Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

  An arrow whirled close by Thomas’s head and he saw that some archers had taken position on the mounds of rubble and were shooting over the heads of their comrades. The defenders were higher up than the Turks and made clear targets.

  ‘Watch out for the arrows!’ Thomas bellowed the warning above the din of batde. It came too late for the soldier operating the naphtha bellows. An arrow struck him high in the shoulder and his hand spasmed and he released one of the handles on the bellows. The nozzle dropped down. At once the nearest of the Turks let out a savage cheer.

  ‘Richard!’ Thomas called out. ‘Take the bellows!’

  Richard nodded and dropped his pike as he ran across to the wounded soldier and took the weapon from him. On the other side of the barricade the Turks had begun to surge forward, sensing that the chance to overwhelm the defenders was within their grasp. Richard grasped the handles and hefted the bellows up on to the barricade, resting the nozzle on a flat stone that had been positioned there for the purpose. He pressed the handles together to prime the weapon and then again to pump the liquid out towards the enemy. It flared into a glittering arc as the taper ignited the mixture. Richard aimed directly at the mass of Turks surging towards the middle of the barricade and the fire burst upon them, lighting them up like walking torches that screamed and swirled as they burned to death. With a grim expression he worked the bellows, pivoting them from side to side, spraying fire into the terrified horde. Those at the back stopped advancing over the rubble, staring in fear at the horrific scene in front of them, and then they began to fall back, seeking shelter on the rubble sloping down into the ditch.

  Their fear spread from man to man and soon even those who had reached the barricade fell back, until only an officer remained shouting his defiance at the defenders and contempt at his retreating men. He swung a heavy scimitar from side to side across the top of the barricade to drive his opponents back. Then he clambered up and stood, clearly visible to all, and waved his men forward. One of the Spaniards took up an arquebus, crouched down, took aim and coolly shot the Turkish officer under the chin. The ball burst through the top of his turban in a spray of blood and he stood for a moment, still as a statue, then fell back amid the scorched and bloodied bodies of his men on the outside of the barricade.

  Thomas saw with relief that they had broken the attack.

  ‘Get under cover!’ he ordered, waving the men down on either side. ‘Richard, you too.’ He was still standing in clear view behind the bellows.

  Richard lowered the weapon and crouched down behind the barricade to pinch out the small flame on the taper and make the bellows safe. If the enemy attacked again, the taper could be quickly relighted from one of the slow fuses used for the arquebuses.

  Thomas cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Sergeants, keep watch on the enemy!’

  He made his way to the left of the barricade and picked his way along, counting the casualties and offering words of praise and encouragement to the Spanish soldiers whose grime-streaked faces cracked into grins at having driven off yet another assault and survived. Some had not been so lucky. Of the forty men who had held the position that morning, four were dead and another five wounded, three of whom were still able to bear arms and refused to quit their posts. The others crawled towards the stairs and made their way to the shelter of the infirmary.

  When he returned to his place at the centre of the line, Thomas slumped down beside Richard with a weary sigh.

  ‘Water?’ Richard held out his canteen and Thomas gave him a grateful nod as he took it, removed the stopper and tilted his head back, taking a mouthful and swilling it around his parched mouth before he lowered the canteen and handed it back. He looked up at the clear sky. In a few hours the walls would be baking, with no shade for the men. He would have to ensure that there was plenty of water available to see them through the day. Now that the initial assault had failed, the enemy would take to sniping at the defenders, while their officers attempted to harangue them into forming up for another charge.

  It had been several days since he, Richard and Colonel Mas had joined the garrison. In that time he had noticed the growing reluctance of the enemy to renew their attacks after each one had been thrown back. They had taken to sniping, and small rushes at the defences to try and hurl incendiaries in amongst the defenders. The garrison had once numbered eight hundred men. When Thomas had arrived in the fort there was barely half that number and now only three hundred remained. A handful of reinforcements arrived each night from Birgu, and it was clear to the defenders that the Grand Master was husbanding his resources for the struggle to come once St Elmo finally fell to the enemy. It would not be long now, Thomas reflected.

  He looked at his son. ‘You should have remained in Birgu.’

  Richard shook his head. ‘I didn’t have much choice once I found the document was missing. Someone has discovered more about me, about us, than is healthy. I have failed in my mission and I would not have been safe if I had stayed in Birgu. At least no one is going to come after me here.’ He chuckled drily. ‘The trouble is, if the Turks don’t annihilate us, and by some miracle we are relieved by Don Garcia, then it’s likely that I will fall into the hands of La Valette’s interrogators.’

  ‘I rather think that is the least of our problems,’ Thomas replied quietly. ‘The Turks have completed the battery covering the harbour. There won’t be any more reinforcements coming from St Angelo.’ He glanced at the soldiers slumped behind the barricade. Many were injured and wore soiled bandages, and their haggard faces spoke eloquently of their exhaustion and resignation to their all but inevitable fate. He turned back to his son and felt a great sadness come over him.

  ‘I should have escaped with Maria all those years ago and taken her back to England with me, whatever the risk. Then none of us would be here.’

