Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

  Thomas picked a man directly ahead and as his mount knocked the man to one side he struck, thrusting through the Turk’s shoulder and then savagely wrenching the blade back before he swung at the turbaned head and felt the solid thud of contact before the man dropped to the ground senseless. Thomas’s ears filled with the sound of blades clashing, the whinny of horses and the shouts and screams of men fighting, killing and dying. He saw Richard, teeth gritted, urge his mount into the throng of Turks as he slashed savagely to left and right, crimson drops spraying into the air, across the flank of his horse and spattering the polished steel of his breastplate.

  Then he glimpsed a flicker of steel to his right and turned just in time to thrust his arm out and block the heavy scimitar arcing diagonally towards his shoulder. A sharp clash of blades filled his ears and the shock of the impact ran down his arm into his shoulder. Thomas gritted his teeth as he pushed the scimitar aside and locked his gaze on a tall, broad warrior in a chain-mail vest and pointed helmet. Dark eyes glared back either side of an ornate nose guard and the Turk snarled with frustration as he snatched his sword back and swept it round behind him to make another attempt to strike Thomas down. Pressing hard on his stirrups Thomas thrust his sword towards the Turk’s throat with all his strength. The point stabbed under the man’s beard and above the chain-mail and tore through the soft tissue, cartilage and blood vessels before it burst through the muscles at the back of his neck. The Turk’s eyes bulged in shock and agony and his lips parted in a grimace as Thomas tore his sword free. As blood pulsed from the wound, the man dropped his sword and clutched his hand to the wound, desperately trying to stem the flow. Then he was swept aside as his comrades surged away from the mounted knights carving their way through the throng.

  Even though the Turks outnumbered their attackers, the suddenness and ferocity of the assault had shattered the swaggering confidence of a moment before and now they broke and fled, scrambling over the walls on either side, or desperately trying to get past the horsemen and flee along the lane. A dozen of their comrades already lay sprawled across the rutted track, bleeding into the dust. Only one of La Riviere’s men had been wounded, piked in the hip, and he had limped out through the gap in the wall and was clutching a hand tightly to the bloodied cloth of his gambeson. The Turkish officer and a handful of his men still faced their attackers and Thomas pointed the officer out with his sword.

  ‘Take him! Take him and it’s all over.’

  Richard glanced back and nodded, then spurred his horse, leaning forward, his blade drawn back ready to strike. A handful of the enemy footmen were clustered about their officer, ready to protect him with their lives. Richard’s mount barged into them, sending two men reeling while he struck at a third, severing his sword hand and then cutting deeply into his neck to finish the man off. Thomas urged his horse forward, pushing past his squire until lie faced the enemy officer.

  ‘Yield!’ Thomas called out. ‘Yield, or die!’

  Whether the Turk spoke French or not, he readily understood the command and spat with derision before driving his spurs in and charging his mount directly at Thomas. The Turk’s horse was lighter and barely caused Thomas’s charger to stagger back one step .is they thudded breast to breast. The enemy officer’s blade slashed towards Thomas but glanced off his shoulder guard. Thomas instantly struck back but the officer parried the blow before the horses had passed each other. Both men pulled on their reins and turned to continue the duel. The Turk turned first and swung his sword at Thomas’s head. There was no time to block the blow and Thomas threw his body to the side. The blade cut through the air with a low swish and Thomas strained to return to an upright position.

  He saw Richard edge forward from the other side of the Turk and called out, ‘Leave him! This one’s mine!’

  Richard hesitated, then drew in his reins. His mount tossed its head as it came to an abrupt halt. Thomas barely had time to raise his sword before the next blow arced towards his helmet. The scimitar struck his sword close to the hilt and Thomas instantly turned his wrist to trap his opponent’s sword. With a violent wrench he snatched the scimitar from the officer’s hand and shook it to the ground before urging his horse forward and aiming the tip of the blade at the Turk’s throat.

  ‘Yield!’

  For a moment the Turk’s eyes flashed defiantly and Thomas thought he might have to kill the man. Then the officer’s shoulders slumped and he bowed his head in defeat.

