Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

‘Yes.’ Thomas forced a smile. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bid you good night. It’s late. I’ll deliver my message another time.’

  He turned and walked away, back towards the auberge, his heart as heavy as a rock.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Thieves, right here in the heart of our defences.’ La Valette shook his head in consternation. ‘It’s an outrage. Whoever it was strolled into the fort and attempted to break into our archives last night. I give thanks to God that they did not account for the quality of the lock or they would have looted the place for whatever they could carry out of the castle. It’s a scandal, gentlemen.’ He looked round the table at his advisers. ‘Not only that but two of our men were injured in the process.’

  There was a tense silence before Colonel Mas spoke. ‘We were lucky they weren’t killed, and lucky the lock held.’

  ‘Luck had nothing to do with it. That lock was made by one of the finest smiths in Paris, as were the locks on the treasury door. Monsieur Berthon assured me that they were impregnable.’

  Thomas nodded thoughtfully, along with the others. Despite his apparent calm his heart was beating swiftly and he could feel the clammy sweat on the palms of his hands.

  Stokely shot him a curious glance before returning his gaze to the Grand Master, who continued speaking.

  ‘I want these robbers found and made an example of. They will be shown no pity, regardless of what rank they hold. The same penalty will apply for all such crimes from now on. We are all in this together, those who serve the Order as well as the common people of Malta. Colonel, I want a reward posted on every main street in Birgu. A hundred gold pieces for the person who captures these criminals, or who can provide information that leads to their capture.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Colonel Mas nodded.

  ‘Very well, from now on I want the guard on the archive doubled, and also the main gate. This will not happen again.’ La

  Valette slapped his hand down on the table. He stared round at the other men and then his expression began to soften. ‘We must address other matters now. Firstly, Sir Oliver, your report on the water supplies. I gather that we are consuming more water than anticipated.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. But there are additional problems. One of the cisterns under St Michael has been contaminated by seawater. There must be a crack somewhere that has allowed the sea to enter. As a result we have lost approximately one-eighth of our supply. I suggest that we begin rationing the water immediately. I know this will not be a popular—’

  ‘Shhh!’ Colonel Mas raised a hand to silence Stokely.

  ‘Colonel, I must protest.’

  ‘Quiet, listen.’ Colonel Mas gestured towards the window. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  They had grown so used to the irregular rhythm of the gunfire from across the harbour that they had begun to ignore it. But now it had ceased.

  Thomas knew at once the meaning behind the silence of the enemy guns. ‘They’re attacking St Elmo.’

  Chairs scraped as everyone rushed to the windows and stared across the calm waters of the harbour towards the end of the Sciberras peninsula. The sound of drums and horns carried from the enemy trenches and Thomas could just make out the tiny figures of Janissaries rushing forward beneath a green banner, from the top of which flowed a white horsehair tail. They surged out of their trenches and across the broken ground towards the defensive ditch in front of the fort. The defenders appeared along the parapet and the first puffs of smoke from the arquebuses blossomed into the dawn air. Those in St Angelo heard the crackle of fire from the fort, and then the sound intensified as the Turkish snipers began picking oft'targets along the battered walls of St Elmo.

  ‘Look there.’ Colonel Mas raised his arm and pointed towards the end of the ravelin visible beyond the fort. ‘Is that an enemy banner flying there? I can’t make it out.’

  Thomas strained his eyes to pick out the detail through the shimmering air across the harbour. Sure enough, there was a banner flying from the top of the ravelin, but neither it nor the figures swarming about it could be distinguished at that distance. Then, as if in response to their anxiety, the light breeze caused the banner to ripple out and there was no mistaking the colour.

  ‘It’s the enemy,’ said Stokely. ‘They’ve taken the ravelin.’

  La Valette shook his head. ‘Impossible! They’ve only just launched their attack. Quite impossible

  Despite what was clear to his eyes, Thomas shared the Grand Master’s disbelief. The Turks would first have had to cross the ditch and deal with the obstacles there, then scale the walls of the ravelin before they even clashed with the defenders. Yet, incredibly, an enemy banner had been planted on the ravelin and now spurts of flame and tiny puffs of smoke showed that the enemy were firing on the fort from the ravelin.

