Miranda frowned. ‘Boats? That’s madness. La Valette must not know that the enemy have covered the harbour with their guns. Sir Thomas, get up on the wall and try to warn them before it’s too late. Go!’

Snatching up his helmet, Thomas ran down the aisle towards the sergeant. ‘Show me.’

Thankfully it was dusk and the snipers could no longer easily pick out their targets inside the fort. Thomas and the sergeant hurried up the stairs on to the section of the wall overlooking the harbour. It had suffered little damage and they stood at the parapet and stared out across the darkened harbour towards the mass of St Angelo. Thomas searched the water and then saw them, six dark blots edging towards the peninsula. A moment later the Turkish gunners saw them too and there was a roar to Thomas’s right as a gun unleashed a blast of grapeshot at the small flotilla. A faint loom of spray lifted from the gentle waves in front of the boats.

Thomas cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could, feeling his lungs strain and bum with the effort. ‘Turn back! Turn back!’

Still they came on, and another gun fired, and missed. The third shot tore into the lead boat and the shattering of timber and the cries of the stricken carried clearly to the men on the wall.

‘Dear God,’ the sergeant muttered. ‘They’ll be cut to pieces.’

‘Turn back!’ Thomas shouted again. ‘For pity’s sake, turn back! Save yourselves!’

The boats were halfway across the harbour now but close to the Turkish battery and more easily visible against the dark grey of the sea. More shots ripped up the surface of the water, then another boat was blasted, its bow shattered by the storm of iron fragments. It began to sink and some of the men still aboard jumped over the side and struck out for St Angelo. Others were wearing armour and carrying weapons and struggled to rid themselves of the burden before the water swallowed tham. Then the boat, and the men, were gone. Thomas felt sickened by the sight.

The sergeant thrust his arm out. ‘They’re heading back!’

The last of the boats had turned aside and as they watched, it began to stroke back towards Birgu. A second boat followed it but the other two held their course.

‘Row faster, damn you,’ the sergeant muttered.

Thomas willed them on. Any moment they would pass out of sight of the Turkish guns and be sheltered by the cliff. Another gun blasted out, thrashing the surface of the harbour just behind the rearmost boat. Then they were safe from the cannon. But there were still the enemy snipers perched in the rocks surrounding the fort. Thomas turned to the sergeant.

‘Find five men and join me by the drain at the back of the chapel. You know the place?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then go.’

They separated, Thomas making for the chapel while the sergeant hurried along the wall towards the corner of the fort overlooking the harbour. As he ran into the chapel the other officers turned to him.

‘Well?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘Did they get through?’

‘Just two boats, sir. Pulling towards the jetty now. I’ll take a party out through the drain to guide them in.’

Mas nodded. ‘I’ll have a guard placed on the drain until you return.’

A moment later the sergeant returned with his men, Maltese militiamen, and Thomas led them to the rear of the chapel. There, in the corner behind the altar, was the drain cover. He bent down to lift the lid and pulled it aside. The stench of human waste wafted into the air but Thomas ignored it and let himself down into the low tunnel. There was a dim glimmer where the drain passed out of the fort and where a linen screen painted to look like rock hid the opening. Thomas splashed along the drain and the other men followed him. At the screen he paused and cautiously eased it aside. There was no sign of movement in the rocks below the wall. The drain followed a narrow channel down to the sea, not far from the path to the jetty.

‘Follow me,’ Thomas whispered and led the way out into the cool night air. The party stole quietly across the rocky ground until they reached the path. Ahead Thomas could hear the splash of oars and hurried on. They had almost reached the steps leading down to the jetty when a figure emerged from the rocks ahead and offered a friendly greeting in a tongue Thomas did not recognise. He raised a hand in response and continued forward as the man carried on speaking. Only at the last moment did the other man’s tone change to one of alarm, and then he was cut off by a blow to the head from Thomas’s mantlet before he could call out. One of the Maltese soldiers quickly cut the enemy’s throat and the small party hurried on down the steps. At the bottom Thomas saw that the two boats had reached the jetty and the men were climbing out. One of them froze as he saw Thomas and his party approaching.

‘Who’s there?’

‘I’m from St Elmo,’ Thomas called back as loudly as he dared. ‘Come to escort you into the fort. How many of you are there?’

