Sword and Scimitar

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Then tell me, what is the basis for your faith? What proof have you that there is a God? Has he ever made himself manifest to you? Speak truthfully.’

  ‘No.’

  Thomas sighed. ‘Nor to me, or many others. Yet we are required to believe, on pain of death for heresy.’

  Maria took his hand, her expression anxious and pained. ‘Why do you say this, Thomas? Why do you wish to have me doubt my faith? Tell me.’

  ‘Maria, if you can believe that this world exists on the whim of a God you have never experienced, if you can believe that there is a divine purpose behind the slaughter of good men and blameless innocents without the slightest shred of proof, then why should I trust that your love for me is any more real than your faith?’

  ‘Because I know it, I feel it, in here!’ She clasped a hand to her breast. ‘It is as real to me as my own flesh and the blood that courses through it.’

  Thomas looked at her and saw the gleam of conviction in her expression. For an instant the tortured landscape that stretched out all around St Angelo receded and only the small space that surrounded the two of them existed.

  ‘What more do you want from me?’ asked Maria. ‘What more can I say? Is it that you doubt your feelings for me?’

  ‘Never,’ Thomas replied instantly. ‘It is just that I have changed. I am a ruined man and I would not have one grain of pity in any affection you bear towards me. Nor would I have you accept me now and then live to regret it in what time is left to us.’

  Maria’s expression became cold. ‘You think me a fickle heart, Thomas. It is a cruel charge to lay at the door of one who has thought so fondly of you across so many years.’

  ‘Not so fondly that you refused to be married to another man.’ It was a cruel jibe and Thomas regretted his words the moment he had uttered them.

  ‘What would you have had me do? Starve to death in the gutter? Lock myself away in a nunnery for the rest of my life? I had no reason to believe that you would ever return for me, and you never did. You came when your master whistled for you and not before.’ Thomas frowned at her depiction of his obedience to La Valette, and he felt the weight of his guilt as he considered her accusation. A gust of wind blew a strand of hair across Maria’s face and she brushed it away irritably as the first drops of rain fell. Thomas took her hand and led her towards the shelter of a sentry post, a small domed chamber with a narrow slit overlooking the harbour. The rain began to fall in earnest. There was little room in the post, with only a small stone shelf for the sentries to sit for a brief rest. Thomas found that he had to stand close to Maria, so that their arms were touching as they stared out at the rain. Then he felt her flesh tremble and turned to see that she was crying. He felt a pang of guilty pain and reached a hand up to gently wipe a tear from her cheek.

  ‘Don’t cry.’

  She glared at him, her lips quivering. ‘Why not? You would break my heart and tell me not to grieve over it?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘I did not mean

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her. It was clumsily done and she instinctively recoiled. Then she quickly reached up and grasped his shoulders and pulled him towards her and kissed him back. Her eyes were open for a moment, then closed as she pressed herself against him, her lips softly bound to his in a warm caress that sent shivers of ecstasy rippling through his body. A flash of lightning lit up the walls of St Angelo and a moment later thunder rolled through the sombre grey clouds and ended with a dramatic clap that caused them both to start. Their faces drew apart and they stared into each other’s eyes before Thomas laughed nervously.

  ‘What?’ She frowned suspiciously. ‘What amuses you?’

  ‘Nothing . . . Only that I am such a fool. Such an old fool.’ Thomas leaned forward and kissed her again. ‘There is so little time left to us and I am squandering it like a callow youth.’

  The rain continued to fall for more than an hour, splashing off the flagstones in a steady hiss, interrupted from time to time by bursts of lightning and thunder that drowned out the sound of the Turkish guns. For the first time in months the air was cool and the wind that accompanied the storm had a chilly edge that caused them both to shiver as they embraced. They remained close as they sat on the sentry’s hard seat and talked in soft tones about the years that had passed since they had been parted, and of the time before that, when they had been together. Any lingering strangeness between them soon faded and Thomas was content as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. At length the wind began to die away and the downpour subsided into a drizzle before the dark clouds parted and the sun shone on the remaining roof tiles and walls of the ruined town. Maria raised her head and sniffed gently.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘The smell of war has gone. Just for now.’

