Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘You will!’ Thomas rounded on him. ‘Or I will have you flogged for insubordination, as I would have any squire flogged. Apologise. Now. I will not ask again.’

  Sir Martin watched the exchange with a slight smile of amusement. ‘A good squire needs regular beatings, I say.’

  Richard flinched slightly at his master’s anger and glared back defiantly, then lowered his eyes as he slowly turned towards Sir Oliver in silence. When he did not speak the knight tapped his fingers on the table.

  ‘You have something to say to me, young man?’

  The squire’s shoulders dropped slightly as he answered in a strained voice, ‘If it please you, sir, I beg to apologise for my intemperate manner. I have done you wrong in presuming to speak freely before my superior. For that I apologise, humbly.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Now take your place at the bottom of the table and do not interrupt your betters again or, as Sir Thomas said, you will be flogged.’

  ‘Yes, Sir Oliver,’ Richard replied in as meek a manner as he could affect. He bowed his head and made his way to the bench at the far end of the long table and sat down. Sir Oliver turned his attention back to Thomas. He was about to speak when Jenkins returned with three silver plates in one hand and a platter of cold meat and bread in the other. He set the plates down in front of the two knights and the squire, heaping each one with cuts of meat and hunks of bread. From a cupboard by the wall he fetched them a goblet each, together with a jug of watered wine, before making his way back towards the kitchen to await further instructions. As his footsteps receded, Sir Oliver gestured towards Sir Martin.

  ‘I wonder what you would do in this situation.’

  ‘Me?’ Sir Martin looked puzzled. ‘What situation?’

  ‘I assume you know what it is necessary to know about the guilty past of Sir Thomas?’

  Sir Martin glanced sidelong at Thomas but the latter’s expression was fixed and unfathomable.

  ‘Well now, I have heard a thing or two, yes. But I have known many knights who have sought the comfort of a wench.’

  ‘The daughter of a Neapolitan noble is hardly a wench,’ Sir Oliver replied coldly. ‘As any decent gentleman would know. The Order is prepared to look the other way when a knight forsakes his vows to take his pleasure of a common slattern, but the despoiling of a woman of noble blood is another matter entirely and is intolerable. A man who did that is without honour and is unfit for the company of the other members of our sacred Order. If I were such a man I could not endure the shame of what I had done. I would quit Malta at once and take myself off into exile for what was left of my pitiful life. The question stands, Sir Martin, what would you do in the place of Sir Thomas?’

  The knight shook his head warily and shrugged. ‘It is not for me to say.’

  ‘But it is,’ Sir Oliver insisted. ‘I am asking you quite directly.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’

  ‘There is no need to ask Sir Martin,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘As a knight whose morals are not in question here, Sir Martin is not answerable to you, or for me. The matter ends there,’ Thomas concluded firmly.

  ‘Not for my part,’ Sir Oliver replied through clenched teeth. ‘I will not rest until you are exposed for the scoundrel you still are and punished in a fitting manner, or forced to quit this island.’

  ‘Then you are condemning yourself to exhaustion, for I will not leave. Not until the Order has passed through the hour of its greatest peril or the Grand Master tells me to go.’

  ‘Which he may, if I can persuade him to see reason.’

  ‘La Valette sees well enough. The question is, does he see what you really are - a traitor to friends?’

  Sir Oliver opened his mouth to reply, then clamped it shut as he struggled to contain his anger. At length he slumped back in his chair and swept his plate to one side dismissively.

  ‘Very well. You have set your mind to staying. I wish it were not so with all my heart. I shall watch you closely, Sir Thomas, and pray that you find reason to disappoint the Grand Master.’

  ‘It would be better to pray for salvation from the enemy.’

  ‘If God wills it, we will be saved.’

  ‘Then what is the point of prayer?’ asked Thomas. ‘And if I am to disappoint La Valette, then that is a matter for God to resolve, not you.’