  ‘Richard, take charge of him. We need him for interrogation, but if he tries to escape, kill him.’

  His squire nodded and ordered one of La Riviere’s soldiers to bind the officer’s hands behind his back while he held his sword up to the Turk’s face. Thomas sat erect in his saddle and looked round the ambush site. Over a score of the enemy were now down; some of them were wounded and pleaded desperately before they were finished off by the Italian mercenaries. Further off, the survivors of the column were scattered across the surrounding fields. They were pursued by La Riviere and the other knights and most of the squires, crying out with excitement as they rode down and killed their prey.

  ‘The fools have lost their heads,’ Thomas muttered angrily as he sheathed his blade.

  A moment later he heard the shrill blast of a horn and looked to the east to see a large party of horsemen, perhaps thirty strong, riding towards the lane. Some of the knights and squires reined in as they heard the sound, and the quick-witted saw at once that they were in danger of being cut off from the direction of Birgu. They turned their horses and galloped back towards the lane. La Riviere and two of the squires were far ahead of their comrades, and slower to react. Thomas realised they were in grave danger. But he had to get the rest of the men safely away. He drew a deep breath and cupped a hand to his mouth.

  ‘Fall back! Back to Birgu! At once!’

  The mercenaries and the mounted men heeded the order and quickly abandoned the ambush site, using the broken ground to cover their retreat. Thomas turned to Richard who was guarding the bound officer.

  ‘Get him out of here.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be along directly. Go!’

  Richard reluctantly nodded and he sheathed his blade before taking the reins-of the Turk’s horse and leading him back towards Birgu. They reached the ambush site and the other mounted men followed on. Thomas remained, watching anxiously as La Riviere and his squires, cut off from any hope of escape, made for a small rise and turned to face the approaching Turkish cavalry. The sun had cleared the horizon and its rays burnished the polished armour and weapons of the Turks with a brilliant red hue as they swept up the rise and engulfed the three men. Thomas caught one last glimpse of the French knight before the blades stopped flashing and the dust began to settle.

  With a sick feeling Thomas turned his mount away and spurred it back down the lane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Thirty-five thousand men, you say?’ La Valette slowly stroked his beard as he digested Colonel Mas’s report of the interrogation. The Grand Master was standing with his officers on the bastion assigned to the knights of the langue of Castille, one of the strongest positions in the line of defences that protected Birgu. Thomas had been summoned to the bastion in the early hours. Throughout the night the Turks had been moving into position in a wide arc around Birgu and Senglea, their progress revealed by the torches that flickered across the landscape, and the noise of orders shouted from the darkness. Dawn had revealed the enemy drawn up in formation just beyond the range of the cannon mounted on the bastions along the walls.

  As the pale light spilled across the island the enemy had gone down on their knees in response to the wailing cries of their imams and the sound of their chanted prayers carried clearly to the ears of those watching from the walls and bastions defending the two promontories. The spectacle of the horde ranged against them had stilled the tongues of the defenders who looked on in awe and apprehension at the array of coloured cloth and glinting weapons in the dens
e ranks sprawling across the landscape. On the high ground behind the enemy formations Thomas could see Turkish engineers labouring to level the ground for the artillery batteries. Each gun had been laboriously drawn by hand from the beaches where they had been landed the previous day. Soon they would be in position, ready to bombard the defenders, although the enemy seemed keen and arrogant enough to attempt to rush the walls without waiting for their cannon to open fire.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mas nodded sombrely. ‘And they are expecting a further force of ten thousand to arrive under the command of Dragut.’

  The other men of the inner council stirred uneasily at the mention of the corsair warlord. Dragut’s ships had brought terror and destruction to ports and shipping across the Mediterranean. Tens of thousands of people had been seized from their homes by his men and sold into slavery. The corsairs who followed him were all experienced men, ready to fight as fiercely as the most devout Muslim fanatic, but for loot rather than faith.

