Текст книги "Sword and Scimitar"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

Соавторы: Simon Scarrow
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CHAPTER FOUR

The first priority was to deal with the men imprisoned below deck. He turned to the sergeant. ‘You and two others come with me. The rest are to dispose of the bodies. Make sure our men are set aside for a proper burial.’

He and Mendoza made their way over to the grating above the entrance to the main hold. As Thomas approached he could hear muttering from below and a terrified keening that was hurriedly silenced. A bolt fastened the grating in place and Thomas knelt down to draw it back, noting the thoroughness of the corsairs, who chained their rowers to their benches and then locked them into the hold for good measure.

‘Help me with the grating.’

With the sergeant’s help they lifted the grating and slid it on to the deck beside the entrance to the hold. Thomas peered over the edge and winced at the warm blast of the foulest stench he had ever encountered. There was movement below and the clink of chains as limbs stirred. Then he saw faces turning towards the pallid light entering through the hatch. Wild locks of filthy hair and straggly beards hung over their emaciated features. Most were white, but there were darker hues of skin there as well, though it was hard to tell for the filth that covered them. A ladder descended on to the narrow walkway that stretched between the lines of benches running along each side of the galley. He climbed down and saw a figure holding a small whip standing towards the stem, beside the pace keeper still chained next to his drum. Thomas and his men had to bend their heads as they strode aft, under the gaze of glittering eyes on either side.

‘Praise the Lord . . .’ a voice croaked. ‘They’re Christians . . . Christians! Come to set us free!’

His words set off many of his comrades who raised their hands imploringly towards their rescuers. Some simply hunched over the oars and wept, their shoulders wracked by sobs.

The overseer dropped his whip as Thomas approached and clasped his hands together, begging in French, ‘Please, sir . . . Please.’

‘Where is the locking pin?’ Thomas demanded.

The overseer jabbed a finger towards a ring bolt on the deck just beyond the reach of the pace setter. ‘Th-there.’

Thomas brushed him aside. He fought back his nausea at the overpowering stink rising from the bilges. How could any man endure this? he wondered. He reached the ring bolt and saw that the locking pin was just beside it. He took out his dagger and began to work it free. A moment later it fell out of its sheath and then Thomas fed the chain back through the ring bolt and laid it at the foot of the nearest rowing bench. He stared at the faces of the men sitting there.

‘Who amongst you is Christian, if any?’

‘Me!’ The nearest man nodded emphatically. ‘Me, master. I’m from Toulon.’

‘Set him free,’ Thomas ordered.

‘And me!’ said the rower’s neighbour.

‘Liar!’ the first man snapped. ‘You are a Morisco. The corsairs took you from Valencia.’

‘Sergeant, free this Frenchman. The other man stays in chains.’ The Morisco, descended from the Arabs who had once ruled Spain, opened his mouth to protest but then, seeing the implacable expression on Thomas’s face, he closed it and bowed his head over his oar in resignation. Thomas looked round as more voices called out, proclaiming their faith. If all were telling the truth, only a third would be left at the oars, too few to work the passage to Malta. As the tumult of desperate cries rose, he drew a deep breath and bellowed down the length of the galley, ‘SILENCE!’

The rowers, long since cowed by the whip of the overseer, obediently stilled their tongues. Thomas turned to his sergeant. ‘Set the Christians free, and only the Christians. Any man who claims the faith and is found to be a liar will be put to death.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the soldier replied tonelessly.

‘Carry on.’ Thomas could not bear the smell of these creatures and their surroundings any longer. ‘I’ll be on deck.’

‘What about him?’ Mendoza gestured at the overseer who was standing towards the stern, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze as he awaited his fate. Thomas stared at him briefly and noted the short length of whip still in his hand. ‘Him? Let the men you set free deal with him.’

Thomas turned away and strode quickly back down the narrow walkway towards the ladder, fighting the urge to run and escape from this hellish hole as quickly as possible. He climbed on to the deck and hurried across to the upwind bulwark and breathed as deeply as he could to expel every last tendril of the foul air in the hold. Although he had known what went on below the deck of a galley, he had only been below on a handful of occasions. What he had seen had disgusted him, but the men who crewed the Order’s galleys were criminals, pirates and followers of false faiths. As foul as the circumstances were on the Christian galleys, he had never before seen men as pitifully treated as here on the corsairs’ galley. He felt a deep rage as he thought of the enemy, a burning desire to wipe Islam from the face of God’s earth.