  For a moment the two knights stared at each other while Sir Martin quietly chewed on a morsel of meat, gazing fixedly at the surface of the table a short distance beyond his plate. Richard sat hunched forward, his jaw resting on his intertwined fingers. He was listening intently but did not dare to look up and risk catching anyone’s eye.

  ‘One day,’ said Sir Oliver, ‘you will finally reap what you have sown . . .’ He breathed deeply. ‘As I have not been able to persuade you to leave, I come to the purpose of my present visit to the auberge. It appears that Don Garcia offered the Grand Master some advice concerning the manner in which he conducts the defence of Malta.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Thomas paused and nodded towards Richard. ‘We were there.’

  ‘Then you will recall that the Grand Master was advised to set up a war council, limited to a handful of men. It seems that you are to be one of this august body,’ Sir Oliver concluded with thinly disguised scorn.

  ‘Me?’ Thomas raised his eyebrows. It was true that he had served five years in the Order, and several more as a mercenary fighting on the battlefields of Europe. He had also witnessed many sieges, in two of which he had been besieged. But there were bound to be many senior knights of the Order who would take offence at his preferment by the Grand Master. La Valette was taking a risk in offering the appointment. ‘This is something of a surprise.’

  ‘Quite. Naturally I advised against it. At present he has not told anyone else, in case you declined the offer.’ Sir Oliver leaned forward and stared intently at Thomas. ‘You do not have to accept. In fact, it would be far better if you didn’t. Better for all of us. Your appointment would be a divisive influence on the Order. This is your chance to go some way towards redemption, Thomas. You know that no good can come of it.’

  ‘I still don’t understand. Why does La Valette want me?’

  ‘Aside from your considerable martial experience there are two reasons, one of which he explained. It is the Grand Master’s view that the senior ranks of the Order are filled with ambitious men who might seek to use the present emergency to put their interests before the common good. They in turn are supported by factions within the Order. Such men cannot be permitted to indulge their political temptations. Whereas you have no constituency here. You are an outsider and therefore your opinions will not be guided by anything other than the need to defeat the Turks. In addition, as you will be serving alongside the more junior knights, you will be able to inform the Grand Master and the other members of the war council of the concerns and state of morale of the rank and file. That sums up the arguments he gave for choosing you.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Thomas responded, then asked, ‘What of the other reason?’

  ‘It’s simple enough. You always were one of his favourites. A protege. When you were compelled to leave the Order, it greatly disappointed La Valette. It is my belief that he viewed you as a man views his son. And like any father, he was, and no doubt still is, blind to your most significant faults. In the years of your absence he frequently spoke of you with fondness,’ Sir Oliver said bitterly. ‘Now, at precisely the time when he needs sound judgement, he is giving rein to an old man’s sentimental attachment to a prodigal son. It is foolish self-indulgence that speaks to him.’

  ‘Yet the words he spoke to you are reasonable enough. I think you judge him on his age too severely.’

  Sir Oliver pursed his lips. ‘Maybe. But we shall see. The coming conflict will try us all to the utmost. Do you think a man of his years will long endure the demands heaped on his shoulders? And when the burden is too great and he buckles, then perhaps we shall require a new leader.’

  ‘You perhaps?’
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  ‘Possibly. And if it should be me, then you can be sure that your special status here will come to an end and you will be treated no better than a common soldier. There will be many in the Order who will seek to punish you for your preferment at the whim of the Grand Master.’ He smiled thinly. ‘So what am I to tell him? Do you accept or decline his offer?’

  ‘I accept.’ There was no doubt in Thomas’s mind about his answer. He was determined to serve his old mentor as well as possible and vindicate the faith La Valette had placed in him. Besides, the position might well help him and Richard locate the prize that Walsingham had sent them here to retrieve.

  ‘I feared you would say that,’ said Stokely. ‘As ever you are prepared to put personal desires above the needs of others, and above the requirements of duty and honour. So be it. I tried my best to dissuade you and my conscience is clear. I will inform the Grand Master of your decision. That concludes my business here tonight.’ Stokely stood up and bowed his head briefly to Sir Martin. ‘Take care that you do not associate yourself too closely with this man. You may regret it, as others have had cause to.’