‘Sixteen. The last of the volunteers from Birgu.’

‘Who is in command?’

‘Me.’ A tall man eased his way towards Thomas. There was no need for him to give his name. Thomas had recognised his voice and now nodded in greeting.

‘Welcome to fort St Elmo, Sir Oliver.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Once Stokely had reported to Captain Miranda, Thomas drew him to one side and said eamesdy, ‘We must talk.’

‘Yes, we must,’ Stokely replied. ‘But it would be best if it was somewhere more private.’

‘Follow me.’ Thomas led him from the chapel and across the courtyard to the mess room.

‘Not the most commodious of accommodation,’ said Stokely as he glanced round the large chamber that had once served as the garrison’s dining hall. Earlier in the siege Captain Miranda had set up some gaming tables and a makeshift bar where the men could buy the finest wines from the cellar. Now that the men had given up any hope of leaving the fort alive, they no longer tried to win money from their comrades and had abandoned the hall. Instead it served as a dressing station and bloodied rags and baskets filled with strips of cloth littered the floor. A handful of candles provided dim illumination and there were occasional moans and coughs from men lying on biers along one wall. Thomas found an unopened bottle of wine behind the counter and settled at a table in the comer of the hall where he poured them each a cup and pushed one across the table to Stokely.

Stokely hesitated a moment before he picked it up and forced a smile. ‘What shall we toast?’

Thomas raised his cup. ‘Maria.’

‘Ah yes . . . Maria.’

They took a sip, each man watching the other warily. Then Thomas set his cup down gently. ‘Why are you here, Oliver?’

‘1 volunteered to join the last effort to reinforce St Elmo.’

‘And La Valette gave you permission to come?’

‘He didn’t know. I suspect he will soon enough. But it’s too late to prevent me. For better or worse I am here.’

‘For better?’ Thomas laughed bitterly. ‘How can it possibly be better here? You are on a fool’s errand, Oliver. There is only death here.’

‘I know that.’ He sipped his wine. ‘That is all I seek, now that I know, and accept, the truth.’

‘And what truth would that be?’

Stokely held his cup in both hands as if his fingers were delicately poised about someone’s neck. ‘Before you left Birgu, you discovered where Maria was living and went to see her.’

Thomas hesitated. He did not want any harm to befall Maria as a result of his need to speak to her, yet what difference did it make now? Stokely was as doomed as any man in St Elmo. ‘Yes, I did.’ Stokely nodded slightly. ‘Thank you for your honesty. The fact is, I saw you leave the house.’

‘I see.’ Thomas felt the dread stirring in his heart. ‘What did you do? Oliver, if you have done her any harm

‘After I saw you leave our house, our home, my mind was filled with the most painful imaginings. Though Maria and I have been married these many years I have never asked her about her feelings for you. Despite her grief at losing you, and her child, she was strong enough to go on. In time she grew to accept what had happened and resolved to make a new life for herself.’ Oliver paused, and then sighed. ‘When she agreed to be my wife, I knew that I was a poor shadow of what she truly wanted but that was enough for me. Besides, we lived happily together, and she seemed content with what fate had left to her.’ He paused and the lightness of tone with which he had spoken his last words suddenly hardened. ‘That all changed the moment she saw you here. Maria said nothing when she returned to the house, but I knew at once. I had tried to keep her away from you, at our estate near Mdina, but from the moment the enemy fleet was sighted, I knew that Maria must take shelter in Birgu and there would come a time when she discovered you had returned. When I questioned her she told me what had happened.’ He glared at Thomas. ‘I cannot tell you how the situation tore at my heart. I demanded that she never see or speak to you. I feared that she might yet want to be with you. I would have fallen at her feet and implored her to stay with me. I wanted to say I would die rather than lose her. Instead I did something more foolish, something so demeaning that I shudder to think of it even now.’ Stokely took up his cup and drained it. ‘I threatened you.’

‘Me? How?’

‘I said I had information that I could use to have you arrested and condemned as a spy. You, and Richard . . . her son.’

The earlier sense of dread returned, colder and more dangerous. Thomas leaned across the table. ‘What information?’ he hissed.

