by Sam Burnell
The day after they had arrived at Scranton’s temporary work place, Emilio had told him about the small island. It was a point of pilgrimage, not only for the islanders, but also for the Knights. Emilio himself had crossed to the small island several years ago, holding a vigil for the island’s saint. Emilio had gone on to extol the virtues of Paul, telling Jack how he had delivered Christianity to the rocky island in the few months he was there.
Jack had then told Emilio that the local population must be easier to convince than he was. That had raised the Italian’s temper, much to Jack’s amusement. Emilio had continued to lecture Jack. It was Paul’s calm persistence, Emilio insisted, that had won over the island. Dressed only in rags and with no earthly possessions, Paul had only the power of the Lord’s words to arm himself to further the cause of Christianity. Emilio’s tone had been one of rebuke as he recounted the tale of Paul’s humility to the Lord. Jack, not about to be brow beaten by the Italian, had laughed and reminded the Knight of his sin against nature. The Italian’s face had darkened then and he had avoided Jack’s company for two days.
Jack had regretted his words. Emilio was, in general, good company and had a set of skills that Jack was openly envious of. He enjoyed his good humour and Emilio’s endless store of tales about the Order. Most of them were embellished, Jack had no doubt, to favour the reputation of the Knights. The Order was a formidable force and the premier military might in the Christian world, and Emilio, took extreme pride in being a part of it. The Knights might have had a tarnished reputation in some quarters, but their military proficiency was rarely called into question. After two days, Emilio, looking pale, had admitted himself to Jack’s company once again, treating Jack with a new reserve. Jack rightly guessed he’d spent the time on his knees in repentance and he found himself working hard to regain the Italian’s former easy friendship. Scranton had watched Jack’s efforts with disapproving eyes, especially when Emilio found it impossible not to laugh at Jack’s advances.
Jack continued to drift towards the far shore on his back. He had no need to rush back. Scranton was supervising the packing of the black powder and Jack had no desire to handle any more of the stinking stuff. As he drifted further towards the opposite rocky shore, he realised he could see more of the channel between the tiny island and Malta. As he watched he saw something in the inlet. Something brightly coloured. Something red.
Jack was vertical in the water in a moment, droplets showering around him. His heart was racing.
Between St Paul’s island and Malta, in that narrow channel, was a ship. The prow, jutting forward round the rocky promontory, bore a blood red flag with a simple crescent. It was the flag he had seen before, on the two Turkish ships that had turned their might against the Santa Fe, on the journey to Malta.
Jack launched himself back across the bay. He raised his head twice as he swam to see where the ship was. They could not see him at that distance, but the galley was turning as it exited the narrow channel, navigating into the small bay.
†
Jack, his clothes still clinging to his wet body, made it back up the rocky hillside at a run, despite the incline and the heat, worried that the galley had not been seen and that Emilio was still lazing in the shade. However, before he made it back to the terrace, where Scranton’s stock in trade had been laid out, he could hear Emilio’s raised voice and those of his men.
Emilio’s excited voice greeted him, “There are two. The man I posted on the other side of the hill saw them round the point and cut through the channel into this bay. They are far enough from the capital here to know they will not meet any resistance and if they are close to the island, they regularly take slaves from the fishing villages and anything else they can carry away.”
“We need to return to Mdina,” wailed Scranton, appearing suddenly from one of the caves.
“Two of my men will take Scranton back and the powder. They are leaving now. The rest will remain.” Emilio’s eyes were bright. “I’ve already sent a man back to the capital on the fastest horse. They will send a force to guide the powder in.”
“Two men? You cannot surely guarantee my safety with just two men?” Scranton’s voice rose a pitch.
“They have not even landed men on the shore yet. You’ve time to get well on your way to the citadel. There will be eight of us left and they will not put more than a dozen ashore,” Emilio informed Scranton curtly.
