‘I am sure of it, sir. This is the great battle of our age. The decisive test of arms between our faith and the false faith of Islam.’ Thomas pursed his lips but held his peace.
The Spaniard gestured towards the entrance. ‘If you follow me I shall provide you with refreshment while you wait on my father’s pleasure.’
Thomas smiled faintly as he recalled the fine manners of those Spaniards he had once fought alongside. He bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’
Inside the building they passed through a tiled hall with arches leading off into gloomy corridors on either side. Other than a handful of guards on duty, there was little sign of activity. The three men’s footsteps echoed off the walls.
‘It seems very quiet here,’ Thomas commented. ‘I had assumed your father’s staff would be busy planning for the campaign.’
‘It is all in hand, I assure you,’ Fadrique said lightly. ‘Most of his staff officers are down at the shipyard overseeing the loading of our galleys. We sail for Sicily in a matter of days. Once we have joined forces with our allies we shall confront the Turk.’
They entered a modest chamber with a long table stretching down the centre. Comfortable chairs stood on each side and two, more ostentatious, stood one at each end. Fadrique waved them towards the table.
‘Please sit. I have given orders for food and wine to be brought to you. Now, if you will excuse me I shall attend my father until he is ready to meet you.’ He bowed again and left them alone. Once the door had shut, Richard let out a sigh. ‘Just five knights. . . There should be more than that making for Barcelona. Many more.’
‘There is time yet,’ Thomas countered. ‘And, as he says, they might be taking other routes.’
Richard stared at him. ‘Do you really believe that?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘It does no harm to hope for the best and accept the worst.’
‘That is a fool’s philosophy.’
Thomas was not disheartened. ‘The greater the odds we are required to face, the more our share of the glory.’
‘Glory, that’s what you knights live for. I understand that. But whereas your glorious deeds will be entered, by name, in the record, that is not the case for those in the lower orders. Our heroes are faceless. I have little desire to add to the sum of obscurity, Sir Thomas.’
They were interrupted by a servant who entered the room carrying a tray. He crossed to the table without meeting their eyes and set the tray down. Then with a deep bow of his head he retreated a few steps before turning and hurrying out.
‘There,’ said Richard. ‘That is what becomes of those who have no place in history.’ „
Thomas did not respond for a moment but silently took a plate from the tray, placed the other in front of his companion and poured them both a cup of wine. Then he looked at Richard and spoke in a quiet, weary tone.
‘I cannot help the way that history marks the passage of a man’s life, Richard. Nor can I mend the accident of your birth. So it achieves nothing to lay your troubles before me with such poor grace. All that matters is that we do our duty. I, to the Order I have pledged my life to defend. You, to your masters in London, for the sake of whatever task they have placed in your hands. You must
help me in my duty, in so far as you can. For my part, I would be better placed to assist you if I knew more of your purpose in Malta.’ Richard’s dark eyes stared back. ‘I can tell no more than you already know.’
‘And what happens if any ill fate should befall you?’
‘In that event, I dare say Walsingham will send another agent to complete the mission.’
‘I see. And your master has a ready supply of men who speak as many languages as you do?’
Richard looked down at his plate and delicately picked up a lamb chop. He took a small bite and began to chew.
‘I thought not.’ Thomas smiled to himself. ‘So if you are lost, the mission is over. Unless you can tell me more about the document.’
Richard swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Why not? Surely you can see the sense of it?’
‘I have my orders.’
‘I understand. But if the stakes are as high as Sir Robert said, then it is vital that one or other of us retrieves the document and returns with it to England.’
‘Assuming that either of us survives the attack on Malta,’ Richard replied wryly.
Thomas pursed his lips. ‘Granted.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but my orders are clear. I am to tell you nothing about it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Walsingham does not trust you.’
‘I see. Then what about Cecil?’
‘Sir Robert respects Walsingham’s judgement in nearly all things.’ Thomas folded his fingers together and rested them against his chin as he felt the anger rise in him. This was a wound to his honour. ‘I take it that their suspicions arise from my religious convictions — because I am a Catholic. Is there some aspect of the document that would make it dangerous if I was to know its content?’
