Thomas leaned closer, his eyes blazing. ‘When I was banished, I lost everything that counted with me, everything. My comrades, my honour, my faith and . . . my love.’ The last word was uttered through clenched teeth. ‘Twenty years I have endured this. At first I tried to set my heart like stone and exile emotion.’ And he had failed pitifully in the attempt. ‘Then, when I knew I could not, I turned to the service of the warlords of Europe and yet still endured the memories that filled the void between work and sleep. Time, finally, assuaged the worst of the burden, and then I am summoned back here. Jenkins, I cannot tell you how the very sight and scent of this island have torn at my heart. To walk the streets of Birgu and enter the auberge once again has wounded my soul. Here I was once happy. That which I had prized above all else in life is gone. Maria is dead.’
‘Who says so?’
‘Sir Oliver.’ Thomas eased himself back and rubbed his brow slowly. ‘In England I had considered it, and tried to make myself believe it. What else could I do? I had no way of knowing what happened here. Every member of the Order was forbidden to communicate with me, and it would have been death for me to set foot on the island. I had come to accept that Maria was gone from my life, if never from my heart, and now I am returned and discover she is dead and it is as if I must learn to live without her all over again. Forgive me.’ Thomas looked up at the joists and took a deep breath. He had never intended for his feelings to find such expression, only to ask for the bare details of the knowledge he sought. But now it was too late and the cold, hard face he had presented to the world had melted like late snow in spring.
‘My poor master,’ said Jenkins. ‘I did not know that she, that Maria, was dead. Only that after you were banished she left Birgu.’ Thomas felt his heart lurch. ‘Where? Where did she go?’
‘I do not know, sir. All I knew was that she had gone into confinement, until the child was born. After that I heard nothing for several months. It was the following winter, when Sir Oliver was entertaining La Valette in his quarters here at the auberge. As I brought them more wine I overheard them speak of the matter. Sir Oliver said that the child, a boy, had been born, but had been sickly and died shortly afterwards.’
‘I had a son . . .’ Thomas felt an ache in his heart at the news. A son. Maria had borne his son. He was caught between the pain of knowing what he had lost and anger over never having known of it until now. It was a while before he could control his thoughts enough to speak again. ‘And Maria? What became of her?’
‘I know not, sir. There was a rumour that she had left Malta for a convent at Naples. I have not seen her since she left Birgu. If she is dead then it will have been in Naples.’ He paused and continued in a cautious tone, ‘Sir Oliver knows more than I. Ask him.’
‘I would ask but he will not speak to me of her. He hates me.’
‘Are you surprised? It was well known that he, too, had lost his heart to the lady. She chose to love you.’ Jenkins shook his head sadly. ‘It is a hard thing for a man to accept without growing bitter and hateful. I have lived long enough to see more than enough of it. Envy is a cruel master.’
‘Even so, she left our lives a long time ago, long enough, surely, to heal the wound in Sir Oliver’s heart.’
Jenkins eyed the knight warily. ‘Your heart is not yet healed.’
‘That is true,’ Thomas admitted.
‘And your arrival has reopened Sir Oliver’s wound.’
Thomas nodded his understanding and felt a great weariness settle upon him. He was tired of this life with its ceaseless burdens of suffering and memory. He craved to forget and begin anew, or simply to have an end to it all. He closed his eyes and lowered his head into his hands.
‘Leave me, old friend. I must rest.’
‘Yes, sir. I know.’ Jenkins rose stiffly from the chair and made to pick up the cups and jar, hesitated a moment and then left them alone and quietly made his way towards the door. He glanced back at the knight wrapped in his inner torment, and then closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Shortly after first light the next morning Thomas and Richard were roused by a servant of La Valette with an order to attend the Grand Master at his headquarters. Sir Martin was still snoring as they hurriedly left the auberge and made their way through the quiet streets and across the drawbridge into the fort of St Angelo. Don Garcia was with the Grand Master, impatient to begin his inspection of the defences. While La Valette’s expertise lay in naval warfare, Don Garcia had considerable experience of the battlefield and siegecraft.