  Thomas smiled. She was right. The constant smell of burning, powder smoke and corrupting bodies had disappeared. He filled his lungs with the untainted air and felt as if a ray of hope had pierced the brooding gloom of the landscape.

  A soldier emerged at the top of the staircase from the fort. He glanced round at the world briefly washed clean and smiled faintly to himself Then he caught sight of them in the sentry’s shelter and hurried across the slick flagstones towards them.

  He stopped outside the entrance and bowed his head. ‘Sir Thomas Barrett?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The Grand Master sent me to find you. He desires that you attend him now that you have recovered sufficiently to resume your duties.’

  ‘Recovered?’ Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘What madness is this?’ Maria demanded. ‘Can you not see that Sir Thomas is badly injured? He needs rest and time to recover.’ The soldier looked at her. ‘Every man is required to defend Birgu, my lady. That includes the walking wounded. From now on, if they can walk then they’re not wounded.’

  Maria opened her mouth to protest but Thomas held up his fingers to touch her lips gently. ‘I will go willingly to battle. I have everything to fight for now.’ He turned to the soldier. ‘Where is the Grand Master?’

  ‘His forward command post, sir.’

  Thomas gestured towards the dressings on his left arm. ‘I have been out of the fight for a while. I am not familiar with the latest position.’

  The soldier nodded. ‘The Grand Master and his staff are at the merchants’ guildhouse on the main square, sir. I’m returning there now. I can show you the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Thomas felt Maria grasp his hand tightly and when he looked round he saw that her face was filled with anguish. ‘Stay here, Thomas. Stay with me. Please ... I beg you.’

  He gently squeezed her hand and then pulled himself free and smiled. ‘I will come back and find you as soon as I can.’

  The soldier turned away and made for the head of the staircase. Thomas followed, forcing himself not to turn his head and look back.

  The two men left the scarred walls of St Angelo and made their way through Birgu. There seemed to be hardly a building left undamaged. Heaps of bricks, plaster and tiles lay everywhere, and the charred remains of buildings showed where the Turkish bombardment had caused fires. Occasionally there was a deep whine of a shot passing overhead and the crash and clatter of debris as it struck home. Some effort was being taken to keep the centre of the streets clear of rubble to permit passage, but lately the scale of destruction had overwhelmed the defenders. Several times Thomas and the soldier were obliged to clamber over heaps of bricks and shattered timbers.

  Thomas was surprised to see that many people were prepared to brave the dangers of the streets and were busy searching through the remains of collapsed buildings, pausing only to look up at the sound of an incoming cannonball and hunch down behind the nearest cover until the danger had passed. Gaunt faces watched them warily as they went by.

  ‘Scavengers,’ said the soldier. ‘They’re looking for food, and valuables. The Grand Master has issued an edict forbidding loot
ing, but there are too few soldiers left to enforce it. Besides, the people arc on the edge of starvation and the edict means little to them.’

  ‘Starvation?’

  The soldier nodded. ‘The rations were cut again three days ago. They’re on a quarter of what they were given at the start of the siege. If it goes on much longer then the poor bastards will start dropping dead where they stand.’

  ‘How is the spirit of the local people holding up?’

  ‘They’re a tough lot, the Maltese,’ the soldier conceded. ‘Not one word about surrendering or even seeking terms from any of ’em. They’re ready to follow the old boy right to the end. He fights alongside them, shares the dangers, and only allows himself to eat what they do. So he’s their hero. Here we are, sir.’

  The soldier indicated the shell of a large building across an open expanse of rubble-strewn ground and with a start Thomas realised that he was looking across what had once been the neat lines of Birgu’s main square. They picked their way over to the entrance of the merchants’ guildhouse, stopping once to duck down as a cannonball moaned overhead. They listened for the crash of the impact but it never came.

  ‘Overshot,’ the soldier said with satisfaction.

