Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘You mean, under torture.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cecil admitted freely. ‘And the document remains in Malta, where Sir Peter must have secreted it. You must find it if you can. You, or rather, our agent. Are there further questions, Sir Thomas?’

  ‘Yes. You seem certain that I will accept your mission. Why should I not refuse?’

  ‘Because you are a knight, both of this realm and of the Order of St John and that places certain obligations upon you. You are a man of honour, and principle. If you can be instrumental in averting the catastrophe that threatens your country you will seize the chance to do so, unless I have utterly mistaken your character. Furthermore, you are a Catholic, and live at the whim of a Protestant Queen and her ministers, of whom I am the foremost. I need not point out the implications of your situation. Suffice to say that you have my word that I will protect you upon completion of the mission. If you refuse

  Thomas shook his head. ‘I do not need to be threatened.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but it is as well that you know that there is no real choice in the matter. That should be of some small comfort to you in the hard times ahead.’

  ‘My thanks for your solicitude,’ Thomas responded acidly. ‘I have one more question. Who is this agent of yours, the one who is to be my squire? I presume he is the man waiting in the anteroom. ’ Cecil smiled. ‘Then you have met already. Young Richard is one of the most accomplished men in my service. I put it down to the fact that I took him on as an orphan. He did not know his parents and so he owes his loyalty to me. He shows great promise and this will be the first big test of his skills. He speaks French, Spanish and Italian like a native and has fluency in Maltese.’

  ‘And yet he is not quite English,’ said Thomas. ‘There is an accent and a certain Latin look about him.’

  ‘He is as English as you or I, and I have complete faith in him. As must you if you are to see this mission through.’

  ‘Trust has to be earned, Sir Robert. It is not a commodity to be freely given. ’

  ‘Then you had better get to know Richard as soon as possible. Sir Francis, fetch him in.’

  Walsingham’s eyes flashed with a glint of irritation at his superior’s peremptory manner but he rose swiftly and crossed the room. As Thomas watched, the soft tread and fluid movement reminded him of a cat, an apt demeanour for the man who stalked and killed his prey with no compassion.

  When Walsingham had disappeared through the door there was a brief silence until Thomas leaned forward and spoke quietly.

  ‘I have no need of a squire. It would be better to entrust this matter to me alone. If I give you my word to return the document without reading it then your spy can remain here, out of danger.’ There was an amused look on Cecil’s face as he shook his head. ‘A considerate offer, but while you may have no real need for a squire, my need for a trusted pair of eyes and ears on the spot is very real to me. You must take Richard with you and that is an end to it.’

  Before Thomas could reply there came the sound of footsteps and a moment later Walsingham re-entered the room, followed by the young man Thomas had seen earlier. They approached the table and Walsingham resumed his seat while Cecil’s agent stood to one side.

  ‘Richard, I gather you have already met our guest,’ said Cecil. ‘We only exchanged a few words, master.’

  ‘Then it is time for a formal introduction. Sir Thomas, I give you Richard Hughes, your squire.’

  Thomas rose and walked over to the young man, stopping at arm’s length to look him over thoroughly for the first time. Hughes was tall and broad-shouldered. His doublet fitted him well and there was no unnecessary adornment to the sleeves, no ruff collar, and his hair was neatly cut and free of the oils and pomades that were fashionable amongst young men of a certain social status in London. Thomas approved of that, then looked straight into the man’s eyes. His gaze was met unflinchingly, and yet there was something else there besides boldness, Thomas sensed. A coldness, and a simmering degree of resentment.

  ‘Whatever the true nature of your orders may be, you are to be my squire first and foremost. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When I give an order you will obey it without question, just as would be expected of any squire.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Provided it does not conflict with my instructions from Sir Robert.’

  ‘I have little idea what your instructions are, but if we are to succeed in convincing the knights of the Order that we are what we purport to be then it must be as second nature for you to do my bidding. I take it you have been instructed in the duties of a squire?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Thomas arched an eyebrow. ‘Really? And when exactly did Sir Robert inform you of your mission?’

