by Sam Burnell
†
When Lizbet helped Richard back to the cabin, he sank into a chair at the table. His stomach felt as if it has been filled with acid and it burnt from within him.
Lizbet, standing back, hands on hips, regarded him seriously. “I’d like to tell you that you have looked worse.”
It was warm in the cabin, stiflingly so, but he still felt so cold. The tremors began, sweat beading on his forehead. Richard wrapped his arms around himself to still his body, but it was of little good.
An hour later Jack arrived back, and agitated, he paced the room.
“What’s the matter with you?” Lizbet asked.
“Emilio. He’s invited me to join them for dinner,” Jack supplied, stopping his pacing and staring from the window.
“Lucky you, at least one of us will get some good food tonight,” Lizbet replied sarcastically. The food that had been delivered to them so far was basic at best.
“A high price to pay for a night in the company of Emilio and the rest of them,” Jack grumbled.
Lizbet crossed the room and squeezed his arm. “School your thoughts, it will be fine.” Then she added grinning, “Brother Emilio likes you well enough. If you don’t come back tonight I will assume you have found a better bed to sleep in.” Lizbet nudged him with her elbow, laughing.
Jack shot her a dark look. “Hush, woman. I can’t offend him, can I?”
A serious look descended on her face. “Just be careful what you say.”
†
When he was escorted to Emilio’s cabin later that night, Jack was not sure what would be on the other side of the door waiting for him. His worst fear had been a dinner with Emilio and the other senior Knights onboard. His relief was palpable when the door opened and he found the cabin was empty apart from Emilio.
“Sit.” Emilio indicated a chair opposite set near the table. “There is no need to look nervous.”
Jack dropped into the chair. “A formal dinner was not something I was looking forward to.”
Emilio looked delighted. “Good, then formal it will not be.” Emilio already had a glass of wine before him. There was a servant standing at the end of the table. Emilio waved at him without shifting his eyes from Jack, a glass was filled and silently placed in front of Jack. When the servant had completed his task, Emilio spoke to him in rapid Italian. A moment later they were alone.
“I would wager you’ve not often been beaten in the ring with a sword,” Emilio enquired once the door was closed, his fingers idly twisting the stem of the wine glass.
Jack inclined his head. “Not often.”
“I can believe it. With your talent and my sword master’s tuition you would have been…” Emilio paused for a moment, “an interesting opponent.”
“And I’m not at the moment?” Jack said a little too quickly.
“ Oh, you’re interesting.” Emilio grinned. “But a little tuition and you would be marked amongst the best.”
Jack was silent; it was praise he had not expected.
Emilio laughed. “I didn’t even want to learn to wield a sword. It was forced upon me by my father. You are lucky.”
“Lucky,” Jack echoed, confused.
“You had to learn your lessons well. I had to excel. If I didn’t, I got a whipping,” Emilio stated bluntly. Jack had already drained his glass and Emilio, leaning forward, refilled it.
“It has served you well,” Jack replied. “You are amongst the best I have ever seen.”
“You think?” Emilio replied, sounding unimpressed by Jack’s praise.
“Yes, you are formidable with a blade,” Jack replied, honestly.
“It is something, I suppose,” Emilio said, then leaning forward, added, “and you are one of the few I have ever heard admit it.”
Jack’s face was serious. “You have a skill with a sword the like of which I’ve never seen.”
“Practice, that is the price of it,” Emilio admitted. “It has brought me here, and hopefully I can use it to make my way higher up in the Order. The Order is my family now.” Then changing the subject, he added, “And you, where do you want to be?”
Confusion clouded Jack’s face. Then he said badly, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Emilio placed his wine glass down squarely on the table in front of him and observed Jack carefully. “I find that hard to believe.” Then, when Jack did not answer him, he continued, “You are travelling to Malta to meet with the leader of the most powerful military order in the Christian world. It seems strange for you not to have considered it. When I first went to Malta it was a matter of great moment in my life. I made a pilgrimage to where St Paul was shipwrecked. It is that saint who guides my life within the Order.”
“You have no regrets?” Jack asked, trying to change the course of the conversation.
“Regrets? Not any more,” Emilio provided. “My brother will take the titles and the land and have the ear of the Pope. If I had stayed and joined the Church, I would have just been a tool for my brother to use, like he uses everyone around him. He is neither a likeable man nor a good one. To have his shadow cast across my life was not something I wanted.”
“I have a brother like that,” Jack said. A vision of Robert, in an alleyway in London, wearing nothing but his shirt drifted into his mind.
Emilio’s brow furrowed. “The man who is with you does not look like a threat to anyone.”
“I have another brother, in England,” Jack said, by way of explanation.
“Ah, and the one who is with you? Why do you travel with him?” Emilio asked conversationally.
“He’s my brother.” Then when that did not seem to satisfy Emilio, Jack added, “He has been ill.”
“I can see that, and I can see why.” Emilio said.
Jack could hear the distaste in his voice.
“It’s not as it seems,” Jack said, defensively.
Emilio inclined his head. “He is your brother, and you are right to defend him.”