Seeing that Emilio was not going to help him, Scranton turned to Jack. “We need to go, Master Fitzwarren. Brother Emilio’s men have secured the powder in the cart, but the horses will be slow. We must make haste.”
Emilio shouted orders quickly over his shoulder to the two men preparing to take Scranton to safety, before returning his attention to Jack. “Will you scuttle back then with Master Scranton, or remain?”
Jack grinned. “I’ll need steel.”
In a moment Froggy was standing at Jack’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving Jack on his own, so he can scold my ears with tales of this for weeks to come.”
Emilio nodded. Behind them Scranton wailed, but the men with him had their orders. A moment later he was bundled in the direction of the packed cart. Soon his shrill complaining voice was gone.
“That’s a relief,” Froggy muttered.
One of Emilio’s men came running down the steps to the terrace and he delivered his message breathlessly. There was a third and a fourth Turkish ship behind the two they had already seen breaching the channel into the bay.
Emilio’s face hardened. “Four ships will carry over two hundred Turkish soldiers. Not enough to invade Malta, but a lot more than eight members of the Order of Saint John can cope with.”
“Don’t worry, a Knight of the Order is equal to a hundred Turks, or so Emilio keeps telling me,” Jack said to Froggy, giving him a nudge.
Froggy, who had a real sense of the danger, was not sharing Jack’s amusement. “Let’s hope we don’t need to find out,” was all he said in reply.
“Arm them,” Emilio shouted, at one of his captains, pointing to Jack and Froggy. Then he moved briskly to the edge of the terrace, watching the first galley slide through the bright blue water to the head of the bay.
Jack, buckling a sword belt on, came to stand next to him. “The cart is going to have to cross that track along the edge of the beach. They won’t miss it.”
Emilio nodded in agreement. “We are going to have to hold their attention until that cart passes them and makes it to the road on the other side of the bay.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Jack enquired. The belt was tight and he pushed Dan’s knife behind it, next to the scabbard.
“We ride down, taking the shore path to the left. Then we go up the hill, past the fishing huts.” Emilio was heading towards the horses his men had all saddled and ready.
“You think that will work? Surely, they’ll know you are drawing them away from the cart?” Jack asked, following him quickly.
“These are Turks. Nothing in that cart could be as precious to them as the prospect of holding as hostage eight Knights of the Order. We will offer ourselves as a prize they cannot resist.” Emilio smiled as he swung himself up into the saddle.
“When that happens, you’ll be sure to tell them we’re not part of their precious Order, won’t you?” Froggy Tate said, caustically, in Jack’s ear.
Within minutes, the group were mounted and forcing their horses down the crumbling roman road kicking up rocks and dust , the iron shoes ringing loudly on the stone path. Froggy and Jack were at the back, the Knights wearing the cross of the Order, rode flanking each other so they were as conspicuous as possible to the men on the ships.
“It’s just occurred to me,” shouted Froggy, riding next to Jack, “that being at the back is not such a good idea.”
“I was just thinking that as well.” Jack pressed his horse on to close the gap between himself and the rider in front. They could see men spilling from the side of the ship and wading to the shore. Soon th
e Knights would have passed them, their horses set on the track leading up the hill in front of the fisherman’s shacks. Then, Jack was fairly sure, he and Froggy would find themselves at the rear of the troop and closest to the Janissaries.
The first horses made it to the bottom of the hill and set off up along the track in the opposite direction to the cart.
Jack shouted a warning. “Froggy, keep up!” As he had thought, they were closest to the Turks. The first of the Turks, wading up from the water, were intent on breaking the line of horses heading up the hill. Jack had his sword clear of the scabbard, the reins tight in his left hand.