  Richard shrugged. ‘It’s too late for all that. Nothing can be changed. There’s no point in blaming yourself, Father.’

  The word slipped from his mouth before he realised it and both men turned to each other.

  ‘I was hoping you would call me that, before the end.’ Thomas patted him affectionately on the arm. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I am your son,’ Richard said simply.

  Thomas smiled. ‘My son ... It has a good sound to it. I’m proud of you. I know your mother would be too.’ Thomas looked down at the ground between his boots and thought for a moment. ‘What a mess we make of life. We have but a short time in this world and this is the result. Such a waste ... I should have made a better life for us all. I am sorry.’

  ‘There is no need to apologise,’ Richard said wearily. ‘Besides, if we die as martyrs for the cause, then we are assured a place in paradise, eh?’

  Thomas was silent for a moment. ‘Do you really believe in heaven, Richard? In God, our faith, the Bible?’

  His son shot him a concerned look. ‘It is dangerous to voice such questions in others’ hearing. I’d keep them to yourself.’

  ‘We are beyond worrying about such dangers now.’

  Richard puffed his cheeks out and thought briefly before he continued. ‘Are you saying that you don’t believe in the Church of Rome?’

  ‘No. Not the Church of Rome, nor any church or faith. It is all dead to me and has been for years.’

  Richard stared at him and shook his head. ‘Then what is the point of this struggle? Why are you prepared to die in the service of the Order?’

  ‘I am here because I have nothing to live for. Maria is lost to me, and I cannot protect you. All that is left is to fight to prevent the tyranny of another false faith holding sway over the world. Suleiman threatens the world I know, that is reason enough to oppose him. Tell me, Richard. Do you believe in God?’

  Richard was silent.

  ‘You are no fool,’ Thomas went on. ‘Surely you must have wondered why every prayer goes unanswered, why God stays his hand from preventing evil?’ He paused. ‘Have you ever read the Epicurean paradox?’

  Richard shook hi
s head.

  ‘I think it goes something like this:

  If God is willing but not able,

  Then he is not all-powerful.

  If he is able but not willing,

  Then he is malevolent.

  If he is both willing and able

  Then why is there evil in the world?

  If he is neither willing nor able

  Then why call him God?’

  He waved his hand at their surroundings. ‘If ever there was a need for God to show himself to give the slightest encouragement to those who serve him, then it is here and now. And yet there is nothing but us and the enemy.’

  Richard frowned. ‘I have thought about it but I do not like the implications.’

  Thomas nodded and let the matter drop. But there was one question he did want an answer to. ‘This document that has been the cause of our troubles, what exactly is it?’

  ‘It is better that you do not know.’

  ‘But you were going to show it to me back in Birgu.’

  ‘I was wrong. If you are taken alive, there is a danger that you will reveal what you know of the document. I’m sorry, I cannot say any more. Please, let the matter rest.’

  Thomas felt a bitter pang of disappointment that Richard would not trust him. He was silent for a moment before he eased himself up into a crouch and peered cautiously over the top of the barricade. The rubble- and corpse-strewn ground in front of him was still. Then he saw a slight movement and saw the flicker of a feather behind a large chunk of masonry and ducked down just as the sniper fired. The bullet struck a rock close to where Thomas’s head had been and then ricocheted overhead towards the heart of the fort.

  The hours stretched out as they huddled behind the barricade and both sides sniped at anyone rash enough to expose themselves.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Colonel Mas appeared at noon, moving from position to position gathering reports on the morning action and casualty numbers to pass on to Miranda. Despite holding a senior rank, Mas had chosen to defer to the captain. The garrison looked to Miranda and he in turn inspired them with his courage and coolness under fire and the colonel had the good sense not to disturb the arrangement.

  He listened to Thomas’s account of the assault and noted the number of losses on a creased sheet of paper, then refolded it and slipped it inside his haversack.

  ‘How goes it elsewhere?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘Not well,’ Mas admitted. ‘They sent a party round the north of the fort under the cover of the attack and broke into the cavalier. It’s in their hands now. The rest of the fort is surrounded, except for a narrow track leading down to the jetty.’

  ‘If they have the cavalier then the route won’t be safe.’

  ‘It is safe. We’re using a drain. The grate has been removed and the opening has been camouflaged. It gives us some means of communication with Birgu, for what it’s worth.’

  Richard peered across the rubble-strewn walls of the fort towards the free-standing cavalier tower rising up between the fort and the sea. There was a green standard flying above the parapet and now and then a head bobbed up to look down into the fort. ‘They’ll be able to see right into the courtyard.’

  Mas nodded. ‘Have your men be cautious when they come down from the wall for ammunition, water or food. From now on Miranda wants the men to stay at their posts. They’ll be safer that way. He wants the officers to meet at dusk in the chapel. Be careful getting there.’ He nodded a farewell and then bent low and scurried towards the next section of the wall.