‘I cannot say,’ Richard replied before he took another bite of meat.
‘Cannot, or will not?’
‘I have already said more than is wise. If it helps to put your mind at rest then know that Cecil trusts that you consider yourself an Englishman first and a Catholic second. But enough. I will speak no more on it. Talk of something else, if you must.’
‘Very well. Tell me, are you a Protestant, like your masters, or of the Church of Rome?’
Richard stopped eating as he considered the question. ‘Surely you must know. Do you really think Cecil would employ a Catholic in his service? That is no question.’
‘And were you always a Protestant?’ Thomas persisted.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I am curious to know you better. In the conflict that lies before us I would prefer to know what manner of man will be fighting at my side.’
‘And knowing if I have been a Catholic will make a difference?’ Richard chuckled briefly. ‘It would be better to know if I have ever killed a man.’
‘And have you?’ Thomas watched him closely.
‘No. But I am sure that I will have done before I return to England.’
Before Thomas was able to probe any further the door opened and a heavily built man in his fifties entered. His hair was grey and thinning and his beard clipped close on his ponderous jowls. The eyes, however, were lively and alert and he scrutinised the two Englishmen rising from their chairs. Fadrique entered behind him and made the introductions.
‘His Excellency Captain General at Sea of his most Catholic Majesty King Philip of Spain and Viceroy of Sicily, Don Garcia Alvarez de Toledo.’
Don Garcia advanced towards them and stopped just out of reach as Thomas made to reply with a dignified bow. ‘It is an honour to meet you, sir. Sir Thomas Barrett, and his squire Richard Hughes, at your service.’
‘Fadrique tells me that you are travelling to Malta.’ Don Garcia spoke softly with a faint lisp. ‘You are answering La Valette’s call to arms.’
‘That is so.’ Thomas nodded.
‘Then you are most welcome, Sir Thomas. Particularly given your hard-won reputation on the battlefields of Europe.’ Don Garcia smiled warmly.
Thomas was mildly surprised that his reputation was known in Barcelona. He smiled modestly. ‘That was some years ago.’
‘Experience is everything in warfare.’
‘Almost. But numbers play their part.’
Don Garcia patted Thomas on the arm. ‘I trust your journey has been untroubled thus far.’
Visions of the storms that they had battled on the voyage to Spain passed fleetingly before Thomas’s mind’s eye but he suppressed them and nodded. ‘We have made good time, sir, given the season.’ Don Garcia looked at him shrewdly. ‘The Atlantic in winter can be like a wild beast. You have done well to reach us. And it is good that you have. Every man will be needed to bolster the defences of Malta. But pardon me, you must be weary.’ He waved a
hand towards the chairs. ‘Sit, please. I did not mean to interrupt your meal.’
Once the four men were seated, Thomas pushed aside his plate, the food upon it untouched. He indicated to Richard to do the same, as it would be unseemly for the squire to eat alone in front of his superiors.
‘Sir Thomas, forgive me if I avoid the usual niceties and come directly to the point. I have little time before I sail for Malta. What do you know of the situation?’
‘Only what I was told by the knight who brought the summons to me in England, sir. He said that the Grand Master had intelligence of the Sultan’s plan to take Malta and eradicate the Order of St John once and for all.’
‘That is so.’ Don Garcia nodded. ‘He must secure Malta to protect his supply line. And that is where we must hold him. I have no doubt about his wider strategy. For many years Suleiman, and his corsair allies, have been extending their influence throughout the western Mediterranean. Every spring we have been watching the eastern horizon, waiting for the assault, but they have been content merely to probe the coasts of Italy, France and Spain, seizing our ships, or raiding coastal villages and small towns for slaves. There has been little that we could do to prevent it. By the time we receive a report and despatch a fleet to the scene, the enemy has slipped away. Meanwhile, I have been doing all in my power to ready our defences and prepare our galleys for the onslaught when it comes, as it must. Now that time is upon us. There is no question of it. Our spy in Istanbul has seen the enemy’s preparations at first hand. Galleys and galleons are massing in the Golden Horn, while daily wagons enter the city with powder, shot, siege tools and rations. Outside the walls, tens of thousands of soldiers have gathered to await the order to embark.’ He sat back and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. ‘There is no question that the Turks are coming. This is the moment I have long dreaded. This is the year when our faith must make a stand or fall under the shadow of the crescent.’