They started with the fortifications of St Angelo which commanded the harbour approaches to the Birgu promontory. Don Garcia had insisted on climbing every tower, and then descending into the bowels of the fort to examine the store chambers and cisterns before he announced his satisfaction.
‘A well-founded structure. If the Turks break into Birgu, then the remaining knights can fall back here and hold out until relieved.’
‘Or until they — we — are pounded to pieces by the enemy’s cannon,’ the Grand Master responded.
Don Garcia ignored the comment and requested to be shown the defences of Birgu. These he was much less satisfied with. Work parties of galley slaves, chained together, were labouring to raise the height and depth of the walls and bastions that protected the base of the promontory. More slaves, under the watchful eyes of soldiers, were busy breaking up the rocky ground outside the wall to deepen the shallow ditch that lay in front of the defences.
A short walk to the south brought the party to the ditch and wall that protected the Senglea promontory. Behind stood the fort of St Michael, guarding the bare finger of land that stretched out beside the creek where the galleons, fishing boats and the Order’s seven galleys lay at anchor. Once again, Don Garcia thoroughly explored the fort and made his observations about the defences from the tower that afforded the best view.
‘The weak point is that shore facing those heights over there.’ He pointed across the strip of water known to the locals as French Creek. Beyond the water the ground was level for a short distance before it rose steeply a quarter of a mile from the fort. ‘The Turks could mount heavy guns there to enfilade the outer defences. There’s not much that we can do about that.’
Thomas cleared his throat. ‘There’s a rather bigger danger, sir.’ Don Garcia turned to look at him with a slight frown.
‘What’s that?’ asked the Spanish commander.
Thomas pointed towards the shore of the Senglea promontory facing the heights. A few small redoubts constructed from rock were spread along the water’s edge. ‘There’s not much to stop a landing there. If the Turks seize the point then they can land cannon and bombard St Michael from the rear. They will also be able to destroy the ships in Dockyard Creek and fire on Birgu.’
‘You’re right.’ Don Garcia stroked his beard. ‘It would be a disaster.’
‘The threat has already been taken in hand,’ La Valette intervened. ‘I have given orders for a line of stakes to be driven into the seabed ten paces from the shore. There will be an iron loop on each stake for a chain to pass through. Any boats attempting a landing there will run up on the chain and those on board will have to swim ashore.’
‘That’s good, very good,’ Don Garcia said. ‘Though you will still need to defend the shore. Even if your chains prevent them landing, you must be able to contain them on the beach so that they can be cut down by fire from your cannon. You will need to construct a parapet there.’
The Grand Master gestured to his clerk to make a note.
Don Garcia looked slowly round to survey the Grand Harbour and the surrounding landscape. ‘The trouble with the entire position is that every fort is overlooked by higher ground. You may have a fine base for your galleys, Grand Master, but it is a poor situation to defend in a siege where the enemy will have cannon, and no doubt plenty of them. The main aspect in your favour is that the Turks will be obliged to attack on narrow fronts, whichever fort they attempt
to take.’
‘Which is just as well, given how few men I have.’
Don Garcia pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘The question is, which will they attack first? If I was the Turkish commander I would begin there.’ He raised his hand and pointed at St Elmo. ‘It is the smallest of the forts and it is isolated from the rest of your defences. It should be the easiest one to capture. If St Elmo falls then the enemy commands the approaches to both harbours and can safely anchor his ships in the Marsamxett. Moreover he will be able to fire across the Grand Harbour and bombard both these promontories. It will also deliver a blow to your morale while raising the spirits of his own men.’ Don Garcia weighed up his observations and then nodded. ‘Yes, that is where he will attack first, I am certain of it. Therefore it is vital that St Elmo holds out for as long as possible. Let us see that fort now
Even though it was early in spring and the air was still fresh, Thomas, Richard and the other officers in the small party were perspiring freely as they climbed the stairs of the cavalier tower rising to one side of Fort St Elmo and looking north-east out to sea. Thomas emerged at the top and stood to one side for a moment to catch his breath. The Grand Master stood by the parapet, leaning against the cut limestone to recover. Don Garcia’s face was also flushed with the effort and for a moment no one spoke on the platform of the tower. Beyond the parapet the cavalier tower dropped down towards the rocky end of the peninsula where the sea began. There was no wind and the surface of the sea looked smooth and grey as it stretched out towards the horizon like a sheet of cold steel.