The conversation paused. Both men sat in silence as servants admitted themselves and food was laid on the table between them. Any qualms Jack had harboured vanished at the sight of it. It had been a very long time since he had seen food like this. The fact must have showed on his face.
“So, if I wish to woo you, then I simply need to use food. I do feel a little disappointed,” Emilio said, smiling.
Jack was repressing an impulse to take some of the meat from the serving plate in front of him, but he managed to wait for Emilio to start.
“Richard, you have the look of a starving dog on your face. Here.” Emilio, picking up a knife, served several slices of the thick cut meat onto the plate in front of Jack, before taking some himself. Then, waving his knife at Jack. “Eat, please.”
Jack needed no further invitation. He might have been a little disconcerted had he known how closely Emilio was watching him. Emilio picked up the wine flagon, refilling Jack’s glass when it slipped past the half way mark for a third time.
“So, did your sword master never outline your faults to you?” Emilio ventured after a while.
“He wasn’t interested in me,” Jack said, spearing another slice of meat from the serving dish and depositing it on his own plate.
“Ah, a poor tutor, the world is too full of men who can’t succeed on their own merits, so they teach,” Emilio said, sorrowfully. “I had a horse master I could outride by the time I was twelve, yet still he believed he had knowledge to impart to me.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that.” Jack spoke through a mouthful of food. “He was Harry’s tutor.”
“Harry?” Emilio said absently.
“My cousin, if your brother is your cross then Harry was mine when I was younger.” Jack supplied. “His father spent good coin on trying to turn him into something he was not.”
“You must know Edward Fitzwarren?” Emilio placed the words with care into the conversation, lightly and with little emphasis.
“He’s another cousin.” Jack put down h
is glass again, the attentive Emilio topping it back up.
“He’s one of the few English knights to make a name for himself in the Order,” Emilio continued.
“What for?” Jack asked, pulling a hunk of bread from a loaf on the table and adding to his plate.
“He’s led men against the Turks. An able commander, he is one of de la Sengle’s trusted captains,” Emilio supplied.
“It’s been a long time since I last saw him,” Jack provided.
Emilio sat back, his own glass cradled in his hands, watching the man before him carefully. “You will meet him again when we get to Malta, and you will be able to see for yourself if he has changed.”
Jack’s hand, reaching for the wine glass, stopped in mid air. His face paled, and his eyes, catching Emilio’s, looked quickly away.
“You are indeed, as I told you earlier today, easy prey,” Emilio said, the words spoken quietly, but edged with a threat.
Jack tried to recover his composure, taking the glass of wine into a tight hold. He refrained, however from saying anything.
Emilio put down his glass and steepled his fingers together, his face thoughtful. “So then, why would you not want to meet Edward Fitzwarren? He’s Harry’s cousin, and yours also. Maybe you had a childhood disagreement? Perhaps Edward would not remember you? Or then again, perhaps he would?”
Jack swallowed hard, the food before him forgotten.
Emilio tapped the back of his thumb thoughtfully against his chin. “So why would you not want to meet your cousin? Indeed, as he is well placed in the Order, he could, I have no doubt, further your cause. He would be a valuable ally, I would have thought.”
Jack dropped his hands to his lap. Both were shaking.
“Unless of course, you are not Richard Fitzwarren.”
Jack stared at the table. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted his eyes and found Emilio staring at him intently. The look on the Italian knight’s face was no longer friendly.
“Who exactly am I taking to Malta?” Emilio’s voice was cold, his dark eyes boring into Jack’s blue ones. Emilio let out a long and impatient breath. “Do I need to make everything so easy for you to understand?”
Jack remained silent.
Emilio leant forward slightly towards Jack. “Tell me who you are. Or I shall have to ask the question of those you are travelling with.”
Jack looked at the table, considering his answer. He knew he would need to supply one now, the threat was clear. Squaring his shoulders, his blue eyes met Emilio’s. Jack delivered his words bluntly. “I am Jack Fitzwarren, my brother is Richard. And, as you have seen, he is too ill to meet with anyone. So I took his name.”
“Jacques Fitzwarren,” Emilio repeated the name slowly, laying emphasis on the French pronunciation
Jack nodded.
“So, tell me, your brother, why is it he is so… unwell?”
Jack’s mind raced. Why indeed was his brother ill? His eyes met Emilio’s searching gaze and he swallowed hard.
“Your brother is a weak man? I can see what he has fallen prey to.”
“No, he’s not,” Jack replied, suddenly, and then, “At least he wasn’t.”
Emilio refilled first Jack’s glass and then his own. “Perhaps I should have been destined for a career in the Church. At least I would have had more experience of the confessional.” Picking up his own glass, he motioned for Jack to do the same. “I will draw out the truth, no matter how long it takes.”
After an hour Emilio called for a halt in the conversation, sending for more wine. Jack had no idea what would happen now. He felt strangely as if a weight had been removed from his soul now that another man knew his burden. Emilio had made little comment, keeping his words to simple questions.