‘Then we shall make our stand,’ Thomas said firmly, ‘and if the Order is wiped out, then the manner in which we face our destruction will inspire the rest of Christendom to match our example.’
‘I pray that you are right, Sir Thomas. If the rulers of Europe do not make common cause against the greater threat then we are lost. Our people will be forced to kneel before the false religion. It is a small mercy that none of us at this table will live to see that day. I swear before you that I will die with a sword in my hand, and Jesu’s blessed name on my bloodied lips, ere I kiss the foot of Suleiman.’
‘So swear we all,’ Thomas replied and crossed himself.
There was a brief stillness before Don Garcia spoke again. ‘I have chosen to concentrate my forces on Sicily. His Majesty has informed the other powers of Europe that if they wish to be allied to our great cause they must send their men and their ships to join us in Sicily. With good fortune I shall have enough galleys at my disposal to face Suleiman’s fleet. I will also be able to sail south if he strikes at Malta first, and north if he lands in Italy.’
‘A wise plan, sir,’ Thomas agreed.
‘Wise? Yes.’ Don Garcia smiled. ‘But unless I receive all the forces that I have been promised, we can have little hope of victory.’ Fadrique cleared his throat. ‘However few our numbers, we shall always have God on our side. We cannot be defeated. Our Lord is all-powerful and would not permit it.’
His father looked at him indulgently. ‘Of course you are right.’ Then he turned back to Thomas. ‘I leave for Sicily tomorrow with six galleys, escorting four galleons carrying the first two thousand men to establish my base of operations. I will go from there to Malta to confer with La Valette. I would be pleased to offer you and your squire a place on my flagship.’
‘That is most generous of you, sir.’
‘Then be aboard by first light. We sail at dawn.’ Don Garcia rose from his chair and the others followed suit. ‘Now you will have to excuse me. There are still many details to attend to. Fadrique will see to it that you are provided with quarters here in the citadel, and stabling for your horses.’
‘They are not mine, but the property of your King, loaned to us by the port master in Bilbao.’
‘Then they can be impressed into my army. Now, I bid you good day, gentlemen. Please, finish your meal and rest. Come, Fadrique!’
Despite his bulk Don Garcia moved with great energy and strode swiftly from the room, his son hurrying after him. The door closed behind them and their footsteps faded. Richard drew his plate back across the table and continued eating for a moment before he spoke quietly. ‘The odds against us are not encouraging.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘That has always been the case as far as the Order is concerned. Throughout its history.’
‘The heroic ideal,’ Richard mused. ‘Or perhaps a way to add glory to a suicidal compulsion.’
‘Still your tongue. You know not of what you speak. The men of the Order are sworn to fight for the glory of God, and no other purpose. Suicide is a sin, and well you know it.’ Thomas restrained his irritation and continued in a wry tone. ‘Besides, as Don Garcia’s son said, God will be on our side.’
‘Yes, a divine change of heart would be welcome. He did not seem to be in evidence when Suleiman took Rhodes from the Order. And where was he when the Order was almost wiped out at the fall of Acre? What makes you think he will stand behind you, behind us, at Malta?’
‘It can do our cause no harm to put faith in the Lord,’ Thomas replied, though he shared Richard’s doubts. He looked up to see the younger man watching him closely.
‘I wonder, if it is God’s will to heap such sorrow on those who worship Him, I cannot help but question His purpose.’
‘Be careful, Richard. That is blasphemous.’