A splash close at hand made Thomas look round; some of his men were heaving the bodies of the dead over the side. The corpses had been stripped of their weapons and items of clothing that might fetch a decent price in the markets of Malta. Two more men guarded a handful of wounded prisoners sitting on the deck around the base of the aft mast. As he gazed at them, Thomas felt his heart harden like a cold stone in his breast. He turned away from the bulwark and strode towards them, gesturing to a handful of the other soldiers to follow him. As he reached the prisoners he stopped and stared at them with hatred. There were over twenty of them, most still wearing some armour, empty scabbards hanging from their belts and baldrics. Most had wounds which had hastily been dressed with tom strips of cloth. The wounds were superficial and they would recover, well enough at least to take their places on the galley’s rowing benches.

‘Leave the officers here. Take the rest down to the oars,’ he ordered in a flat tone. His men separated the prisoners, herding most towards the hatch while a handful remained sitting on the deck. Thomas stared at them for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Kill them. The bodies go over the side.’

One of the men who had been guarding the prisoners glanced at his companion before he cleared his throat and responded. ‘Sir? The officers are worth good money.’

Thomas felt a tremor in his hand and clenched it tightly. ‘I gave you an order. Kill them! Do it!’

Footsteps sounded behind him and then Stokely stepped between Thomas and the prisoners. ‘You can’t kill the officers. They are prisoners.’

Thomas swallowed and answered bitterly, ‘They are the enemy. They are Turks, infidels.’

‘They are still God’s creatures,’ Stokely answered, ‘even if they have not yet embraced the true faith. We accepted their surrender. We cannot slaughter them. It would offend any notion of chivalry.’

‘Chivalry?’ Thomas frowned and then smiled. ‘There is no place for it in the war against the Turk. Death is what they deserve.’

‘You can’t—’

Thomas raised a hand to silence him. ‘We’re wasting time. I want the galley under way as soon as possible. First, we get rid of these . . . vermin.’

He drew his sword and before anyone could intervene he ran the blade through the nearest of the corsairs, a youth in a finely embroidered jerkin, too young to grow a beard. The corsair gasped and slumped back on to the deck as a crimson stain quickly spread over the white cotton of his jerkin. He feebly clawed at the rent in the cloth and tried to press at the wound as if to staunch the flow of blood. Thomas stood over him, blinded by all but the desire to kill. He struck again, this time at the youth’s neck, cutting deep into the spine and almost severing the head. Thomas looked round at his men. ‘Now, carry out your orders! Kill them all. You first.’ He pointed at one of the men who had been guarding the prisoners. ‘Do it.’

The soldier lowered his pike and thrust it into the chest of the nearest corsair. The others began to cry out, begging for mercy in French and Spanish as well as their native tongues. Once the first two were dead, the rest of the soldiers standing around them joined in with the slaughter. Thomas stood apart, and Stokely looked on, his lips curled with disgust and horror.

‘This is. . . wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘Wrong.’

‘Then perhaps you had better reconsider your membership of the Order.’ Thomas shrugged and turned away as the last of the prisoners was killed. ‘See to it that the bodies are removed.’

As he walked towards the bows, Thomas felt nothing for a moment. He had expected to feel a sense of release, the draining of the tension that had built up during the battle, and then in the hold. But there was just a chilling numbness. The blood on the deck around him and on discarded weapons was just a detail, and his recollections of the battle were fleeting images unfreighted by emotion, remorse or even the smallest ray of triumph. All he knew was that he still lived and his comrades had won a small victory. No more than a pinprick to the vast Leviathan of Turkish might that was steadily making this sea, and the lands that bounded it, the domain of Islam. Blood would continue to flow, men would continue to die by the sword or from starvation and exhaustion chained to the oars of the galleys that swept this troubled sea. Women and children would continue to be taken as slaves to become whores or be raised as Muslims to wage war on those they had once called family. In turn the knights of St John and those who shared their cause would fight for survival. And so it would go on. Sword and scimitar locked in an endless, bloody duel whose only prize was the misery upon misery heaped upon man.

Thomas went over to the small hatch over the forward hold where he had killed the man dressed in black. He sat down heavily and unbuckled his mantlets and pulled off his gloves before fumbling with the buckles of the chinstrap of his helmet. It took a few attempts before he pulled the helmet off and placed it beside him on the deck. Sweat plastered his hair to his scalp and the morning breeze felt cool on his exposed skin. He leaned back for a moment, resting against the bulwark, until a shadow fell across his face. He blinked his eyes open and saw Stokely standing before him.

