A Queen's Knight

by Sam Burnell

  “It has been, Master Scranton, over a half a year since we began this endeavour. Now is your moment of reckoning,” Richard said, his grey eyes locked with those of the small man.

  That Scranton was nervous was evident from his demeanour. Over his shirt he wore a linen apron, blackened with dust. His hands, creased and lined with age, rolled and squeezed the cloth through his damp hands.

  It was Jack who stepped between them. “Master Scranton needs a little time. These are not things that can be rushed.”

  “When did you become a diplomat?” Richard said, acidly.

  “I'd rather not be blown to Hell,” Jack said, pointedly, and then to Scranton, “Let me assist, Master Scranton.”

  Scranton looked thankfully at Jack and nodded.

  “Ignore everyone watching. You set the charges, and do not worry about anything else. First we are to use standard powder? Am I right?" Jack asked, holding the little man’s attention, hoping that in doing so he would distract him from the intimidating onlookers.

  “Standard powder, yes,” Scranton said, and then stopped.

  “You need to weigh it out first,” Jack prompted, pointing at the balance scales set close to the ordnance.

  “Weigh it.” Scranton licked his lips and using a wooden scoop poured the powder into the scales.

  Rodrigo stood on the other side, notebook in hand, ready to confirm the measurement before Scranton took the powder to prepare the charge with. Scranton’s hands shook and a liberal quantity of powder missed the brass weighing pan, dusting the limestone flags with a thin coating of black.

  Jack swore under his breath.

  “Master Scranton, allow me.” Jack retrieved the scoop from his hand and took a firm hold on the powder sack. Then quietly for Scranton’s ears only he said, “Tell me what to do. Quickly.”

  “The projectile is eight pounds,” Scranton’s squeaky voice managed, “and we need a charge of one quarter of its weight, so two pounds of powder.”

  Jack nodded quickly and measured out the two pound charge, repeating Scranton’s words as he did so. “A two pound charge for an eight pound shot. Agreed?” He caught Rodrigo’s eyes who nodded in agreement.

  Together, Jack and Scranton loaded the charge and left the remainder of the process to the Order’s gunners. They added hay wadding on top of the charge ramming it home before adding the missile to the barrel.

  Scranton’s nerves were such that he yelped and clapped his hands over his ears when the cannon fired. After the cloud of smoke cleared, all eyes turned to the terraces stretching out below the citadel. The men below knew the range of the gun fired and the impact point of the shot was quickly marked with a white flag.

  Jack had already begun to weigh out two pounds of the pellets that he had helped to make. Rodrigo confirmed the amount.

  “A second two pound charge, of the new powder,” Jack announced to those watching.

  The charge was handed to the gunners and Jack stood back to watch the piece loaded for a second time. Jack inclined his head sideways, saying quietly in Scranton’s ear, “If you pray, do it now.”

  Scranton managed to remain silent when the gun fired for a second time. Jack had stopped breathing.

  Please God, let the distance be further.

  The second flag was red. Jack let out a long shuddering breath, clapping Scranton so hard on the back that the little man staggered forward with the force of the blow. The second marker was a significant distance further on. The stone shot had cleared another two of the terraces before embedding itself in the soil.

  The bastion was soon cleared of the Order’s elite, Richard leaving with them. It seemed unlikely that Jack was ever going to get to speak with him. Rodrigo, Scranton and Jack along with the Order’s gunners remained.

  “Master Scranton, a feat indeed,” Rodrigo said, coming forward to congratulate the powder manufacturer.

  Scranton’s arrogance of manner had returned the moment the red flag had been erected. His chest puffed out, he smiled accepting Rodrigo’s praise. “I was confident that you would be impressed with this process.”

  Jack looked skywards and rolled his eyes.

  “Does this powder process work on all shot sizes, or are there optimum sizes?” Rodrigo continued his notebook still poised.

  “I’ve had little chance to test it on a full range of cannon. The indications from my experiments so far are that it is ideal for the mid-ranged pieces. There might be a risk involved when the charge exceeds five pounds.”

  “We have available here all sizes. We can perform a range of tests, even on the larger pieces. It would be interesting to see how much their range could be extended.” Rodrigo mused, tapping his pen against the side of his cheek.

  “Or we can achieve the same range as standard powder but with less powder,” Scranton pronounced, and then added, “How many battles have there been where the ordnance remained silent for lack of powder?”

  Jack left Scranton to bask in the glory of his success. Walking to lean against the bastion walls, he stared across the parched land towards the sea.

  “What are you looking for?” It was Emilio’s voice. The Knight had come to stand next to him.

  “Nothing that I can see out there,” Jack replied, wearily.

  “Ah, Jack. You should celebrate your success.” Emilio, his hands folded together, leant with his elbows on the top of the wall. His gaze though, was not on the far distance.

  Jack let out a long breath. “I no longer know how to measure success.”

  “I’ve not seen you since we fought on the hillside,” Emilio replied.