  Mas clenched his hands in frustration. ‘What the devil is going on over there? What is Miranda playing at?’

  ‘Send a boat across,’ La Valette ordered. ‘I want a report at once.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mas nodded and hurried out of the study. The others continued to watch in growing despair as the enemy emerged from the ditch all along the front of the wall and began to plant their scaling ladders against the scarred exterior of the fort. Sunlight glittered off the armour and weapons of the men defending the parapet until flame and smoke obscured the view. Then only the fierce burst of incendiaries and the swirling blaze of fire hoops were briefly visible through the smoke and dust cloaking the fort.

  Below, in the deep blue water of the harbour, Thomas saw a boat striking out across the light swell towards the small landing stage below the fort. The Maltese oarsmen rowed strongly and the boat surged forward. It was over halfway across the placid expanse of water before it drew the attention of the Turks. A handful of Janissary snipers turned their long barrels from the fort and trained them on the boat. Small spurts of water erupted in the sea ahead and to the side of the boat. Those watching from St Angelo shouted their encouragement and willed their comrades on. The enemy’s shots grew more accurate as the boat neared the opposite shore. Then one struck the prow of the boat and splinters burst into the air. An oarsman clasped his arm and his oar blade dropped, dragging the boat round until the man on the tiller corrected the course and bellowed at the injured man to take up his oar. Miraculously the small craft passed out of sight of the snipers as it drew close to the landing at the foot of a low cliff. The rowers slumped over their oars as the officer Mas had ordered to report on the attack clambered from the bows and raced up the steps cut into the rock and made for the entrance at the rear of the fort, close to the cavalier tower.

  The small drama was over and Thomas puffed his cheeks in relief. La Valette ordered his advisers to follow him and led them out of the study and up on to the tower above the keep from where they would have a better view of the attack on St Elmo. The sun climbed into the sky and a breeze blew in from the north, thinning the dense bank of smoke that clung to the front of the fort. As it cleared, the dreadful struggle for the ravelin and the walls was revealed. Bodies lay heaped in front of the wall, mingled with the wreckage of destroyed ladders. On the walls, more bodies were slumped on the parapet and crimson streaks ran down the pitted stonework. Above the carnage the standard of the Order still flew and the distant figures of the knights gleamed as they urged their men on, defying the enemy as they stood in clear view of the snipers firing from the shelter of their trenches, even though they risked hitting their own men.

  Stokely wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head in wonder. ‘How much longer can the Turks endure such punishment?’

  ‘Let them come,’ La Valette replied in a cold voice. ‘The more men they lose in taking St Elmo, the fewer we shall have to face when they attack Senglea and Birgu. And their morale will have taken a beating as well.’

  The words might have been calculating and ruthless, thought Thomas, but the Grand Master was speaking the truth. As long as St Elmo held out, the Turks would throw men against the defences and suff
er appalling losses as a result. In between assaults their cannon would use up precious powder and shot from the supplies they had brought with them from Istanbul. Most important of all, Thomas reflected, they would be wasting precious days of the campaign season. When the rain and storms of autumn arrived, there would be little chance of supplies and reinforcements reaching the Turks.

  At last, as the bells of the churches in Birgu announced midday, the enemy attack finally began to peter out. They fell back from the walls to their trenches, leavijig the ground before the fort carpeted with the bodies of their comrades. The ravelin, however, remained in their hands and the Turkish engineers already seemed to be improving its defences by building up the height. As the last of the enemy withdrew, the guns on the ridge opened fire once more, pounding the defences. Along the walls the defenders disappeared from view as they scurried back into cover.

  La Valette turned away from the grisly spectacle and Thomas saw that he looked weary, and yet there was the same unyielding determination in his eyes as he met Thomas’s gaze. ‘Thanks be to God. We have won ourselves another day.’

  At midday Thomas took Richard to one side as they ate a quick lunch of bread and cheese, washed down by a sharp, vinegary local wine. Thomas quietly related what had been discussed at the morning meeting. Richard listened in silence.

  ‘At least you have what you came for,’ Thomas concluded. ‘I trust that it is worth risking our lives for.’