‘I’ve carried out your orders. And the Christians have been freed.’ He gestured towards the rear of the deck where forty or so skeletal figures in rags were gathered around some baskets of bread, frantically scrabbling for a loaf, and ripping chunks off and chewing vigorously. Stokely watched them a moment. ‘They weren’t so hungry that they didn’t tear the overseer to pieces first. Still, he deserved his fate.’

‘If you say so.’

Stokely glanced at the hatch. ‘Have you searched down there yet?’

Thomas shook his head.

‘Might be some more food we could give that lot.’

Thomas waved a hand towards the narrow coaming. ‘Do as you wish.’

Stokely lowered himself down the ladder into the small storage hold. A moment later Thomas heard him swear in a surprised tone, before he called up.

‘Thomas!’

‘What is it?’

‘Come down here!’

The urgency in his tone caused Thomas to quickly shift himself over the edge of the hatch and drop down into the confined space. ‘What is it?’

He turned and looked forward to where Stokely was crouching down, not far from a bundle of rags. There was not enough room to stand and Thomas shuffled over to his side. The bundle stirred and in the shafts of light that penetrated the hold through a small grille Thomas saw that it was a woman. A thin strip of cloth covered her and as she began to turn towards them, it slipped and exposed the raw welts across her shoulders and back. Her hair was long and dark and one hand was chained to a bolt in the side of the hold. She looked at the two men, eyes narrow with suspicion. Her skin was pale and there was a bruise on her cheek. Her lips parted and her tongue briefly moistened the chapped skin before she whispered, ‘Who are you?’

‘Christians,’ Sir Oliver replied. ‘We’ve taken this galley.’

‘Christians,’ she repeated, looking them over searchingly.

There was a brief silence as the woman and the two knights stared at each other. As he looked at her, Thomas realised that she was beautiful, even here, beaten, bruised and chained in her own filth. Something stirred in the coldness of his hardened heart. He shuffled round so that he could reach the ring bolt and then pulled out his dagger. The woman flinched slightly at the sight of the blade and he motioned towards the pin fastening the chains to the bolt. ‘I’ll get you out of here.’

She nodded and Thomas inserted the point of the blade and began to work the pin free. He paused briefly and looked at her. ‘What is your name?’

She licked her lips again and replied hoarsely, ‘Maria de Venici.’ Thomas nodded and again he felt something stir in his heart as he regarded her.

‘Maria,’ he repeated slowly, savouring each syllable of the name. ‘Maria.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Malta, two months later

Thin streaks of silvery cloud ringed the bright gleam of a crescent moon over Malta. A glittering finger of reflected light stretched across the waters of the harbour towards the mass of the Sciberras ridge, and the air was still and hot. Thomas paid little attention to his surroundings. On another night he would have been sensitive to the sensual aesthetics of a summer night in the Mediterranean and paused to drink in the sights and sounds and surrender to the moment.

But not now.

His heart was beating with impatience and anxiety as he stood in the shadow of the walls of Fort St Angelo, the home of the Order, built on the rocky tip of the Birgu peninsula. The fort guarded the entrance to the harbour and loomed over the small town whose red roof tiles appeared dull and grey in the moonlight. A small path ran along the base of the wall, leading down to the landing stage at the edge of the water, where Thomas stood waiting. He started nervously as the cathedral bell tolled the half-hour after midnight. Maria should have been here long ago. Edging away from the rocks beneath the wall, Thomas strained his eyes as he stared along the path, but nothing moved there. He felt a stab of fear at the thought that she might have changed her mind and decided not to take the risk of meeting him alone again.

They had already been warned not to pursue their relationship. La Valette had approached Thomas at the morning weapons drill and taken him aside for a quiet exchange. Maria de Venici, he reminded the young knight, was waiting for her brother to retrieve her from the island and pay over the reward to the Order for her rescue.

Thomas’s lips twitched with amusement. Ransom was a more accurate word for it. Not that such an infelicitous term played any part in the exchange of messages between the Order and the Venici family.

‘Your mutual affection has not gone unnoticed,’ said La Valette. ‘And I must warn you that it is inadvisable, Thomas. Maria is betrothed to another and there is no future for this . . . friendship that has grown between you.’

‘Who told you, sir?’ Thomas asked.

Before he could stop himself, La Valette’s gaze instinctively flickered towards the other young knights practising their attacks against wooden dummies set up in the courtyard of Fort St Angelo. Thomas looked beyond him and saw Oliver Stokely watching them. As their eyes met, Stokely turned his attention back to the dummy he had been attacking, which was painted to resemble a Turk, complete with a crudely depicted face with dark features and black eyes.