There was a discreet tap on the door. Emilio rose and returned a moment later, with a full flagon. Dropping back into his chair, a smile wandered back onto his face. “I believe you. And I can understand your situation, your brother is… unwell.”
Jack’s face raced with confusion again. “I lied to you!”
“It was an expedient lie. In your position I would have probably done the same. Your brother has lost his wits. Let us both pray he recovers them before we get to Malta. We, however, can still be friends, I think.”
†
“Where are you taking him?” Lizbet shrieked, hanging onto Richard’s arm when two men came to take him from the cabin the following day. Jack was already above them, on deck, with Emilio.
One of them gave her a look of utter distaste, peeled her hand away, and with a brisk push, propelled her back inside. A moment later Lizbet was staring at the closed door.
They led him, between them, to a small room occupied only by Emilio, and lowered him onto a bench. When the door was closed, the Knight, arms folded, regarded him darkly.
“I know who you are. Your brother, I like well enough, I can understand what he has done,” Emilio said, levelly. He moved to stand a little closer, looking down upon Richard, who was forced to tip his head back to meet his gaze.
“I know your cousin as well,” Emilio continued. “He has made a significant name for himself within the Order. Grand Master de la Sengle relies upon his captains heavily and Edward Fitzwarren is one of his trusted men.”
Richard remained silent.
“I would not have you shame him. When you arrive in Malta, it will become known that you are part of his family. Your brother cannot continue to protect you. He is not a man who dissembles well.”
Richard dropped his gaze from Emilio’s. “I know.”
“Good,” Emilio said, suddenly, “then we are in agreement.”
Emilio’s servant arrived, and the Knight left. With voluble distaste for his task, the man attempted to remove filth, lice, matted hair and soiled clothing. Richard did not resist his ministrations, the process taking place without engaging him at all. When the man finished, he left the scissors, knife and mirror on the table.
Cold, lethally pointed, the scissors lay on top of the Florentine mirror where the servant had placed them. A trembling hand reached for them, pushing them away from the silvered glass. Gripping the handle, Richard lifted the mirror. The face that stared at him was not one he recognised.
He put the mirror down with a clatter.
It was not one that could bring them safely from Malta.
The words of the priest rattled around inside his head. Chanting and repeating the penance. “Salutis et innocentum… salvation of the innocents.”
Richard felt sick. It wasn’t this time a nausea brought about by the opium either. They were going to Malta, all of them were going to that steel isle and the chances were high that none of them would be coming back. He had no idea what they would do with an unmarried woman who was carrying a child – his brother’s child.
Christ!
“Salutis et innocentum…”
Richard’s head rang painfully with the words.
He needed to get them from Malta as quickly as possible. That they were going there at all was a folly now. Andrew had won. He’d extracted his revenge for the sin he believed Richard had committed. The deaths of the children, of the villagers and of Mat clung to him like a noxious odour. Andrew’s words, he was sure, were lies but somewhere a grain had taken hold and cracked open and spread through him until he had to consider that it might be a truth. If Elizabeth and Seymour were lovers, his actions for the last five years had been based on a hollow sham.
It wasn’t the last five years that mattered now. It was the next few weeks. He had to save them from Malta, somehow.
When the door was opened to the cabin an hour later, Lizbet stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. He met her gaze and she dropped her eyes quickly. He knew what he’d seen written on her face – hope – and who was he to deny her that?
†
Jack lounged in the shade, watching two of Emilio’s men spar on the polished deck. Suddenly there came a cry from aloft, quickly followed by another. Straining his eyes against
the harsh sun, he could see the lookout, and the man’s outstretched arm pointing towards the horizon. Jack could see nothing but sea. The sun was in that direction and he shielded his eyes against it.
“I can’t see a damn thing. What’s he shouting?” Jack spoke quickly to Emilio, who also had his eyes fixed on the blue horizon.
“Turkish ships. Two of them,” Emilio replied, his voice a pitch higher than normal.
The ship suddenly seemed to erupt around him. There was sudden uproar, feet pounding on the deck. Breathless and excited, Emilio dived past him, bellowing commands to his men.
Jack looked around. Only minutes ago, the Santa Fe had been tranquil and quiet. He’d been listening to the sounds of taut canvas, along with the creak of stretched rope, as he’d stared at the disappearing coastline. Now the air resonated with orders, the sound of men running, appearing from below decks, manning their posts around the ship.
Emilio reappeared with his men at his back.
“Two of Dragut’s ships. There… can you see them?” He pointed, but Jack could see little against the harsh bright sun.
“I’ll believe you,” Jack said, still trying to see them. “Just two? Are they coming towards us?”
“Yes, they are coming in fast, side by side. The Captain, he is experienced,” Emilio supplied.
“Can we outrun them?” Jack asked.
“Why would we want to? The Santa Fe is one of the mightiest ships in our fleet. We do not turn our backs and run from the Turkish dogs.” Emilio’s voice sounded incredulous.
The two ships were closing on the Santa Fe. Jack made to step further towards the rail to get a better view. Emilio, a hand flat against his chest, stopped him abruptly.
“You need to go below,” Emilio commanded.” We will ensure your safety.”