  ‘Taking such risks is in the nature of the game,’ Richard replied. ‘That is why you are not fit for the work that I do.’

  Thomas shook his head sadly. ‘And it is why you are not fit to serve as a knight, Richard. Such skulduggery is not honourable.’

  ‘Really? You knights kill for your cause, and I do what I must for my country. Would you care to explain - justify - which is the more ethical path?’ He gave Thomas a searching look and then smiled thinly. ‘I thought not.’

  Thomas looked at him with the frustration of one who knows he is in the right but is too weary to explain the matter. For some reason he felt an obligation to guide Richard, as if he was a real squire, or an errant son. At length Thomas sighed. ‘I trust that you have put your prize somewhere safe.’

  ‘It’s as well hidden as I can manage under the circumstances.’

  ‘Good. Then your mission is all but complete. All that remains is to survive the siege,’ he added with an ironic smile. ‘Let us bend our efforts towards rendering good service to La Valette and the Order. Until the siege is over, I serve the Grand Master only, and you serve as my squire and set aside your obedience to Walsingham and his schemes. Agreed?’

  Richard thought for a moment and nodded. ‘Until the siege is over.’

  The young man turned his attention back to his food, bit off a chunk of cheese and chewed hard as he gazed across the harbour towards St Elmo.

  Dusk was settling over the island by the time the officer Colonel Mas had sent to St Elmo returned to make his report. He entered the Grand Master’s study and stood before the table, a bloodied dressing tied about his head. It took a moment before Thomas recognised him as Fadrique, the son of Don Garcia. They exchanged a brief nod of recognition.

  ‘Do you want a chair?’ La Valette asked him.

  ‘No, sir.’ Fadrique drew himself up proudly. ‘I will stand.’

  ‘Very well then. Make your report. What happened at the ravelin?’

  ‘Captain Miranda is not certain, sir. It seems that one of the sentries on duty in the ravelin was shot dead by a sniper. The men on duty on the exposed parts of the wall have taken to lying flat in order not to present the enemy with a clear target. This morning, it appears that the dead man’s comrades assumed he was alive and keeping watch. That was why the Turks were able to put a ladder up against his section of the ravelin and get a party of Janissaries on to it before our men were aware of the danger. By the time they reacted, it was too late and the ravelin was seized by the Turks.’

  ‘That is damned careless,’ Colonel Mas said bitterly. ‘Did Miranda attempt to recapture it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Twice. The second time I joined the counter-attack. The Turks had fortified the ravelin and packed it full of their men. They shot us down as we tried to force our way back inside. We lost three knights and several men before we even reached the ravelin. Then it was hand-to-hand. Captain Miranda managed to get inside with three men, but was forced back and obliged to retreat into the fort.’

  ‘The ravelin is lost to us, then?’ La Valette said.

  ‘Yes, sir. I don’t see how we can retake it now the Turks have thoroughly invested the position. They had already started to build up the level inside before I left the fort. Soon they will be able to fire across the walls into the heart of St Elmo.’ Fadrique paused briefly before he concluded his report. ‘Captain Miranda says that the fort cannot hold out for much longer. A matter of days at most. He has already been approached by a deputation of knights to send you a formal request for permission to evacuate the fort.’

  ‘Evacuate?’ La Valette frowned. ‘It’s out of the question. Captain Miranda and his men know how vital the position is. They must hold on for as long as possible at any cost. Do you hear?’ He stabbed a finger at Fadrique.

  The Spaniard sighed. ‘Sir, I am only repeating what I was told.’

  The Grand Master relented. ‘Of course. I apologise, young man. You have done well. Now go and have my surgeon see to that wound.’

  ‘It is little more than a scratch, sir.’

  ‘Then it should not take much time to attend to it,’ La Valette responded tersely, with a wave towards the door. Fadrique bowed his head and left the room. Once the door had closed behind the Spaniard, Colonel Mas leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

  ‘What are your intentions, sir?’

  La Valette thought for a moment. ‘Miranda must hold out. We can supply the garrison of St Elmo with more ammunition and reinforcements by night.’