So, Thomas thought, it was the man he had considered a friend. It came as little surprise. Their friendship had cooled in the weeks since the galley had returned to Malta as it quickly became evident that the woman they had set free preferred the company of Thomas. She had been grateful and friendly towards Stokely, but her expression became far more lively in the presence of Thomas and it was him she asked to accompany her in her walks about Birgu, and then in the surrounding countryside.

That was where it had happened, Thomas recalled, with a quickening of his pulse. In the shadow of one of the island’s rare trees on the heights of St Margaret, which overlooked Birgu and the harbour. She had stumbled against him, her brow brushing his cheek as he caught her by the arm to prevent her falling. Maria had looked up, and smiled, and then they had kissed. It had been an instinctive act, and Thomas had been shocked by his impulsiveness, until she reached her hand behind his neck and pulled him closer to her and they kissed again. They found a hidden comer in one of the stone walls and Thomas had laid his cape on the ground and they had remained there for the rest of the afternoon, before returning to Birgu, flushed with passion, and trepidation. It was a dangerous liaison and both knew it. Yet they could not, and would not, constrain the heat that coursed through their veins.

That had been several days before La Valette had issued his warning. Days in which Thomas had endured his daily duty as if it had been an eternity in purgatory. Afterwards he ran to meet her at place they had agreed upon, a small garden close to the town gate. It had belonged to a Venetian merchant who had bequeathed it to the islanders. The garden offered shade and the sweet scent of flowers and herbs to visitors. A more fertile ground for the meeting of lovers was not to be found anywhere else on the island. That was where they had been, in a shady bower, when Stokely had appeared, standing foursquare upon the path, in the direct glare of the sun. He stared at them in silence as they self-consciously leaned away from each other. The scar on his cheek was still livid and had stretched skin at the comer of his mouth into a faint sneer.

‘Oliver,’ Maria smiled. ‘You surprised us.’

‘I can see that,’ he replied coldly. ‘So, this is where you have cn running off to, Thomas.’

Thomas rose from the bench he had been sharing with Maria, 'Listen, this is our secret. I would ask you not to tell anyone of this.’

‘Ask and be damned,’ Stokely said angrily. ‘This is wrong. You swore an oath of chastity, Thomas. As has every knight.’

Thomas snorted. ‘The oath is meaningless. Honoured more in the breach than the obligation, and you know it. Grand Master d’Omedes is content to turn a blind eye when it suits him.’

‘Nevertheless, it is an oath. It is my duty to report this.’

The two glared at each other and Thomas was surprised to see the anger, and even hate, that blazed in the eyes of his friend.

‘You must not speak a word of this, Oliver. If not for the sake of our friendship, then out of chivalry to Maria.’

‘I will take no lessons in chivalry from you!’ Stokely spat. Thomas gritted his teeth and pressed his lips together as his hands balled into fists. But before the confrontation could go any further he felt Maria gently stay his arm. She stepped between them and smiled nervously at Stokely. ‘There is no need for this. Not amongst friends.’

‘I see no friends here,’ Stokely responded in a strained voice.

Maria frowned 'I consider you a friend, Oliver, and you have my heartfelt gratitude for saving me from the Turks, as does Thomas.

‘Is this how a friend shows gratitude?’

‘Do not be angry with me.’ She reached out for his hand but Stokely took a step back. Maria let out a small gasp. ‘Oliver... I speak direct from my heart when I call you my friend. My dear friend.’

‘Then why do you betray my friendship like this? Both of you.’

‘In what way have I betrayed you? Have I lied to you?’ she reproved him.

When he did not reply she lowered her head sadly. ‘I had thought you my benefactor and friend, just as I regard Thomas. And now, even though he is more than my friend, that does not make you less of one. Dear Oliver, please understand.’

‘Do not call me that! Not unless you mean it as I wish it to be meant.’

‘You have my affection. Please do not abuse it.’

Stokely growled something under his breath and with a last bitter glance at Thomas he turned on his heel and strode off through the garden. Thomas watched his retreating back and let out a sigh. ‘There will be trouble for us. Mark my words.’

Maria shook her head. ‘Oliver is a good man, and a good friend. He will come to his senses.’

Thomas thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘I hope you are right, my love.’

As soon as he had uttered the words he felt his heart jump anxiously and he quickly glanced at Maria. She was smiling at him in delight as she whispered, ‘And now I know ‘Thomas, did you hear me?’ La Valette snapped.