  He picked up the cape hanging over the back of his chair and strode to the door. He stepped out into the street and a moment later there was the dull thud and clatter of the latch as the door closed.

  Sir Martin let out a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thought he was never going to go. The fellow was putting me off my food. Never have found him easy company, even on those few occasions when he has deigned to spend a night in the auberge.’ He looked at Thomas. ‘He doesn’t seem to have much love for you, Sir Thomas.’

  ‘It seems not.’ Thomas picked up a thick slice of cured sausage from his plate and chewed slowly. In truth, La Valette’s offer made him anxious. It was a great responsibility and he was determined not to betray the Grand Master’s trust. In all aspects but one. Thomas glanced down the table and saw that Richard was watching him with a triumphant gleam in his eye. No doubt he was already scheming to turn the situation to his advantage.

  Sir Martin concluded his meal speedily and noisily and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before stretching his neck and sighed contentedly. He drained the last of his wine and smacked his lips.

  ‘Ah, that’s a good feeling. A decent meal after a hard day’s labour. And now, sleep!’ He rose stiffly, rubbing the small of his back. ‘I bid you good night, gentlemen.’

  Thomas nodded his response and Richard stood up and bowed his head in dutiful respect. At the sound of Sir Martin’s cell door closing behind him, Richard turned to Thomas with an intent expression.

  ‘I had begun to fear that we might never find a way to gain entry to St Angelo without arousing suspicion. Now you have access to the Grand Master’s lair you can get me into that dungeon. I have the description of De Launcey’s chest, and the prize is sure to be inside. If it’s done quickly we can quit this death trap before the Turks arrive.’

  ‘Quit?’ Thomas raised his eyebrows. ‘I have no intention of leaving. Not now. I am needed here. Every man is.’

  Richard stared at him. ‘Are you mad? When the enemy lands on the island no one will be spared. They will pound all the forts into rubble and cut the throats of any survivors.’

  ‘That is one possibility.’ A smile passed fleetingly across Thomas’s face. ‘Or we make our stand and hold out until the Turks give up the attempt to reduce the island. That, or we are relieved by Don Garcia and the army he is gathering on Sicily.’

  ‘You might as well wish for the moon.’ Richard gave a hollow laugh. ‘Don Garcia’s force is only ever going to be a paper army. His king will not let him take any risks with what men he has, and I would wager my soul that less than half of the men and ships promised to him by the other powers will be forthcoming. There is no chance of the Turks turning tail. If Suleiman has ordered that Malta be reduced, then do you think for one instant that those to whom the command is given would dare risk his wrath if they failed?’ Richard paused to see if his words had struck home but Thomas kept his silence and the younger man hissed with exasperation before he continued.

  ‘Sir Thomas, I have been with you long enough to see that you are a good man. There is sure to be a place for you within Walsingham’s service when we return to England having carried out our mission successfully. Don’t throw your life away in some futile gesture.’

  Thomas stirred. ‘Firstly, this was never really our mission, just yours. I was simply the pretext to get you inside the Order. Secondly, this is no simple gesture, Richard. Whatever that precious document may turn out to be, there are times in a man’s life when he must stand for something. When I was forced to leave the Order I lost my place in the world, as well as the woman I loved. Now she is gone, and all that I have left is the chance to do something right.’

  ‘I thought you had grown tired of the Order’s endless war.’

  ‘And so I had. But the situation has changed. The very existence of these knights and the islanders who stand with them is under threat. If the Order is annihilated and Malta falls, you know well enough the danger posed to every Christian kingdom in Europe. Even England may fall under the sway of the Sultan. The coming battle is the very fulcrum upon which the fates of two civilisations are balanced. Even one man might make a difference to the outcome.’

  ‘One man?’ Richard shook his head. ‘You have drunk too deeply at the well of the Order’s fanaticism, Sir Thomas. That, or . . . perhaps I see a more simple truth. It is the Grand Master’s offer to take you into his confidence that has clouded your judgement. You feel flattered by his request, and now you cannot face letting him down. Is that it?’