Emilio and five of his men made it clear past the foot soldiers. The rest of them were faced with a vicious line of curved blades advancing straight towards them, intent on cutting them off from their leader. Jack gave his full attention to the man coming straight at him. The Turk had angled his blade high, setting it for a swing that would slice into Jack’s horse’s throat. Digging his heel hard into her left flank, hauling hard on the reins, Jack pulled her exposed neck away from the glinting blade. He didn’t quite get her far enough out of reach. Razor sharp steel cut a neat slice into her withers, the blade stopping when it hit the saddle, the leather saving Jack’s knee that was directly behind it.
Jack’s foot, out of the stirrup, kicked the blade back into the Turk’s face. The mare, startled and hurt, reared. Jack slithered off her back. For a moment she was between him and the Turk. Jack had the time to pull Dan’s knife from the belt. When her flanks were clear, he faced his opponent, with steel in both hands.
The Turk’s blade ran with the mare’s blood. Jack’s sword, longer than the Janissary’s scimitar, gave him the advantage of distance. The Turk, flanked now by two more of Allah’s faithful, had the advantage of numbers. The curved blade sliced through the air towards him. Jack deflected it, the steel of the weapons clashing together with a searing squeal. The Turk’s yatagan sword lacked a cross guard. Jack’s blade continued on down, cutting into the leather covering the back of his opponent’s hand. Not a crippling blow, but the Turk jerked his arm back from Jack’s steel. His undefended right side took the full force of the knife in Jack’s left hand. It ripped through the flesh of his upper arm, carving a deep gouge across his chest.
Froggy, still mounted, brought his horse between Jack and the other two Turks, who were for a moment forced back. The command he gave the horse was for a courbette. If executed on a good mount, both Turks would have been faced with flailing hooves. The horse beneath Froggy lacked training, obeying him only by turning her hind quarters towards them. His purpose was served though. The mare split the two men apart and his blade engaged with that of the man on his right. Jack took immediate advantage of the improved odds, setting his sword toward the second.
By necessity, the blow Jack delivered needed to be debilitating and quick. The Turk’s face screwed up in pain as Jack’s sword bit into the bone of his left arm. Withdrawing the blade quickly, Jack move backwards. Behind the injured man, another three were leering at him, moving up to take his place.
Christ!
Jack tightened his grip on the hilt in his hand.
“Jack! Come on!” screamed Froggy, his horse behind Jack.
Jack knew if he turned to mount behind Froggy, they would be upon him. The infidel had badly wounded two of their crew. Their eyes told Jack he would not be spared.
The thunderous pounding of hooves drew all their attention for a second. Emilio’s horse, followed by of two of his Knights, careered into the three Turks. One man went down screaming, trampled beneath a horse. A second, buffeted hard, lost his balance, flung to the rocky ground landing on his back. The final attacker took Emilio’s sword full in the throat, dying gurgling and spluttering before he was released from the blade.
Jack needed no invitation. Moving quickly alongside Froggy, he mounted a moment later and rode behind him. The little man turned his mare up the hill, Emilio letting him pass, before the three Knights closed ranks behind them.
The Turkish foot soldiers quickly gave up chasing the horses up the hill. Soon they reached the crest of the hill between the two bays, halting when Emilio raised his hand.
“Christ, that was close!” Jack, breathing hard, muttered in Froggy’s ear.
Below them they could see the shore party of a dozen armed men. They were talking rapidly and pointing to where the Knights were.
“They think we are cut off from the capital. The track runs down the other side and to the bay. If they landed enough men here then we won’t be able to make it back,” Emilio stated.
Even Jack knew that there was nothing that offered sanctuary on the north of the island. The only strong hold was Mdina, and that was now on the other side of the Turks, who were beginning to empty from the ships.
“There must be a way back?” Jack asked.
Emilio nodded, then pointed with his blooded sword. “We need to move quickly before they move up the valley. If we go along the ridge, then drop down, we can get across the valley before they cut us off.”
Emilo turned to his men and, his intentions stated, the horses set off at breakneck speed. They were heading towards the wooded crest of the hill, below which were the bee hives and the terrace where Scranton had been working for weeks. What looked like a rocky track soon showed itself to be a treacherous limestone wasteland. Pock-marked with holes, the uneven ground was filled with traps for hooves, disguised by the poor scrub that clung to the top of the ridge.