  Jack glanced sideways at the Knight. “I thought I was going to get blown to Hell that day.”

  “Hell? Jack, you’re not destined for that pit!” Emilio laughed.

  “Where am I destined for?” Jack let his head fall forwards.

  “I’ve heard you are Richard’s half-brother,” Emilio said. “That is a shame. The Order could have offered you much.”

  “Does that fact bother you?” Jack asked through his hands.

  “It would have, but you are a man who has fought at my side and for that I cannot offer you anything less than respect,” Emilio said, seriously.

  “And if I had not fought with you?” Jack questioned.

  “Then it would have been my shame, for I would not have shunned your company,” Emilio answered truthfully.

  “Are you so sure?” Jack said, darkly.

  “Yes I am. The Apostle Peter reminds us that anyone, no matter how they came into the world, if they fear God and do what is right, will be accepted. Was not King Solomon also tainted the same, and did not your Henry I of England populate his church with his illegitimate children? And Sir Galahad whose quest for the…”

  “You’ve made your point. Please stop before you compare me to Galahad or I will throw myself off the bastion!” Jack replied, a slight smile appearing on his face.

  Emilio beamed back happily. “Today is not a day for maudlin thoughts. Your brother has laid his case before the Grand Master with some success. We should celebrate this.” Then leaning closer he said, “Chaste I may be, but I’m not always sober.”

  Jack grinned at him. “And for that I would be extremely thankful.”

  †

  “Andrew Kineer is no longer on Malta,” de la Sengle announced as he walked into the room.

  “Where is he?” Richard’s eyes narrowed.

  The Grand Master smiled, pulled out a chair and seated himself at the table before speaking. “Halfway to Sicily, I would imagine by now.”

  Richard dropped his head into his hands. “You just let him go? You have no guarantee that he will bring those arms back to the Order.”

  “He’s a man driven by greed, and you are a man driven by loyalty,” de la Sengle said, slowly.

  “My loyalty is not a tradable commodity,” Richard returned.

  “Oh, I think it is,” de la Sengle replied. “I accept, that once out of here, Kineer’s self interest will
guide him. It is doubtful his promises to bring the weapons to Malta will be fulfilled. He will, I have no doubt, plan to sell them to whoever has the most coin he can take quickly for the deal. His time here has taught him, if nothing else, that dealing with the Order was a mistake he is lucky to have survived.”

  Richard raised his head from his hands and looked at de la Sengle levelly across the table. “So why did you let him go? If you accept that he will not bring the arms back to the Order and to Malta?”

  De la Sengle smiled. “To teach the man a lesson.”

  Richard rocked back in his seat. “What lesson is he going to learn from this?”

  There was a jug of water on the table and de la Sengle, ignoring Richard, fastened his eyes on it and slowly filled one of the earthenware cups. At length he spoke. “He will indeed learn nothing from it. Already he probably feels he will profit from your endeavours.” De la Sengle raised the cup to his lips and sipped the cool water. “You, however, have plenty to learn.”

  Richard's face hardened, but he said nothing.

  De la Sengle smiled. “You are going to pay for your sin of arrogance. Granted, Kineer has a head start, but I can put you on a boat in three days that will take you to Venice. If you are the man I think you are, and you are a man who has everything to lose, you will make it back to England first.”

  Richard's mind was racing and he sat rigid in his seat.

  “You set your wits against the Order,” de la Sengle said, slowly, “and against me. Now whilst I admire that in a fashion, it cannot be perceived to have happened. So, your men will stay here as surety. Master Scranton we have a need for. And you will go to England and ensure the Order receives the shipments you have promised it.”

  “And you trust me to come back?” Richard’s voice was cold and level. The eyes that held those of the Grand Master were stormy grey.

  De la Sengle smiled and set the simple cup down carefully in front of him. “Kineer told me before he left that I indeed held a lever over you.”

  “And what lever would that be?” Richard’s mind began to quickly work through the possibilities, ending quickly with one word – Jack.

  He was wrong.

  “We have your sister,” de la Sengle stated simply. “And you have some love for her, it appears.”

  Richard wisely remained silent.

  “So we will keep her as surety, and,” de la Sengle could not help a smile, “her child. Your nephew or niece.”

  The look on Richard’s face was enough.

  “You knew? I had wondered.” De la Sengle picked up the cup and drained it, setting it back quietly on the table before meeting Richard’s eyes again. “She is unmarried, and, I am led to believe, illegitimate herself.”

  Richard regarded his hands which, despite his efforts to still them, visibly shook.

  “I wish you to come back. We will release them upon your return.”

  “I just need to bring you the flintlocks and you will free them?” Richard said. It sounded too simple.

  “Not quite. I did say I wished to punish you for your sin. Are you a man of honour?”

  Richard, his mind now as unsteady as his hands, sought to grapple with too much at once, but he replied with conviction, “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Your sister is with the Benedictines. They will raise the child and it would be right that she remain with the Order. An unmarried woman with a child.”

