by Sam Burnell
Jack heard the arrows again. Reaching over, he grabbed at the bridle on Froggy’s horse, urging her past the standing horse.
“Go on, ride. Don’t stop,” Jack yelled.
An arrow embedded itself into the back of the man reaching for the offered hand. Surprise showed on his face for a moment, the force of the blow pressing him forward, stumbling into horse and rider. A second arrow cut through his leather doublet, the barbed head parting flesh and muscle.
“Ride. He’s dead. Ride!” Jack shouted, his horse alongside the man offering help. Waiting no longer, and hearing the shafts of two more steel barbs clattering off the limestone wall he pressed his horse on down the track. As they neared the small valley floor, the path levelled out. Jack could see Froggy, Emilio and five of the leading men about to career headlong into the running line of Turkish troops. They had no choice now but to halt the foot soldiers advance, holding them back until the straggling riders caught up and passed them. Even if it was only for a short moment, the confrontation was still going to be lethal.
Emilio’s sword flashed in the sun. Raised behind him, he brought it in a huge sweeping arc into the soldiers. Jack’s horse trailing behind was only yards from him when Emilio and his men brought the fight to the Turks.
The arrows had ceased. They were now too close to the Turkish troops for the archers to aim cleanly anymore. One of the Knights was being hauled from his horse, screaming in defiance, his boot grasped from below.
“Ride! Ride!” The command was Emilio’s.
The fallen Knight disappeared into a sea of vicious blows. Emilio, wheeling round, applied his heels to his horse, and the Knights, blades still in their hands, disengaged. This time it was Jack and Froggy in the lead, the remaining five Knights bringing up the rear.
They didn’t have to ride far to outrun the troops on foot, but they needed much more distance to avoid the arrows the archers began to loose at their retreating backs.
They slowed the horses as soon as they reached the crest of the valley on the opposite side. finally out of range of the archers. Emilio had lost three men, and the horses were lathered, their sides heaving. Emilio’s eyes were bright with rage. There were now only four of his men left.
“We need to get to the Citadel. Make sure Master Scranton has made it safely there with the powder.” Emilio spoke between ragged, heaving breaths.
Jack nodded. The only safety for them now was in Mdina. If they remained outside of the walls, the Turkish troops would catch them. They were still advancing quickly across the flat valley floor, and soon they would begin to mount the slope where the riders were watching.
With much more haste than when they had ridden down the track two weeks ago, they cantered the tired beasts through the midday heat, towards the white walls of Mdina on the crest of the next hill, standing shimmering in the sun. Within a short distance, they saw the cart with Master Scranton bouncing uncomfortably in the back, and soon caught up with it. The ride was silent and difficult, the riders pressing the horses over the rough terrain faster than they would like, and the cart bouncing over stones and rocks with Master Scranton wailing in the back.
Scranton had tears streaming down his face. He was being flung painfully from side to side in the back of the cart. His small wiry hands clung to the boarded sides, but as the cartwheels dropped into another sudden hole, he found the wooden side wrenched from his grip. Scranton either found himself pitched off the seat, rolling on his back in the cart, or flung over the sideboards, in danger of falling from the cart. The black powder was tied securely, Scranton had overseen that job himself, and despite the best efforts of the man driving the cart, the casks remained securely fastened.
Scranton let out another cry as the cart bucked and pitched up into the air, shaking his hold loose again from the wooden side. Scranton missed the seat and fell yelping as one of his wrists clattered painfully off the side of the wooden seat. The cartwheel chose that moment to splinter. In another half a rotation, the rim split and the spokes buckled one after another. Scranton screamed and rolled sideways as the cart collapsed, the left side of it being dragged along on the remains of the hub.
The cart, the slowest vehicle in the group, and carrying the most valuable cargo, had travelled at the front of the fleeing group. Froggy, riding behind it, pulled his mare sideways, avoiding the carnage of shattered wood sprayed towards him from the collapsing wheel.
Scranton was already on his feet in the back of the tipped cart, shouting at the driver when Emilio pulled his horse up next to the remains of the cart.
“Enough! It has happened.” Emilio’s voice cut through Scranton’s complaining wail. Emilio’s tone even bore an edge that obtained Jack’s instant attention. “Strip the powder out. We can’t leave it.”
The earthenware jars, packed round with straw and stinking animal skins, had, thanks to Scranton’s fastidiousness, remained intact. It took four of them to lift down one of the powder jars, such was the weight. In a moment it was evident that it was too heavy for them to lash to a horse.
“We need to leave it, they’ll be upon us.” Scranton could not contain himself.
It was a mailed fist that took hold of a good portion of Scranton’s jacket and the skin beneath and pulled him forward. Emilio spoke not to Scranton, but to one of his men. “Lacon, get him to Mdina and take these two with you.”
Scranton was dragged forward, treated like no more than a sack of grain and hoisted up to ride behind the Knight, Lacon.
“Jack, take your man, ride with Lacon. He will see you safely back in Mdina.” Emilio was turning back to his remaining men, his face grimly set.
“Damn that,” Jack exclaimed, dropping from his horse.
Froggy, cursing, looked skyward.