  They stood up and hurried across the square. A sentry at the guildhouse door recognised the soldier and he waved them through. Beyond the wide arch of the doorway was the hall where the island’s merchants and cargo-ship owners had met to do business. Windows high up in the walls had once illuminated the whitewashed plaster walls upon which hung portraits of the most influential of the guild’s members. Now the flagstone floor was covered with dust and grit, and where the roof had fallen in, shattered roof tiles lay in heaps. The soldier led Thomas across the hall to where stairs led down into the storerooms beneath the building. A corridor stretched out on both sides at the bottom of the stairs and was illuminated by candles guttering in iron holders mounted on the walls.

  ‘You’ll find the Grand Master down at the end.’ The soldier pointed to the left.

  Thomas nodded his thanks and the soldier turned to the right to join a small group of men sitting at a table, drinking and playing dice. Arched openings lined the corridor and as Thomas passed by, he could see that some were being used to treat the wounded.

  Others were filled with weapons, armour, powder kegs and small baskets of ammunition for arquebuses. A short distance down the corridor Thomas saw that a hole had been knocked through the wall and a stretch of tunnel led to the cellar of another building. There was an open space where a number of tables had been set up. Two men sat at one table upon which a map of the island was spread.

  By the gloomy light of the candles Thomas could make out the features of Romegas in urgent conversation with a thin man with a matted white beard. It was a moment before he recognised the Grand Master. La Valette looked up at the sound of footsteps and he smiled wearily as he waved Thomas towards a stool beside the table.

  Romegas nodded a greeting. ‘I’m glad to see you again, Sir Thomas. I feared the worst when I heard of your injuries. You were lucky to escape from St Elmo at the end.’

  Thomas sensed a hint of criticism in the man’s tone and indicated the scarring on his face. ‘You have a singular view of what constitutes luck.’

  Romegas shrugged. ‘ You and a handful of men survived, when all others were killed. I would call that luck, for want of another word.’

  Thomas felt his anger stirring. ‘And which word would that be? What exactly would you accuse me of?’

  The Grand Master cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, please, that’s enough. There are too few of us left to waste our efforts on petty fractiousness. That is why I summoned you from the infirmary, Thomas. I need every man who still has the strength, and the heart, to fight the Turks. We have lost so many good men, including my own nephew, and Fadrique, the son of Don Garcia. At least your squire still lives. He has proved to be a fine warrior, as brave as they come.’ He smiled briefly before his expression became sombre once again. ‘You two are the last of my advisers. Save all your anger for the enemy.’

  Thomas was shocked. ‘Just the three of us? I know about Stokely, but Marshal de Roblas?’

  Romegas stroked his creased brow. ‘He was shot through the head several days ago. But you would not have been aware of that, Sir Thomas. Much has happened while you were recovering from your wounds. Birgu and Senglea came under attack soon after St Elmo fell. You have seen the damage done to the town, but let me tell you that the wall is largely a ruin, destroyed by bombardment and the mines dug by the enemy’s engineers. Only the bastions still withstand the enemy’s guns. We have built an inner wall but it is a poor defence that is barely ten feet high, and there are no more than a thousand men left to hold the Turks at bay. Most of our soldiers are wounded and all of them are exhausted and hungry. Our powder is running short and there is still no sign of the relief force Don Garcia promised us.’

  Thomas pursed his lips. ‘If it is as bad as that then we shall surely be defeated.’

  ‘No, Don Garcia will come,’ La Valette said firmly. ‘My good friend Romegas is inclined to dwell on our difficulties at the expense of our opportunities. Our situation is bleak but it is only half the picture. We know that the enemy camp is wracked with sickness and their spirits are at a low ebb because of the heavy losses they have endured since the siege began. And now the season is changing and the rain has come to add to the enemy’s discomfort. If we can hold Mustafa Pasha back for a little longer, he will be forced to quit the island before autumn sets in.’ He paused and narrowed his eyes shrewdly. ‘If I were the enemy, I would throw everything into one final assault, whatever the cost.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Romegas.