Richard looked at the other officers around him calculatingly before he muttered, ‘There are too many old men here, Sir Thomas.’ The knight shot him a black look but did not trust himself to reply without gasping and proving his squire’s point.
‘Look at them,’ Richard continued. ‘The Grand Master is a relic from an old war, and so are most of the other senior knights. How can they hope to hold Malta with a band of greybeards and the natives of the island? Even if they can find some mercenaries foolish enough to take their coin, it would still be a hopeless situation.’ Thomas licked his dry lips and sucked in a deep breath. ‘Never underestimate the value of. . . experience. These men, and I, were fighting the Turk long before you were born. When the time comes, the value of such experience will be clear to all. If the enemy make the same mistake as you and misjudge the quality of the knights of the Order,’ Thomas smiled grimly, ‘both you and the Turks will be in for a surprise. Mark my words.’
He turned and walked steadily across the platform to join the other men clustered around Don Garcia and La Valette. The Spaniard was tutting to himself as he looked down on the rest of the fort. The tower afforded a clear view into the heart of St Elmo where a Maltese militia company was being drilled by a Spanish sergeant, bellowing out his orders for a swarthy local to translate in a pale imitation of the sergeant’s ferocity and volume.
‘Who gave the order to build the fort here?’ he asked La Valette. ‘You?’
‘The Grand Master before me.’
‘And who advised him, if anyone?’
‘There was an Italian siege engineer commissioned to oversee the work but he died shortly after reaching Malta.’
‘That is a shame, since he might have prevented your predecessor from making such a catalogue of mistakes.’
‘Oh?’
‘To begin with, this fort is in the wrong location. It should be up there.’ Don Garcia pointed towards the ridge running along the peninsula dividing the harbours. ‘Up there it could command every approach. As it is, the enemy will be able to occupy the high ground and dominate the fort. Furthermore, there is no shelter along the parapet. As soon as a man shows his head above the wall he will be clearly outlined against the sky, making an easy target for any arquebusiers concealed in front of the fort. And there’s too little space on the walls to mount more than a handful of cannon. You will have to use the towers. There’s another thing. Look down there.’ Don Garcia pointed to the nearest corner of the star-shaped fort. ‘If the Turks can work round the front face they’ll be able to scale that comer easily. It’s too low. You’ll need to construct a ravelin there.’
As La Valette nodded, Richard leaned towards Thomas and whispered, ‘Ravelin?’
‘It’s a fortification that’s constructed in front of a weak spot,’ Thomas explained calmly. ‘Usually in the form of a chevron.’
Don Garcia was quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘Every day that the flag of the Order flies over St Elmo is a day that you can use to improve the defences of Birgu and Senglea. If you can only buy enough time for the relief force to gather, or for the campaigning season to come to an end in October, then there’s a chance Malta will remain in our hands.’
‘I will ensure that Malta holds out,’ La Valette said firmly. ‘The Order of St John was cast out of the Holy Land, and then Rhodes. Whatever the odds, we will hold Malta. If not then the Order will perish here. Every one of us is resolved to that end.’
Don Garcia looked at the old knight. ‘A glorious death, eh? Is that what you want?’
‘I am not afraid to die in the service of Christ. I never have been.’
‘Laudable as your devotion to your cause may be, I would strongly advise you to keep yourself from harm’s way as much as possible if the Turks come to Malta.’
La Valette frowned. ‘I will do no such thing.’