  ‘Not for much longer, sir. This afternoon I saw Turkish engineers marking the ground for more batteries on Gallows Point, and on the headland opposite. Once they have placed guns there they can sweep the harbour between St Elmo and this fort. No boats will be able to cross. The garrison will be cut off. In any case, resupplying Miranda is only part of the problem. The key issue is morale. If his men are already petitioning him to request permission to withdraw, then it is the first step along the road to mutiny.’ Mas looked round at the others. ‘Gentlemen, I have served in many armies, in many wars, and I have seen enough to know that mutiny unchecked is a disease. It destroys an army just as surely as defeat in battle. We cannot allow the men at St Elmo to withdraw. ’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Stokely. ‘Surely it is better that they add to our strength here than be taken prisoner by the enemy.’

  ‘No. If the Grand Master allows them to quit the fort it will set a precedent. It can only encourage those in Birgu and Senglea who lack the resolve to see the siege through. Better that they stay in St Elmo and buy the rest of us as much time as possible. It is a hard truth, I know. But we have no choice. They must remain at their posts.’

  La Valette nodded thoughtfully. ‘But there is a risk that it may spur them to mutiny. And that might be worse than allowing them to quit St Elmo.’

  ‘If they can be persuaded to stay and fight to the end of their own free will,’ Thomas intervened, ‘they will provide an inspiration to the rest of us defending the island.’

  ‘And how do you propose that we persuade them, exactly?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘They appear to have already made up their minds, and every enemy gun that fires on the fort will only add weight to their decision.’

  ‘These men are knights of the Order of St John, the last of the great military orders pledged to fight Islam and recover the Holy Land. There is no higher honour in Christendom than membership of this Order. So what could be more wounding to the hearts of the men defending St Elmo than a sense of shame?’

  La Valette stared at hi
m. ‘What do you suggest, Sir Thomas?’

  ‘I suggest that you appeal to their sense of honour, remind them of the tradition of which they are a part. Remind them of the oath they took to fight the enemies of Christendom to the last drop of blood. That is one part of the strategy I suggest. The other is to issue a call for volunteers here in Birgu to replace those who no longer have the heart to defend St Elmo. My guess is that those here who know little of the condition in the fort will readily volunteer. If the men of Miranda’s garrison try to force the issue of evacuation then you assent, and let them know that for every man who wishes to quit St Elmo, there are three or four in Birgu willing to take his place. Once they know that, they will fear shame and dishonour far more than they fear death. I would wager my life on it.’

  ‘It may come to that.’ La Valette smiled, then turned to Colonel Mas. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think that the devious reputation of the English is well- deserved.’ Mas reflected a moment. ‘It is the best way to proceed, sir. Despite what I said earlier. In normal circumstances I would insist on, and enforce, discipline. However, our situation is desperate and sometimes men need more than an order to compel them to fight.’

  ‘Very well.’ La Valette nodded. ‘We shall appeal to their honour. Meanwhile, I shall issue a proclamation asking for volunteers to reinforce St Elmo. And I pray you are right that there will be men with enough heart to answer the call, Sir Thomas.’

  Thomas was aware that the other members of the council were all looking at him and there was a fleeting moment of fear before he cleared his throat and spoke as calmly as he could. ‘Sir, I request your permission to be the first man to volunteer.’

  C H APT E R T HIRTY-T WO

  A day later, every place in the small force to be sent to St Elmo had been filled, and many more men had been turned away. The friar, Robert of Eboli, had insisted on accompanying the men to offer his spiritual support to their fight. The Grand Master concluded his evening meeting and asked for Colonel Mas and Thomas to remain behind. ‘Are you certain about your decision?’ La Valette asked. ‘I am loath to lose two of my best advisers.’ Colonel Mas nodded. ‘It is, as Sir Thomas argued, the only way. It is vital that no one doubts that we all share the same risks, and the same fate, without exception. Save you, sir. You are indispensable. The men of St Elmo are close to breaking point and are beyond the normal codes of obedience and appeals to duty. All they have left is their sense of honour. If Sir Thomas and I return to the fort with fifty volunteers and tell them that you have a thousand more willing to take their place, they will stay the fight to the end. I am sure of it.’