  ‘There is some truth in that. But it matters not.’ Thomas splayed his hand over his heart. ‘All I know is that I must make my stand along with the rest of the Order. There is no reason to it. Just a certainty that brooks no doubt. I will stay and fight, and die, if that is my fate.’

  ‘Then you disappoint me. I had taken you for a wiser, more rational man than that.’

  ‘Well, I am content to disappoint you. But I will do what I can to help you complete your mission and escape before it is too late to flee, if you do not choose to fight at my side.’

  Richard thought for a moment before he replied in a world- weary manner, ‘I would count it an honour to fight at your side. Believe me. But I would not share a certain death without good purpose. I must let you have your glorious death alone, or at least in the ranks of your precious band of brothers.’ He scraped the bench back and stood up. ‘There is nothing more to be said. We can talk in greater detail on the morrow and plan our next step. Good night, sir.’

  They exchanged a brief nod and Richard turned and strode off towards his cell, leaving Thomas alone in the hall decked with the mementos of the English knights who had devoted their lives to the Order. He stared up at the heraldic devices on the small wooden shields and the faded banners that hung from the beams. In his heart lie knew, as surely as a man can know, that his decision to remain and fight with his comrades was the right and only path for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  18 May

  When he had listened to the strength returns of each of the garrison posts, and the report on the output of the gunpowder mills, the Grand Master rose from his chair and walked over to the window. His favourite hunting dogs, Apollo and Achilles, jumped up from beneath the table and padded over to their master. He reached down and stroked their silky ears as he stared out at the view from the keep of St Angelo, gazing over the thick walls and across the glittering blue water of the harbour towards the peninsula where the ridge of Sciberras dominated the small fort of St Elmo. It was a clear morning, the sky was a deep blue and the low rays of the sun washed the stone of the fort with a brilliant yellow hue. A light air lifted the flag of the Order flying from the mast above St Elmo so that the white cross on the red background fluttered lazily. The faint chink of picks from those working to deepen the ditches in front of the fort carried across the harbour. Despite the continuin
g preparations, the scene looked peaceful enough and the fair weather heralded the arrival of summer, and the dreadful heat that came with it.

  From his chair Thomas scrutinised La Valette and saw that the hard work of the previous months, far from exhausting the Grand Master, had given him renewed strength and energy. He stood erect, and moved with purpose. Only the white curls of his hair gave indication of his true age, for his face, though weathered and creased, seemed to belong to a man fully ten or fifteen years younger, and his grey eyes gleamed beneath his heavy brows. Glancing to his side, along the line of chairs where the other members of the war council sat, Thomas noted that Romegas and Sir Oliver Stokely looked tired and tense. Only Colonel Mas seemed at ease. That could be misleading, though; the colonel was a professional soldier to his core and rarely showed any emotion except anger at any sign of inefficiency or laziness in the men under his command.

  With a sigh La Valette turned away from the window and faced those he had chosen as his closest advisers, his eyes flicking over each man in turn before he spoke.

  ‘I cannot accept that it will take at least another month before the defences of Birgu and St Michael are complete.’

  Colonel Mas tipped his head slightly to one side. ‘They would have been completed by now if you had given the order to start when I first arrived, sir. As I advised.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel, I remember. However, we cannot go back and change that. We must work the people harder. Add another hour to each shift. That applies to everyone, including me. Starting from this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll have my clerk draft the declaration after the meeting.’

  ‘And what of the harbour chain?’

  Romegas folded his hands together. ‘It is set in place between the points of Senglea and Birgu. The ring bolts were secured to the sturdiest posts we could find to drive into the seabed and they in turn have been chained to the rocks on each shore. There is a small section in the centre where the chain can be slackened to allow for the passage of a galley, if that becomes necessary. Otherwise nothing but the smallest of boats will be able to get across the chain. The enemy’s galleys will not be able to penetrate Dockyard Creek, sir.’