  ‘With Dragut, that makes some forty-five thousand in all,’ Mas continued. ‘Together with around a hundred cannon of various calibres, a thousand engineers, and plenty of siege equipment. And of their fleet, no less than two hundred are warships. Not only do the enemy vastly outnumber us, they also outnumber any force that Don Garcia can assemble on Sicily.’

  ‘What is the latest count of our strength?’ asked La Valette.

  Mas consulted his notes briefly. ‘We have less than seven hundred knights, one thousand two hundred Spanish and Italian mercenaries, and the five hundred soldiers from the galleys. There’s perhaps two hundred Greek and Sicilian volunteers and ninety squires. And then there’s the militia. We’ve been fortunate there, the latest strength returns show that over five thousand of the local men have taken up arms - far more than we estimated. I know you have reservations about them, sir, but from what I have seen they are determined to defend their homes and their families. I think they may surprise us all before long.’

  ‘We shall see,’ the Grand Master responded doubtfully.

  ‘There are also the slaves from the galleys,’ Mas concluded. ‘They won’t fight for us but we can use them to repair the damage to the walls of Birgu and Senglea and work on improving the defences.’ There was a brief silence before Thomas spoke up. ‘The odds are only seven to one against. I pity the Turks.’

  The other men, save La Valette, smiled.

  ‘There is some good news,’ Mas added. ‘The officer we captured said that Suleiman has divided the command between Mustafa Pasha and Piyale Pasha. The first is in command of all land forces while the latter commands the ships. Apparently they are already disagreeing over their course of action. When Dragut arrives, that division will be three ways.’

  ‘That is good news,’ the Grand Master conceded. ‘However, I suspect that the reverence in which Dragut is held will mean that he will take overall command of the siege, which will considerably increase the danger to us. He is the most bitter opponent the Order has ever fought. Dragut is a fine leader, and an inspiration to all who follow him.’

  ‘You admire him?’ asked Mas.

  ‘Of course.’ La Valette smiled briefly. ‘I am not blind to his qualities as a warrior, even if he is little better than a pirate and cleaves to a false faith. But for an accident of birth I would be proud to fight at his side.’ His expression hardened. ‘But as my enemy I will do all in my power to destroy him, without mercy. Meanwhile, let us pray that the Sultan’s decision to split the command contributes to the undoing of his cause. Did the prisoner reveal anything else of value during his interrogation?’

  ‘Not before he died, alas.’

  ‘A pity. At least we have a more precise idea of the forces that confront us.’ La Valette turned to Thomas. ‘You did well to capture the officer, Sir Thomas.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Though it was at the cost of one of our own knights. I only hope that La Riviere and those with him fought to the death. If not, then it is likely that the enemy is as well informed about our strengths and weaknesses as we are about theirs.’

  ‘Assuming that La Riviere gives way to their torture,’ Stokely intervened. ‘I think you may well underestimate his quality. Some knights hold to their oath of service more devoutly than others. La Riviere is such a man.’

  Thomas fought to keep his expression fixed at the barbed comment and responded in a calm tone. ‘And I think you may underestimate the quality of the enemy’s interrogators. The Turks are as skilled in the art of torture as they are in the art of siege craft. No man is immune to torture. It is only a question of finding his weakness, and then breaking him down. Sooner or later La Riviere will talk. Our only hope is that he does not give up too much useful intelligence, if he has been taken alive.’

  There was a brief silence amongst the officers as they stared towards the dense ranks of the Turks who completed their prayers at length and rose to their feet, and at once the air filled with the rhythmic sound of their drums and cymbals and the shrill notes of their horns as they raised their weapons and shook them at the walls. The chaotic flicker of the sun’s reflections on the weapons of the Turks reminded Thomas of the sparkle of the sea, as if they were a wave about to crash upon a rocky shore.

  ‘They mean to attack without delay,’ Thomas decided. He turned to look down the line of the wall. The bastions occupied by the langues of Castille and Auvergne were the only fortifications that had been fully completed. The other bastions were still without embrasures solid enough to withstand the fire of enemy cannon. The same was true for lengths of the wall between the bastions.