‘You must. You are a proud man, I know that. But you must consider the morale of those you command. You are their figurehead, not just their commander. They will look to you and you must appear strong and resolute at all times. If you were wounded, or killed, then the spirit of your men would be greatly harmed. I have been a soldier long enough to know the truth of this. The will to fight is a fickle thing. You know what is riding on the successful defence of this island and I beseech you to put the interests of others before your pride. The Order already faces the gravest of challenges.’
‘Then perhaps you should consider sending me the soldiers I requested from His Majesty. Five thousand men would make a most valuable contribution to the safety of Malta.’
‘I do not have five thousand to spare you. I have little more than that in Sicily as it is. More men are being recruited in Spain and will soon be joining my army. As I said last night, I will send you reinforcements the moment they can be spared, but you must be patient.’
‘Patient?’ La Valette repeated bitterly. ‘For months I have been sending you and the King details of what our spies have observed in the shipyards and arsenals of the enemy and you have done nothing but make ships and sit in your castles in Spain and wait for the enemy to come. I tell you, he is coming here, and it is here that the fate of the Order and the rest of Christendom will be decided.’
‘You may well be right, but I have my orders and my own responsibilities. However, I will request the King’s permission to send you a thousand of my best soldiers from Sicily, and I will do what I can to send further reinforcements as soon as possible.’
La Valette looked directly at the Spanish commander. ‘And I have your word on this?’
Don Garcia’s expression darkened at this attack on his honour. He bit back on his anger and replied in a flat voice, ‘Better, I will leave my son here with you as a token of my promise.’
‘Your son?’
Don Garcia looked round and called Fadrique forward. He rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Do you agree to this?’
The young Spaniard could hardly do otherwise but it was clear from his expression that he welcomed the prospect of making his stand before the enemy onslaught.
He cleared his throat. ‘It would be an honour to fight with the knights of the Order of St John, sir.’
‘There.’ Don Garcia turned his attention back to the Grand Master. ‘You can see, I place the highest value on this fortress holding out against the Turks. I invest my own blood in this island, alongside you and your men.’
La Valette nodde
d and Thomas saw the respect in his expression. ‘Very well. I am certain that your son will do honour to your family. I am pleased to have him fight at my side.’
‘Good.’ Don Garcia regarded his son for a moment and then patted his cheek tenderly before he let his hand drop. ‘Grand Master, there are two other matters I would raise with you before I am done here and must leave. Firstly, you will need a council of advisers to help you plan your defence of the island. I know that the Order has a ruling body, under your command. But it is too large, too unwieldy and too prone to dissent. You must keep your council as small as possible and there must never be any sign of division amongst you. If anything happens to you, then a member of the council must take over at once. Therefore you must choose men whose leadership will be accepted by your soldiers as willingly as they accept yours.’
The Grand Master pursed his lips briefly and nodded. ‘Very well. And what is the other matter?’
Don Garcia turned and pointed across the harbour to the Order’s galleys riding at anchor below the battlements of St Angelo. ‘Your ships will be vulnerable if they remain here. They will not be able to serve you if the Turks lay siege to Malta. It would be better if you were to place them under my command. The Turks have a powerful fleet and I need every galley I can find if I am to confront them.’
‘My galleys are staying here,’ La Valette said firmly.
‘Why?’
‘We need them.’
‘For what purpose? What good are they to you if Malta is besieged?’
‘I need them to guard the supply ships that are bringing food, arms and men in, and evacuating those who wish to leave before the Turks arrive. There are still plenty of corsairs hunting for prey. If you take my galleys you will leave the cargo vessels without protection.’
‘I can provide you with galleys to patrol the seaways for as long as possible.’
‘Why would I need your patrols if I can use my own warships?’
Don Garcia’s eyes narrowed. ‘This would have nothing to do with the fact that the two finest galleys happen to be your personal property, would it?’ He lowered his voice. ‘We must all make sacrifices for the common good. We cannot allow personal interests to stand in the way of reason, Grand Master.’
Sword and Scimitar Page 17