Emilio cast his gaze over Jack, and said quickly, “You’re staying?”
Jack grinned, “I want to see how good you really are.”
Emilio’s eyebrows raised. He shouted a hasty order at Lacon, who immediately divested himself of his cuirass and held it out.
Emilio took it a shoved it towards Jack. “I want you to live long enough to see just how good we really are.”
“Jack!”
Jack turned to the sound of Froggy’s voice.
“This is a bloody fool’s mission, it’s not our fight,” Froggy called down from his mount.
“Go, make sure Scranton gets back to Mdina. Tell my brother you left with my blessing.” Jack wasn’t looking at Froggy, his hands busy buckling on the cuirass.
Emilio’s men had stripped the earthenware jars of their protective bindings and the damp animal skins and they were set next to each other, the exposed black powder glistening in the sun.
“Are we fighting or blowing ourselves to the hereafter?” Jack asked, moving to stand next to Emilio.
“We have nothing to use as a fuse. This must not fall into the Turk’s hands. They would use it against the Citadel and there is enough here to bring down the bastions. We will take as many with us as we can,” Emilio stated simply.
“As far as plans go, this might be one of the worst I’ve heard,” Jack muttered, watching one of Emilio’s captains lighting a small fire some way distant from the black powder. “Why not set the fire next to the jars and then run. If we judge it right, it will take them out as they advance. They have no idea this was the cart’s cargo?”
Emilio shook his head. “They could put the fire out, and then we have handed them a weapon to turn against the Order. We fight, and we either repel them or we set a torch to the powder.”
Chapter 18
A Fighting Chance
The man sat next to Richard pulled the notebook closer, so he could better read the figures listed there.
“What do you think, Rodrigo?” de la Sengle asked, the Order’s head of Ordnance, for the second time.
Rodrigo shrugged. “Without testing this, it is hard to say. Here.” He jabbed a blackened finger at the notebook. “This shows that the projectile reached another forty-fiv
e feet. And the second test a little further at seventy-five. But there are so many other variables, I cannot commit without testing this myself.”
“Could you follow the process?” de la Sengle pressed.
Rodrigo shook his head and flipped a page. “It is detailed here.” He tapped his finger on the page. “And I can follow it through, but the method and some vital information about quantities is not complete.” Fixing his eyes on Richard, he asked, “You write here to hold back a quantity of the charcoal for inclusion later in the process, but it does not say how much and in what form?”
“Master Scranton, as you can imagine, has kept some of the details to himself,” Richard replied, honestly.
“We will have to wait until this man, Scranton, has made more,” Rodrigo replied, sounding disappointed. “I cannot make this. I am told that he should have his powder ready for us to test soon.”
The answer was not satisfactory, but de la Sengle understood the truth of it, and nodded. “We should be able to test it this week.”
“If the powder store had not been…”
De la Sengle held up his hand to still Rodrigo’s words. “Do not remind me again about the powder store. Brother Caron, I am sure, has barely slept since the incident, worrying about the cost of it. And I have now had three delegations from the Mendoni family, who are convinced that we are set to blow them all, and their city, to the heavens.”
“It was unfortunate,” Rodrigo agreed, nodding and returning his attention once more to Richard Fitzwarren’s notes.
Edward Fitzwarren sounded bored. “Talk will not prove the method. Only action will show whether this is effective or not.”
Rodrigo said in agreement, “There is nothing in the theory I can refute but we need proof…”
They heard the noise in the street first. Men’s raised voices and a moment later there was the clatter of boots on the tiled floor in the corridor outside. The knock at the door was a cursory one that did not await an answer.
“Grand Master, Turks have landed in the bay near St Paul’s. Four ships in total, and they have a raiding party moving inland.” The message was delivered breathlessly by the rider Emilio had sent to Mdina.
De la Sengle was on his feet in a moment, any interest in what they had been considering banished immediately, in the face of the threat. Edward Fitzwarren pressed his questions to the man who had delivered the message and Rodrigo and Richard, still seated, were forgotten.
Richard, rising, hands flat on the table, added his voice. The tone cut through the heated and urgent conversation and gained de la Sengle’s attention. “Test me. I have men. Arm them now. Let me show you what we can offer. The perfect opportunity has been presented to you. Test me.”
“Arm you? Are you mad?” It was Edward Fitzwarren who spoke.
De la Sengle held up his hand to silence his captain. “Test or trial then. Let us see what you can offer us.”
†
The wooden door to the yard was flung open. From where they were seated in the shade, two men stared, wide eyed, at the figure standing in the open doorway.
“Gentleman, you have but one opportunity to free yourselves from this isle and it is here and it is now. We fight and we win. Are you with me?” Richard Fitzwarren announced to Marc and Pierre.
“Fight who?” Marc said, as he stood.
“Who cares, if it gets us out of here?” Pierre pushed passed Marc, and was hard on the heels of the Master who was already turning to leave.