  The young man’s gaze wavered and he glanced over Thomas’s shoulder towards his master. Cecil nodded. ‘Speak the truth.’

  ‘Two days ago, sir.’

  ‘I see. And you have learned all the elements of this new position in that time?’

  ‘I have been extensively briefed by the squire of the Queen’s champion, sir. The rest I can learn on the road to Malta. If you will instruct me.’

  Thomas shook his head and turned to the others. ‘It is folly to use this man.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you will take him,’ Walsingham replied firmly. ‘You will train him in what he needs to know and do. I grow weary of your truculence. Were you not the only individual with a chance of serving our needs then I would readily pick another. You will go to Malta, with Richard as your squire. The matter is settled.’

  Anger flared in Thomas’s heart and for a moment he was tempted to confront Walsingham and refuse the mission, whatever consequences followed. The satisfaction of denying him, and perhaps challenging him to back his arrogance up with his blade was almost too tempting for Thomas.

  ‘He has agreed to our request,’ Cecil intervened. ‘There is no more to be said. Come now, we are all on the same side. There is no call for ire. All that remains is for Sir Thomas to settle his affairs and arrange for the good management of his estate in his absence. Such is the nature of his mission that he need not spend an undue amount of time preparing whatever baggage he requires for the coming campaign.’

  ‘How long do I have to prepare?’

  ‘Two days.’ Sir Francis smiled faintly. ‘There is a Danish galleon loading at Greenwich. She sails for Spain in two days’ time. You and Richard will be on that ship.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Cecil added, and then, with more feeling, ‘God be with you . . .’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bilbao, Spain

  New Year’s Eve, 1565

  Thomas looked on in frustration as his squire engaged in a fraught conversation with the port master. It had been many years since he had spoken the tongue, albeit imperfectly even then, and he was only able to catch a few words that passed between Richard and the official, and little sense of what was being said. Meanwhile he stood on the glistening stones of the quay as a chilling drizzle beaded his cloak. They had disembarked from the Danish vessel at midday and were immediately confronted by a patrol. The Spanish sergeant in charge of the men had demanded to know his business and refused to let him proceed unless he could provide documentation that proved Thomas had leave to travel across Spain. The letter from Sir Oliver had been brushed aside and a man had been sent to find the port master.

  Thomas, Richard and the soldiers of the patrol had been forced to wait on the blustery quay while behind them the fishing boats and cargo ships bobbed and swayed on the grey swell rolling into the harbour from the Bay of Biscay. After a while the sergeant had retired to a nearby inn and left orders that the two Englishmen were to remain under guard and no one was to move until the port master’s will was known. So the small party had settled down to wait, Thomas and his squire sitting on their bags hunched in their capes while the Spaniards leaned against the mooring posts, the rain dripping steadily from the rims of their morion helmets.

  As it was winter,
there was little activity in the port and the cargo of glassware from Denmark and wool from London was quickly unloaded into a warehouse before the crew hurried below deck to the relative Comfort of their hammocks. All was quiet along the quay, except for the hiss of rain and the sweep and swirl of the wind when it picked up. A handful of locals passed by, casting suspicious glances at the two Englishmen under guard. For his part, Thomas was glad to be ashore. In the years that he had served on the Order’s galleys he had rarely been to sea in winter, and never in waters exposed to the seasonal fury of the Adantic Ocean.

  The Danish galleon had emerged from the mouth of the Thames and crossed the Channel before hugging the French coastline. A violent storm had blown them out to sea and for five days the crew had had little sleep as they battled the heavy sea, losing the main spar and sail in the struggle. Icy sea water sluiced across the deck and soaked through their clothes as the vessel shuddered under the impact of each wave and soared and swooped from swell to swell. The seasickness was the worst that Thomas had ever experienced and after he and his fellow passengers — Richard and three priests returning to Spain from Amsterdam — had thrown up the last contents of their stomachs, they had retreated to the tiny communal cabin they shared. Thomas sat with his back to one of the thick compass timbers and hugged his knees to try and keep warm. Richard did the same a short distance away, head tucked down, while the priests clutched their rosaries and prayed until their voices gave out and then fell to muttering as they beseeched the Lord for mercy.