Stokely did not flinch. He regarded Thomas with disdain. ‘Did you think I did not know about the locket? The instant I saw Richard I knew exactly who he was. What surprised me was that it quickly became evident that you did not. Of course, I suspected from the first that you answered the Grand Master’s summons for reasons beyond a mere desire to serve the Order. But Richard? The last news I had of him from my cousin was that he had left Cambridge to serve a patron in London, no less a person than Walsingham. It is clear why he is here. Young Richard has sold his soul to the devil and become one of Walsingham’s creatures. The theft of the document from Sir Peter de Launcey’s chest was final proof that he is a spy.’

‘You knew he was a spy?’

Stokely nodded. ‘I suppose I could have had him arrested as soon as I recognised him, but he was Maria’s son. If anything happened to him and she discovered my hand in it, she would never have forgiven me. Besides, I was determined to discover his purpose here. As soon as I heard that an attempt had been made to enter the archive I checked the chest and discovered that the locks had been broken and the will had gone.’

‘The will?’ Thomas tried to hide his surprise. At last the true nature of the document had been revealed. If he played his hand right, Stokely might reveal more. ‘So you know about that?’

‘I have known about it for years. Ever since Sir Peter brought it to Malta. He knew exactly how dangerous the will would be if it fell into the wrong hands. He suspected that he might have been followed from England so he entrusted me with its secret, in case anything happened to him. Alas, it was a simple accident that did for him. Afterwards I arranged for the will to be placed in the chest and stored in the archive where it would be quite safe, and from where it could be retrieved if there was ever a need to use it. When it was taken, I knew at once where I might find it. I searched Richard’s cell while the two of you were on duty. I have to say that I am not very impressed with his choice of hiding place, but then I knew exactly what I was looking for and the space required to hide it. The will is safe again. No one knows where it is but me. There it shall stay. One day it may be discovered but perhaps it is better that it is lost.’ Stokely paused. ‘I take it that Walsingham told you about the will before you left England.’

Thomas hesitated. ‘He discussed it.’

Stokely stared at Thomas. ‘You don’t know the contents of the will, do you?’

‘Walsingham said that it would cause great loss of life if it was misused.’

Stokely laughed bitterly. ‘He only said that? My poor Thomas, you have been little more than their tool.’ He glanced over Thomas’s shoulder at a figure approaching them. He smiled faintly. ‘Why don’t you join us, Richard?’

Thomas turned swiftly and saw the young man watching them with a cold, detached expression. He stood still for a moment before he picked up a stool and positioned it at the end of the table, between the two knights.

Stokely smiled thinly. ‘We were just discussing the will. It seems that you, and your superiors back in England, have not deigned to apprise Thomas of the full details. That hardly seems fair, given that he is soon to die because of it. So, why don’t you tell him, or shall I?’

Richard did not reply.

Stokely nodded. ‘Very well.’

He folded his hands together and collected his thoughts quickly before he began. ‘We were both young men, and you, Richard, were not even born, when King Henry dissolved the monasteries in England and sold, or gave away, their vast landholdings as well as their gold and silver. Many noblemen garnered great fortunes as a result of the dissolution. Another effect was to deepen the division between Catholics and the growing numbers of Protestants, a division that has led to the deaths of hundreds in England and tens of thousands across Europe. It seems that at the end of his life Henry recognised the damage that he had done and sought to return both himself and his kingdom to the Church of Rome. After the great hurt he had done to papal authority the Vatican decided that it would exact a price for its absolution of the King. They would accept England back only if all the property that had once belonged to the monasteries was returned to the Church.

‘All those nobles who had gained so much from Henry’s largesse would be stripped of their fortunes. They would surely revolt against their King and plunge England into civil war. Henry was dying, and his only priority was that he be admitted to heaven. He no longer cared for worldly affairs. But his courtiers did and would have been horrified if they had discovered his intentions. So he wrote his last will and testament in secret. Only his closest advisers knew about it. The will was entrusted to Sir Peter de Launcey to carry to Rome.