†
Scranton no longer had full feeling in either his legs or his arms by the time the horse he was seated pillion on made it through the city gates. He was dropped, disregarded, in the open square just inside the gates. Around him, shouts for arms were already being obeyed. The little munitions manufacturer, holding what he believed to be a broken wrist, flattened himself against the wall and watched as the Knights he had arrived with relayed the seriousness of Emilio’s situation to the garrison commander.
He screamed again, jumping further backwards into the doorway, when a firm hand grasped his arm and a familiar voice spoke in his ear. “What’s happened? Where’s my brother?”
Scranton shook all over. “We were attacked…” he stammered, “…a raiding party.”
“Where? Where did this happen?” Richard’s voice was insistent and the grip on Scranton’s arm tightened.
“Where we were making the powder. I came back with the cart while they led the Turks away and we met back up on the road to Mdina,” Scranton managed, still shaking.
“Where are the rest of them?” Richard pressed.
“Some were killed. Then the wheel came off the cart with the powder in. Emilio sent me back with Lacon and the rest are with the powder.” Scranton wrapped his arms around himself to still his shaking.
“And Jack?” Richard put the question again.
It wasn’t Scranton who answered him, it was Froggy Tate’s voice from behind them. “The fool stayed with them.”
Richard whirled around to face Froggy. “And you didn’t?”
A moment later Scranton was forced to take further refuge in the recessed doorway as the square was filled with horses. A force of twenty fully armed Knights, astride eager horses, accompanied by Richard Fitzwarren, and three of his men, took off through the arch from the city. Heading towards the ridge, where Emilio and his remaining force were waiting for the Turks to form an advancing line strong enough to attack. Scranton, his hands pressed over his ears, let out a fearful cry as the sound of the steel clad hooves echoed through the high narrow streets, like a hammer on an anvil.
†
From their position, they did not have the best view of the valley below, but the vantage point did afford an excellent view of the near ground and any approach the Turks might make. The five Knights were spread out in defensive positions behind the low terraces. All of them were wary of the Turks’ archers.
“How many do you think?” Jack said, quietly.
Emilio to his right replied, “Twenty, maybe a few more.”
“Nice odds,” Jack said to himself sarcastically.
“They’ll not expect to find us here. Rather they would expect to be chasing us all the way back to Mdina,” Emilio replied.
“I agree, and if it weren’t for Scranton’s bloody powder, I’d be there now,” Jack said, then his eyes caught movement below him. Between the rows of olive trees there was a sudden flash of red.
“There!”
Emilio had seen it as well, and he tightened his hold on the hilt of the sword in his hand. As they watched, Jack saw that Emilio had been right. The men advancing towards them through the hillside scrub had no idea that six pairs of infidel eyes were watching them from the top of the ridge concealed by the low rubble walls. There were four men in the lead, walking up the track where the cart had shattered its wheel, two more walking further to the right, up a thin dirt path along the side of the terrace wall.
Six they could take. Six was not a problem.
Jack’s eyes narrowed as he looked beyond them to the other ten men a short distance behind. These were the problem. If they hesitated, if they did not make their weapons strike true, they would be outnumbered in a matter of moments.
Emilio signalled to the two men on his right to move towards those coming up the dirt path, leaving three Knights and Jack to deal with the four men coming directly towards them. They needed the Turks to remain unaware that their passage up the hill was being so closely watched. A slight breeze was thankfully taking away both the smell and the wisps of smoke from the small fire set ready to light the powder.
This would be no fair fight. They would attack when the Turks were almost upon them. With they had no chance to defend themselves, the advance line would crumble, and the real fight could be taken to the ten men coming up the hill behind them.
Jack could feel the sweat on his hand gripping the sword hilt, readying to move the moment the Turks were close enough. Hesitating for a moment, he loosened his grip, dr
ied his hand quickly on his sleeve and took a firm grasp once again. Concealed behind a wall and two thickly leaved fig trees, the Turks could not see them. Their eyes were cast down at the rocky steep path they were walking up.
Jack swallowed hard.
The man to his left nudged him in the arm and in a quiet whisper said, “Take the one on the far right.”
Jack gave a quick nod and fastened his eyes on his quarry. When they broke from their cover, Jack would have the furthest to go to engage. He needed to cover the distance before the Turk drew his yatagan, which currently swung at his waist. The group continued unawares up the hill. Jack’s eyes widened as he heard their voices drift though the warm Mediterranean air towards him. He heard laughter as well. Jack’s prey was clearly the subject of the joke. As he watched, the Turk threw his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness and his fellows laughed again.
Then the man took out a knife.
Jack’s body stiffened, the arm clutching his sword beginning to tense. The gloved hand of the Knight to his left placed a hand on his wrist to stop him.
The Turk with the knife in his hand was not pointing it at Jack. He’d not seen the men concealed on the hillside; instead he waved the knife threateningly at his companions. Jack could not understand what he was saying. There was no trace of mirth in his voice, and his companions fell silent, turning their heads away from him and back to the track they were walking up. Jack would have sworn one of them was staring directly into his eyes. The Knight still had a restraining hold.
Jack risked a glance to his right.
The men approaching Emilio and his companions were on the same level. That was good. When the attack came, it would be at the same time.
“Wait, ” came the command from his left.
Christ, how close does he want them to get?