Thomas’s mind raced to recall what his superior had just said to him, but to no avail. His mouth opened, but no reply came. La Valette let out a hiss of exasperation and ran his hand through his thick dark hair. He leaned forward.

‘Stay away from the woman. If you do not, there can only be misfortune for you both. Great misfortune. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I could ask you for your word that you will not see her but I would not wish to place you in a position where your soul was put at risk for the sake of your more animal instincts.’ Thomas felt a moment’s anger at this characterisation of his feelings. ‘I am therefore ordering you to remain away from Maria de Venici until her brother removes her from the island,’ La Valette continued. ‘Is that understood? Keep away from the house where she is staying.’

‘I understand.’

‘Good.’ La Valette stretched up to his full height with a smile. ‘I let her know what has been agreed. Let that be an end to it.’ Why has she not come? Thomas fumed. She had got his note and -lied that she would meet him, despite the warning from La Valette. So what could have delayed her? A change of heart, or me other cause? Dear Lord, let it be another cause, Thomas prayed silently, then felt ashamed that he had called on divine favour In pursuit of an end he knew that others would see as ignoble.

He decided to wait until the bell tolled the first hour of the morning. If Maria had not come by then he would take it that she would never come and that this first love of his life was doomed.

The night edged on and as the deep note of the bell sounded, he drew a sorrowful breath and slowly paced back along the path. Then she emerged from the gloom and hurried towards him and without a word they embraced and kissed and all his fears vanished.

‘What kept you from me?’ Thomas asked at length.

‘I’m so sorry, my love. The wife of the merchant tasked with accommodating me is a suspicious old shrew and watches me like a hawk.’

‘With good cause.’ Thomas chuckled.

Maria pushed at his chest. ‘Do not mock. I had to wait until I was sure there was no movement in the house before I dared creep tint. I came as soon as I could. We haven’t much time. I have to be back in my room before the servants stir at dawn.’

She kissed him again and Thomas sensed her tension and drew back.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked.

Her skin looked pale in the moon’s glow as she stared at him, and he felt her tremble. ‘Thomas, what is to become of us? We are sinning, there is no other word for it. I am to be married to another you my heart and body. What good is that? My brother will arrive any day. After that we shall never see each other

‘So we should make the most of the time we have.’

‘We have already made more of it than is prudent,’ she replied nervously.

‘Damn prudence. We should follow our natures and our hearts.’ She shook her head and spoke softly. ‘You fool. You dear fool. We are as the smallest cogs in an intricate mechanism. We must turn on the whim of larger forces. We have no say in it.’

‘But we do,’ Thomas responded earnestly. ‘We could leave Malta. Come home with me to England.’

‘Leave Malta? How? Do you think to steal yourself a ship as easily as you have stolen my heart?’.

‘It was not stolen, as I recall, but freely given.’ Thomas rubbed his jaw as he considered their plight. ‘We could stow away aboard a merchant ship. Make for France and travel on from there.’ He was speaking without much thought and his words sounded foolish and hopeless even to him. Maria would be missed at once, and when it was discovered that he was also gone, it was not hard to imagine the consequences. Maria was in the safekeeping of the Order. They could not be seen to have failed in their duty. A fast galley would be sent in pursuit of any ship that had left the island. They would be overtaken before the first day was out and brought back to face the wrath of the Grand Master. He knew this but still his heart argued for fleeing with Maria.

‘What can we do?’ he asked angrily. ‘I will not give you up!’

‘Yes, you will.’ A voice spoke from the shadows further along the track. ‘Sooner than you think.’

They turned towards the sound and Thomas saw a figure emerge into the wan moonlight. A man, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Several more men appeared behind him.

‘Oliver . . .’ Maria whispered.

Thomas swallowed and tried to sound calm as he addressed his former friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Don’t be an even bigger fool than you already are, Thomas,’

Stokely responded. ‘You know precisely why I am here.’ He turned and gestured to the men behind him. ‘Arrest them both. Take the lady back to her quarters.’

Two men approached and Thomas stepped in front of Maria and raised his fists.

‘No, Thomas!’ she said urgently. ‘It’s too late for that. Far too late.’

‘Maria is right,’ Stokely intervened. ‘It is too late. It is over between you. Now let the lady be escorted to her keepers. . . ‘

Thomas stood his ground and Maria edged round him, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before they were parted. Thomas watched in anger and despair as the three figures padded back along the path towards Birgu. Then Stokely gave a curt command and ’o men grasped his arms and pinned them behind his back. Stokely stepped forward and shook his head mockingly. ‘Dear Thomas, what is to become of you now?’