  ‘Look there.’ Mas pointed towards the Turkish lines. A handful of richly dressed officers with turquoise turbans rode out a short distance ahead of their battle line. Behind them marched a company of Janissaries, their ostrich feathers wafting above their tall hats like a faint haze. The foremost of them was leading a man whose arms were tightly bound behind his back. He stumbled as he was dragged along and Thomas could just make out that he was barefoot and wore only the tattered remains of a red surcoat bearing a white cross, the instantly recognisable garb of the Order. His blond hair hung down to his shoulders and there was no doubt about his identity.

  ‘That’s La Riviere,’ Stokely muttered. He glanced quickly at Thomas and scowled. ‘You were right, it seems.’

  The officers watched as the procession began to make its way along the enemy line, parallel to the defences. Every so often the Turkish officers would stop and point towards Birgu as they questioned their prisoner.

  Mas shook his head. ‘He shouldn’t have let himself be taken.’

  ‘Perhaps there was nothing he could do about it,’ said Thomas. ‘He was overwhelmed, and they would want to take one of our knights alive just as keenly as we desired one of their officers.’

  ‘Still,’ the colonel muttered, ‘it was his duty not to fall into their hands.’

  Thomas shrugged. ‘Blame him as you will, there is nothing that can be done now.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Stokely sniffed.

  Mas turned to La Valette. ‘Sir, we should order our guns to fire on them. We must silence La Riviere before the Turks can make any further use of him. We might kill some of their officers at the same time.’

  La Valette squinted towards the enemy for a moment and shook his head. ‘The range is long and we need to preserve powder. Besides, I think La Riviere might yet provide us with one more useful service.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Just watch him.’

  The enemy party continued their examination of the defences. At length they halted opposite the bastions occupied by the knights from Auvergne and Castille and there was a lengthy exchange between the Turkish officers and their prisoner. It was then that Thomas understood what the Grand Master had been alluding to.

  ‘La Riviere’s telling the Turks to attack our strongest position.’

  La Valette nodded. ‘I think so.’

  Thomas thought for a moment before he continued in a low voice, ‘As soon as
they discover the truth, they will take their revenge on him.’

  ‘Then let us hope that their revenge, and his suffering, are swift.’ The Grand Master turned to Mas. ‘If La Riviere is doing what I think he is, then we must add to his deception. Take five companies of our arquebusiers out of the main gate and send them forward far enough to skirmish with the enemy. They are to exchange fire but avoid any engagement at close quarters. If the enemy advances on them, pull them back at once.’

  The colonel hesitated a moment before responding. ‘Is that wise, sir? We have few enough men as it is. We’re bound to suffer casualties.’

  ‘That can’t be helped. We must make the enemy think that the rest of the line is strongly defended, and that there are only a few men holding these two bastions. If they throw their weight against us here, they will suffer grievously and, with luck, they will think all our defences are as strong as this.’ He patted the thick masonry of the embrasure. ‘Now go and prepare the men, Colonel. And you may lead them. Let them have their first taste of action. See how they stand up to enemy fire. It’ll steady their hearts and give them confidence, you’ll see.’

  ‘As you command, sir.’ Colonel Mas bowed his head.

  He strode off and descended the staircase. La Valette and the others turned their attention back to the enemy in time to see the small party move away from the bastions and make their way back through the batde line. There was a short delay before the noise from the enemy’s drums, cymbals and horns swelled into a cacophony that echoed off the stone walls of Birgu and the fort of St Michael. In response there was a rattle of drums from the battlements and the main gates opened as Colonel Mas led out the first company of arquebusiers. At their appearance the defenders let out a cheer and the colours of the Order and the banners of the mercenaries swirled in the light breeze as the standard bearers waved them from side to side. Colonel Mas and his small force crossed the drawbridge over the ditch that ran along the front of the wall. The arquebusiers took up position amid the remains of the buildings and low stone walls that had been hurriedly demolished during the previous weeks.