  Thomas and the others sat in the afternoon sun, occasionally taking out a dry biscuit or strip of cured meat to chew on, as much to help the long hours pass as to feed any appetite. Overhead the sun beat down on them and sweat dripped from their brows as they slowly stewed inside their cumbersome armour. Several times there was a brief flurry of shots and shouting from one of the other sections of the wall and the men would stand to their weapons in case it heralded another general assault. But each time the fighting quickly subsided and the skirmishing resumed.

  At last the sun dipped far enough towards the horizon to cast long shadows across the walls of the fort and give some relief from the heat the defenders had endured for several hours. As the light began to fade, a trumpet sounded from the Turkish lines and men who had been crouching amid the rubble of the fort crept away, returning to their trenches. As soon as the last of them was in cover, the batteries on the crest of the ridge thundered out again and resumed bombarding St Elmo. Instinctively the men lining the barricade flinched and squirmed down a little further.

  Thomas touched Richard’s arm. ‘I’m going to report to Miranda, You take command here until relieved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Richard replied and smiled at his formality. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Keep your head down, understand?’

  Richard nodded, and Thomas took one last look at him in case there was never another chance, and felt the familiar stab of guilt and affection as he turned away.

  He moved at a crouch until the angle of the wall no longer concealed him from the cavalier or the ravelin. He glanced at both towers and saw heads bob up as the Turks kept watch on the fort. Then several shots were fired from the cavalier as the enemy caught sight of movement along the nearest section of the wall.

  Thomas took advantage of the diversion and rushed across the open space towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard. There was a faint shout from the direction of the ravelin and a rippling volley of shots. Stone chips flew past him but Thomas ran on and started down the stairs, taking four or five at a time in a wild rush that threatened to make him lose his balance. At the bottom of the stairs he threw himself against a nearby stretch of wall that was out of sight of the enemy and gasped for breath. Around him the courtyard was filled with rubble and dust that caught in the throat. There were few men about, now that the enemy could reach most of the inside of the fort with their weapons.

  When he had recovered his breath Thomas edged his way round the courtyard towards the chapel, which was fortunately out of the line of fire. A small group of men sat to one side of the door playing a desultory game of dice and barely looked up as he passed them and entered the chapel. The building was quite unlike a normal church; it was built into the fabric of the fort, with a handful of windows high up on the walls which made it a gloomy place for the garrison to come and worship. Although it could hold up to four hundred people at a time, there were only a few men that evening, gathered on facing pews in the space before the altar. Most of the officers and the friar, Robert of Eboli, had already arrived as Thomas walked along the aisle, undoing the straps fastening the gorget to his helmet and then removing the helmet.

  Captain Miranda was sitting on a chair. His left arm was in a sling and his right leg was fixed in place by splints sawn from the shaft of a pike. A bloodied bandage was wound tightly about his knee. Like the others his face had been burned raw by the sun and his skin was red and peeling. Colonel Mas had also been wounded since midday and was barely recognisable under the bandage that covered one eye and half of his head. Most of the other officers had also been wounded and Thomas reflected that the scene was more like an infirmary than a gathering of officers. All of them looked exhausted and filthy and what had once been neatly trimmed beards were now straggling and matted with blood and the remains of hastily snatched meals.

  ‘Glad to see you are still with us, Sir Thomas.’ Miranda forced a smile. ‘You are one of the few who can still stand.’

  Thomas nodded and took a seat on one of the pews, trying to ignore the ache in his limbs and the discomfort of clothes he had been unable to change for over a week. There was no small talk as they waited for the last officer to arrive, and once he was seated Miranda addressed his subordinates.

  ‘There are fewer than a hundred of us left to man the walls, and most are already wounded. The Turks have the cavalier, and with that they can provide covering fire for any attempt
to cross the ditch using the trestle bridges they have thrown up against what remains of the parapet. Gentlemen, the end is near. We have all but run out of gunpowder. I doubt that we will survive the morrow.’ He paused. ‘We have fought a good fight against great odds. It is a struggle to be proud of. We have endured far longer than was thought possible. Let us hope that we have won enough time for the Grand Master to prepare Birgu and Senglea for the onslaught to come when we are no more. I have given orders for the chapel’s tapestries and sacred objects to be destroyed or hidden. Once Robert of Eboli and the other brothers have carried out that task they will make the rounds of our positions and take confession and administer the last rites to those who wish it. Colonel Mas will oversee one last filling of the water butts before the cisterns are fouled with enemy bodies. The rest of you should destroy anything that might be valuable if it falls into enemy hands.’ He paused and looked round at his officers. ‘There is a signal fire prepared on the keep where it can be seen from across the harbour. If the fort falls then the last of us should set light to it. After that, it’s every man for himself. Does anyone have anything to say?’

  One of the younger knights nodded. ‘Sir, is it too late to evacuate the fort? We could ask for volunteers for a rearguard while we signal Birgu to send boats.’

  Miranda shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that. The moment the enemy realised what was happening they would overwhelm the few men left and then slaughter the rest as we attempted to escape. Besides, there are too many wounded to evacuate. We must resign ourselves to our fate and resolve to go down fighting in a manner that reflects the highest standards of the Order of St John.’