‘He duly set off, aware that as soon as he was missed the King’s closest advisers, some of whom would suffer great loss if the dissolution was reversed, would send agents after him to retrieve the will. Knowing that the routes to Rome would be closely watched, he travelled via Spain to Malta where the Order would protect him. By then he had begun to have reservations about his mission. He understood the implications of the will and was torn between the needs of his country and those of his faith. That was when he confided in me and asked my advice. Before I could come to a decision he was drowned.’ Stokely paused. ‘I had Henry’s will in my hand and could easily have turned it over to the Grand Master of the day. But I chose not to. I would not have the blood of tens of thousands of Englishmen on my conscience. So I put the will in Sir Peter’s chest and had it placed in the archive.’

‘Why didn’t you just destroy it?’ asked Thomas.

‘It was too powerful a thing to destroy. As long as it was safe, no harm could befall the heirs of the King. And I was content to leave it be. But since then, I have watched the number of Protestants swell in England, and the persecution of the Catholics increase every year of Elizabeth’s reign. I resolved that if necessary I would find a way to use the will to stay the hand of the Protestants.’ Thomas was astonished. ‘You would blackmail the Queen?’

‘I sincerely hoped that I would never have cause to.’

Richard finally spoke. ‘And you think the will is safe in your hands?’

‘Safer in mine than in Walsingham or Cecil’s. They would use it to protect their position at Elizabeth’s court. She would hardly defy the will of men who could threaten to make public the dying wishes of her father.’

‘Better that my masters have the will than it should remain in the hands of a Catholic or fall to the Muslims, as now seems likely,’ Richard responded bitterly.

‘A Catholic I may be but I am an Englishman before that,’ Stokely countered.

For the first time Thomas’s heart warmed slightly towards Stokely. Then he recalled that this was the man who had made Maria his wife, and done all in his power to prevent them meeting again.

‘One thing puzzles me,’ he said. ‘Why was it necessary for you to threaten Maria with my arrest? She told me that she could not leave you. She said it was too late to change the past. She was your wife now and that was how it would remain.’

Stokely stared at him with a stricken expression. ‘She said that?’

‘Yes.’

Stokely closed his eyes and his face twisted in pain. ‘Dear God, I spoke too hastily. I was angry. After I saw you leave the house I confronted her and said I knew you had been there. I said I knew that she had been unfaithful to me.’

‘No. She was not,’ said Thomas. ‘I would have given anything for that, but she refused me.’

‘She refused you?’ Stokely slowly shook his head. ‘What have I done? Dear God, what have I done? I raged at her. I accused her of faithlessness, of harlotry. She stood there and took it all in silence. Then she said she did not love me. That she had only ever loved you.’ Stokely swallowed. ‘I lost my temper. I struck her. So help me God, for the first time in my life I struck her.’

Thomas clenched his fist and fought to control the rage that welled up inside.

‘She fell back on the chair.’ Stokely trembled as he recalled the moment. ‘There was blood on her lip, and then I saw fear in her eyes. And worse, disgust and pity. I wish she had struck me back, screamed at me. Instead she just looked at me. I walked out and went to the cathedral to pray for forgiveness. When I returned to the house she and her maid had gone. There was no note. She just disappeared. I searched Birgu for the next two days before I realised I would not find her again, and even if I did she would not have me back at her side.’ Stokely smiled weakly. ‘She was all that ever mattered to me. That was when I resolved to come here, and die along with you. Not for any affection I bear you, but for hate. You are the cause of my misery, Thomas. If providence is kind I shall see you die before I fall.’

‘Then I had better guard my back,’ Thomas responded. ‘It seems I have enemies on both sides.’

‘No. You need not fear me.’

‘I don’t fear you, Oliver. I pity you.’

‘And I hate you, I have always hated you. But, as is so often the case with hatred, it was imperfect. I see that now. Before, I wanted to hurt you and then destroy you, as if that would somehow resolve the matter. But it never could. My hatred is unquenchable. Harming you would in no way diminish it.’ He smiled. ‘It is a strange thing, but I feel almost at peace now. I do not fear death. I only ever feared the prospect of a life without Maria. This is where it ends. Here in St Elmo. For me, for you, and for your son. Poor Maria. She still thinks that Richard is safe in England. For her sake, I hope she never discovers the truth.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘There, that is all that needs to be said. I shall find somewhere to rest, though I shall not sleep. There is only one release from my torment now.’