  It was in that moment of greatest vulnerability that Thomas took careful stock of his companion, watching him closely over his folded arms. Despite his youth, no more than twenty years, Thomas estimated, he seemed to have a cool, detached maturity, frequently looking about him, at his surroundings and at those he came into contact with. So far he had said litde to Thomas beyond what was absolutely necessary and civil. Only when the galleon had broached the heavy seas in the Channel did the implacable facade slip for an instant. They had been standing on deck when a wave had crashed over the bows. Richard had been caught unawares and was swept off his feet. As the water carried him several feet along the deck he had cried out in alarm and then looked at Thomas with an instinctive appeal for help. Thomas had braced himself, legs spread to retain his balance, and with one hand clasping the bulwark he had grasped Richard’s hand with the other and hauled him off the deck. A small roller following in the wake of the wave pitched them together, as if they were friends embracing. At once Richard had pushed himself free and his expression returned to its usual coldness, his dark eyes narrowing as he nodded his gratitude before making his way down to the cabin to change into dry clothes. It had been only the briefest of moments, but he had revealed a very human aspect to his character and at the time Thomas could not help smiling at his squire’s shame for having done so.

  As soon as the storm had subsided the captain turned his ship towards land and they made for La Rochelle to rest and make repairs before continuing the voyage. The galleon picked its way along the coast of the Bay of Biscay and passed the border between France and Spain on a cheerless Christmas Day. It had been Thomas’s intention to land at San Sebastian, but the port was being besieged by the French and the captain had continued to Bilbao instead, over the protests of the priests who had demanded to be set ashore at San Sebastian.

  As Thomas had sat brooding on the quay the soldier finally returned with the port master who launched into a tirade when Richard attempted to explain the purpose of their journey. Behind them the sergeant crept out of the door of the inn and rejoined his men before he was missed. Thomas listened to the angry exchange for a while before he stirred and rose stiffly to his feet. His body was no longer as keen a hound to its master and did not respond willingly. His muscles trembled from the cold and wet and felt heavy as he walked across to interrupt the two men locked in argument.

  ‘What is the problem with our friend?’

  Richard glanced round. ‘He says that all Spanish ports are closed to travellers from England, on the orders of King Philip, in reprisal for the Queen’s continued persecution of Catholics.’

  ‘Really? Then tell him that I am a Catholic.’

  Richard translated and the port master replied shortly and tilted his nose up.

  ‘He says that you are still an Englishman.’

  ‘That is true, and it is no cause for apology. Tell him it is he who should be apologising for detaining us here.’

  Richard hesitated. ‘We are supposed to pass through Spain as discreetly as possible, sir.’

  ‘Discretion is one thing, humiliation is quite another. I am an English knight, marching to serve the Order of St John, and defend all Christendom against the Turk. If this man impedes me then he will not only answer to his King, but also to his God.’ He reached into his cloak and took out the leather tube in which he kept the letter from Sir Oliver. He extracted the letter and held it up for the port master to see. ‘This is the seal of the Order, and this letter is my call to arms. Tell him.’

  Richard nodded and addressed the Spanish official. The latter’s expression turned to one of alarm as he leaned forward to inspect the seal. He waved the document away and began speaking hurriedly. Then he bowed to Thomas, nodded to Richard and turned away to issue his orders to the sergeant in command of the patrol before striding back into the town.

  Thomas carefully replaced the letter and stopped up the tube before he spoke. ‘Well?’