‘It is only philosophy. My point is that both sides in the coming conflict are fighting in the name of their faiths. If the Turks win, does that mean that God has forsaken us, or that their faith is the more potent? If the faith of both sides is equally strong then this fight will be decided by men alone.’
Thomas could not disagree but if he could no longer kill in the name of Christ, he would still fight to prevent being killed in the name of Allah. ‘If it is to be settled by men, then so be it. I am ready to play my part.’ He stood up. ‘I need to take a walk.’
‘Shall I—’
‘No. You stay here. Finish your meal, then fetch our bags and rest. Get as much rest as you can. All too soon it will be a luxury you will crave as no other.’
‘Save the final rest.’
Thomas thought a moment and shook his head. ‘Even that you may come to welcome before this is over.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The flotilla was only half a day out of the harbour at Palma on the island of Mallorca, and Thomas and Richard were enjoying the cool morning breeze, when the first sail was sighted. A sailor in the small crow’s nest at the top of the main mast shaded his eyes with one hand while the other stretched out, pointing towards the northern horizon, into the wind blowing from the direction of France.
The flagship’s captain stepped towards the stern deck rail and cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘What do you see?’
There was a short pause as the sailor scanned the horizon, straining his eyes to pick up as much detail as he could. On the main deck of the galley everyone stood and waited on his word.
‘I see two lateen sails, sir.’
‘More than likely it’s a galley,’ said Thomas.
‘How do you know?’ asked Richard as he craned his neck and stared across the slight swell. ‘I can’t even see it.’
‘And you won’t for a while yet. They’ll be hull down for an hour or so.’
‘Hull down?’
Thomas grinned as he recalled that his squire had spent most of the trip from London curled up in misery in the galleon’s cabin. ‘You know little of the ways of the sea.’
‘Yes, and I have no intention of boarding a ship ever again when this is over,’ Richard added with feeling.
�
�Since you are an educated man, you must have heard that the world is round.’
Richard shot him an irritated look. ‘Of course.’
‘Then it should be self-evident why the sails of a ship are visible before the hull, given that the horizon is curved.’
Richard ground his teeth. ‘I knew that.’
‘Deck there!’ the lookout shouted. ‘I see more sails. Three . . . five, more. They look like galleys . . . Yes, I’m sure of it.’
‘Come.’ Thomas tugged his squire’s sleeve and they climbed the short flight of steps and joined the group of officers clustered around Don Garcia.
The captain turned away from the rail and sought out his commander. ‘Corsairs, sir.’
‘Surely not,’ Fadrique protested. ‘If they are corsairs, then why are they approaching from the north? Their lairs are on the African coast to the south.’
‘They are to windward, sir,’ explained the captain. Thomas had once spoken Spanish well and it was swiftly coming back to him; he found he could follow the exchange without difficulty. The captain continued, ‘They have the advantage over us. It is more than likely they have been following us for days and have worked their way round to the north to gain the weatherly advantage.’ He turned his attention to Don Garcia. ‘What are your orders, my lord?’
The Spanish commander looked out over the ships of his flotilla. The galleys formed a loose cordon around the galleons wallowing in their midst. The decks of the ponderous vessels were packed with soldiers and their arms and other equipment. They would be easy prey for any corsair galley that managed to evade the escort vessels.
‘At all costs we must protect the galleons,’ Don Garcia announced, ‘assuming that those are enemy ships. I will take no risks. Give the signal to send the men to their battle stations, Captain, and signal the other galleys to do the same, if you please.’
‘Aye, sir.’
A moment later the drummer on the main deck was beating out a shrill rattle and the soldiers hurriedly strapped on their breastplates and helmets and readied their weapons while the sailors climbed aloft and spread out along the spars to wait for the order to take the sails in. Below deck came the sound of a whip cracking and the rumble of timbers as the oars were unshipped and eased out of the ports along the sides of Don Garcia’s flagship. Thomas felt his heartbeat quicken at the sounds and the movement, even the stink wafting up from below. Old memories and sensations welled up
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