  ‘Because I would know that my master, the Sultan, would not be merciful if I were forced to return to Istanbul having failed to carry out his orders. I would do anything to keep my head on my shoulders. Therefore I believe Mustafa Pasha will attack us with all his might very soon.’ La Valette looked at his surviving advisers. ‘When the Turks come, they will be more desperate than ever to wipe us out. We shall need to be more than their equal in determination, or else they will slaughter every man, woman and child in Birgu.’

  ‘There is something else we could do,’ Romegas said quietly. ‘We still have St Angelo. We can defend that, even if we can’t hold

  Birgu. Sir, I suggest we withdraw what is left of our fighting men into the fort. We can hold out there for a month or so yet, until Don Garcia and his army, or autumn, arrives.’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘What about the civilians? We couldn’t possibly fit them all into the fort. Are you suggesting that we abandon them to the Turks?’ He thought of Maria and turned to his commander. ‘Sir, we can’t do that.’

  ‘We might have to,’ Romegas insisted. ‘How else can we make our supplies last long enough? The people are already starving. Our men will not have the strength to fight on in a few weeks’ time. The fort is more readily defended than the town and wall. It makes sense. It might be our only chance to save the Order, sir.’

  ‘Only at the price of our reputation,’ Thomas retorted. ‘Our name will go down in the annals of infamy if we leave the people to the mercy of the Turks. There will be no mercy, just massacre.’ Romegas smiled coldly. ‘This is war, Sir Thomas. A war that I, and the Grand Master, have been fighting through all the years we have served the Order. What matters, above all, is the survival of the Order.’

  ‘I thought that what matters is stemming the tide of Islam,’ Thomas countered.

  ‘While we live on we will always be the sword thrust into the side of the enemy,’ Romegas replied. ‘To ensure that, we must be prepared to make sacrifices. For the greater good.’

  Thomas saw the strained expression on the Grand Master’s face as he reflected on Romegas’s suggestion and gave his response. ‘It’s true. We could hold St Angelo far more easily than Birgu, and perhaps long enough to see out the siege . . . And yet, what Sir Thomas says is also true. We sho
uld never forget that the Order was set up to protect the righteous and the innocent.’ He thought for a moment and then sighed. ‘I think I already know what I must do. Yes, I am certain of it.’

  Romegas glanced at Thomas and smiled, believing that he had won the argument. ‘It is for the best, sir.’

  ‘You mistake me,’ said La Valette. ‘There will be no retreat to the fort . . . once I have seen to it that the drawbridge is blown to pieces.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The gloom of dusk was broken by the brief brilliance of a savage explosion and Thomas’s good eye squinted at the sudden glare. The sheet of flame and smoke was accompanied by an ear-shattering roar that echoed across Birgu. Pieces of the drawbridge spun lazily into the air, hung there for an instant, and then collapsed in a shower of debris that clattered across the roofs of the nearest buildings and splashed down into the channel that had been cut between the fort and the town of Birgu.

  The Grand Master, his advisers and senior officers watched in silence for a moment.

  ‘There will be no retreat for us now, gendemen,’ La Valette said. ‘That is the message we send to the Turks just as much as to our own people. With God’s help we will hold Birgu. If we fail in that duty then we shall perish in its ruins. The final test is coming.’ He turned to survey the enemy-held heights above the town. ‘An enemy officer was captured this morning. He revealed that the Turks are steeling themselves for one last attack. That is why there have been no assaults for the last eight days and why Mustafa Pasha has concentrated his cannon fire on what is left of the walls. The enemy will strike at first light tomorrow.’ He paused while his officers took in the news.

  ‘If the attack fails then I believe Mustafa Pasha will not find it possible to stir his men to further action and we may yet survive this siege. Rest well tonight and be at your posts an hour before dawn.’ He looked round at his followers with a grim expression. ‘I am too weary to make fine speeches. I have only a few words to offer you now. We have battled the Turk in the best traditions of the Order. I count myself honoured to have commanded and fought alongside you and all those who have fallen defending the Holy Religion.