  ‘He says that we are welcome to stay in the officers’ quarters of the customs house. The sergeant will escort us there. The port master says he will arrange for us to have a warrant to travel across Spain to Barcelona. That is where a fleet, under the command of Don Garcia de Toledo, is being readied to send against the Turks. He will also provide us with two horses for the journey.’

  Thomas pursed his lips appreciatively. ‘It is amazing what the threat of a little divine vengeance will do to the motivation of a minor official.’

  The corners of the squire’s mouth flickered briefly into a smile. ‘I confess that I embellished the tale a little.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I said that the letter was co-signed by the Viceroy of Catalonia.’

  Now it was Thomas’s turn to smile. ‘Ah, so it was earthly rather than divine authority that swayed his will.’

  ‘As is always the case with petty officials.’

  The sergeant beckoned to them and gave a curt order to two of his men to pick up the baggage. Finally they left the rainswept quay and made their way up a narrow street into the port.

  The customs house was a square building with offices downstairs where merchants were obliged to bring their cargo manifestos and pay the duty owing on them. Few ships ventured on the seas during the winter months and the sole clerk had closed his ledger and was cleaning his quills with an old rag when the two Englishmen arrived. They were led Upstairs to a modest room with four simple beds, a few chairs and a small fireplace with logs and kindling in a basket to one side. The clerk brought them up a lamp and some bread, cheese and a jug of wine before bidding them a good night. They heard the door downstairs close and then the rattle of a lock.

  ‘That’s that, then.’ Thomas let out a sigh as he looked round the room. ‘I’ll take the bed nearest the fire.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Now that they were alone Thomas noticed that his companion had dropped the deference due from a squire to his knight.

  ‘And you can get the fire lit before we eat. We need to get warm and dry our clothes.’

  Richard frowned at him but before he could speak, Thomas raised a warning finger. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘You were sent on a mission on behalf of Sir Robert Cecil, not to be my squire, and you’re starting to resent it.’

  ‘I wonder why I might do that? After all, I am an educated man. I have studied at Cambridge, I speak a number of languages, I have performed valuable serv
ices for the Secretary of State. All of which is perfect preparation for being the dogsbody of a knight long past his prime.’ He paused and gritted his teeth before saying apologetically, ‘Pardon me, I am cold and exhausted. I spoke out of turn.’ Thomas laughed and shook his head in wonder. ‘That is the most you have said to me since we left England. Truly.’

  Richard shrugged, and undid the clasp of his cloak and let the sodden garment drop to the floor.

  ‘Well, it’s good to know a little of your background,’ Thomas continued in an amused tone. ‘And that you consider that my best years are long behind me.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  ‘No need. You are right, I am no longer the warrior of my youth. But I assure you, when I was your age my body was as well shaped as yours. Better perhaps. Even now, who knows?’

  The young man had removed his leather jerkin and struggled out of his woollen shirt before he stared at Thomas with an amused expression. ‘You would try your strength against me?’

  ‘You think I would be afraid to?’

  ‘No. Not from what I know of you, Sir Thomas. But I think you would be unwise to.’

  Thomas cocked an eyebrow but kept his silence as he also removed his wet garments until he was standing in his boots and breeches and his powerful torso was revealed. The knotted white flesh of old scars was clearly visible by the pale glow of the lamp and he saw Richard staring at him curiously, before he looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘I’ll light the fire,’ said Thomas. ‘There’s another lamp over there. Take it, and go and see if you can find some more blankets. I want to be warm tonight at least, before we continue on our way.’ Richard nodded. Using a length of straw from a tear in one of the mattresses as a taper, he lit the lamp’s wick and left the room. Alone, Thomas eased himself down on to the floor beside the fireplace. His damp skin felt colder still in the chill air and he shivered as he built up the kindling over a small bed of straw and then applied a small flame. It caught readily and Thomas leaned forward, blowing gently to encourage it. Soon there was a soft hiss and crackle as the small flames licked up around the kindling. By the time Richard returned, the room was lit by the rosy glow of the fire and shadows danced on the plaster walls of the room.