Froggy’s horse, with a double burden, lost its footing twice but recovered. The second time, Jack was flung so hard against Froggy’s back, he nearly unseated him. One of Emilio’s Knights fared worse. Riding too fast, the black gaping hole of a punic tomb, carved out of the soft rock, forced his horse to leap the gap. Landing badly, a rear hoof sliding into the void, both horse and rider rolled to the ground. The mare was quickly on her feet, but the rider lay unconscious, blood pouring from his mouth.
Jack’s mouth twisted at the sight of the man, knowing for sure that his ribs would have splintered when the horse landed on him, forcing their way into his innards. Emilio wheeled his horse back round. It was clear he would not leave the man behind.
Jack detached himself quickly from the back of Froggy’s horse. “I’ll take his horse. Put him behind me.”
Draping the dying man over the rear of his horse and lashing a securing rope around him to his saddle only took moments, but it was time they could ill afford. The longer they lingered on the crest of the hill, the more time the Turks had to fill the valley below them, cutting them off from the citadel.
Mounted again, they cleared the exposed limestone crest and fled into the trees that dominated the remainder of the ridge. There was a narrow path and they rode along it in single file, the riders hunched over their horses avoiding the branches from the Aleppo pine trees. Emerging into a clearing, they could see a track leading through the trees back down into the valley. Emilio though, ignored it, pressing his sweating horse further along the ridge.
“We are not far enough along yet,” Jack heard Emilio shouting.
The trees thinned and Jack saw the terraces leading down to the valley, and between them a winding dusty track. He could also see something else. The red of the flags, streaming from the poles held aloft by the Turks as they moved up the valley below them. Scranton’s cart was nowhere in sight. He must have made it across the end of the bay, over the ridge on the opposite side of the valley and onto the track to Mdina.
“If we ride down there now, will we cross before they arrive?” Froggy said, pulling his agitated mount next to Jack’s.
“It’s going to be bloody close,” Jack said, holding the horse next to Froggy’s.
“It will be even closer if we don’t move,” Emilio announced. Pressing his heels hard into his horse, he led the charge down the hillside. He left them little choice but to follow. Emilio’s horse breaking from the cover of the trees marked their position, so they either followed him or mad
e a rapid retreat.
Jack’s horse, carrying a double weight, sank towards the back of the pack. He pressed her on hard. As she raced towards the flat valley floor, Jack could see the men on foot, running to intercept them.
It’s going to be more than close!
Emilio, blade drawn, had known they were going to have to fight their way across to the slope on the other side of the valley. There were a dozen men in the lead, running swiftly, and behind them the same number again. If the first force could delay them for only a short while, they would be vastly outnumbered. Sheer weight of numbers would lead to their defeat.
Jack wondered why the troop behind the leading men had slowed. He knew the answer soon enough, when a barbed arrow whirred past him, rattling off a limestone rubble wall.
Christ, archers!
The man behind him was dead, Jack was sure. The body was bouncing on the mare’s hind quarters. A knife to the rope bindings released the dead weight. Jack felt her pace strengthen, now that the uncertain burden was removed from her back.
Emilio’s shouted order to join the road immediately reduced their profile to the archers. The track was wide enough to ride side by side, the Knights taking to the side closest to the Turks. Froggy and Jack found themselves on the inside, shielded from the archers.
Two more arrows, missing their marks, hammered into the tilled earth on Jack’s right. The next buried itself, head and shaft, into the flesh of the horse on his left. Crumpling her legs beneath her, the horse tumbled to the rocky road, pitching her rider forward to roll on the track. One of the Knights pulled his horse to a jolting halt, his arm extended for the fallen man to take. Jack and Froggy were forced to a stop as their route became blocked by the unmounted man and his rescuer.