  “No… She can’t stop here!” Richard blurted, his eyes wide as he stared across the table at de la Sengle.

  De la Sengle continued as if Richard had never spoken. “Good men like you are the foundation of this Order. You have skills I can use. Your cousin, Edward, he wants to build a rifle corps of highly trained men. He recognises the value in what you have shown him.”

  There was open confusion on Richard’s face. “I’ve given you everything I have. I will bring the arms from England into the keeping of the Order. You have Master Scranton’s process for the powder manufacture. Please do not punish me by keeping her here.”

  “Are you so sure?” de la Sengle enquired slowly. “Loyalty, it seems, is a tradable commodity after all. I demand yours in exchange for your sister’s liberty. Bring me the arms and yourself, willingly, to the Order of St John and I will release your sister.”

  Richard felt as if he had taken a blow to the chest.

  “That is the condition for her release and my charity,” de la Sengle repeated.

  “You leave me little choice.” Richard’s voice was hoarse.

  “Willingly, I said. Remember that is my condition,” de la Sengle said sternly.

  “Willingly it shall be.” Richard delivered the words quietly.

  There was a loud tap on the door, and from the smile on de la Sengle’s face it was one he had been expecting. A moment later it opened and his brother, bound at the wrists, was pushed through the door. Jack’s expression was murderous, there was a cut above his left eye and blood ran down his cheek.

  “I would have sent you alone,” said de la Sengle, “however your brother has made a good case on your behalf and wishes to go with you. I’m sure he too has a vested interest in your success as we hold some papers I have no doubt he would like back.” The Grand Master rose smoothly from his seat at the table. “I'm sure we will see each other again, soon. One of our ships will take you from Malta in three days.”

  De la Sengle departed and the two armed men who had pushed Jack through the door left with him. Richard quickly pressed his knife to the rope holding Jack’s wrists. His grey eyes met those of his brother.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for this time?” Jack said, his voice angry.

  “They’ve let Andrew go ahead of us to bring the guns back to Malta,” Richard said simply.

  Jack’s hands went to his face, the blood from above his eye smearing across his cheek. “God’s bones! Then what are we doing?”

  Richard stepped back and dropped into the chair de la Sengle had recently vacated. “We have the same deal, we just need to overtake Andrew.”

  “You are not making any sense.” Jack took hold of his brother’s shoulders and regarded him with cold blue eyes. Richard didn’t however get a chance to reply as the door opened a moment later and they were both taken and deposited for safe keeping in a cellar.

  †

  Richard relayed the facts, or at least as many of them as he wanted to share, to Jack. That de la Sengle wanted to teach him a lesson he admitted. He also told Jack that the men and Lizbet would have to remain on Malta as surety until they delivered the flintlocks to the Order. That Lizbet was bearing a child and that to secure her freedom he had to pledge his own, he kept to himself.

  He also told Jack that Andrew Kineer was no longer on Malta. That de la Sengle was giving him a head start of three days before releasing them to pursue him and make their way back to England. The brothers were in agreement on at least one fact. They would be damned if they were giving Andrew a three day lead.

  †

  “Jesus Christ! Will you stay still?” Jack held a ladder, and, at the top of it, balanced on the rungs, was his brother. There was no support for the wooden frame other than the dirt floor it rested on and Jack’s arms, which were already beginning to feel the strain of holding it upright.

  “Just keep it upright,” Richard reprimanded, not seeming at all alarmed by the precarious perch he occupied or by the warning edge in his brother’s voice.

  “I’m bloody trying. It would be a damn sight easier if you would stop wriggling about.” Jack, feeling the ladder pull from his hands again, closed his eyes tight and fought to bring it back to the vertical, adding though clenched teeth, “Stay still, I said! Do you never listen to me?”

  Above them was a trap door, a hoped-for means of escape. The door they had been propelled through earlier was steel and barred and there was no hope of escape in that direction. A grilled window admitted some light, but was far too small to offer an exit route. They were evidently in a cellar and
Richard had spied the dark square outline of the trap door in the ceiling.

  “Hold it steady, and I’ll try and lift it,” Richard advised.

  “As if I wasn’t already trying to do that!” Jack complained. His shoulders were burning now with the effort of holding the ladder as still as he could manage.

  “Well, try harder,” Richard called down.

  Jack, his head tilted back, watched his brother at the top of the ladder. Richard, palms pressed flat against the underside of the hatch, feet as balanced as well as he could get them on the top rung, pushed as hard as he could. Jack felt the added strain on the ladder and fought hard to keep it vertical.

  The hinged panel above Richard moved.

  “It’s open!” His brother sounded triumphant as the trap door lifted above him. The act of forcing the door up and over increased the weight on the ladder even more. Jack gasped and cursed. A moment later there was an almighty bang as the trap door opened fully and fell back against the floor above them. There was a sudden final push against the ladder that tested Jack’s footing, then the weight he was fighting against was gone.

  Light spilled down from the opening and as Jack watched, his brother disappeared over the edge of the hatch only to reappear a moment later. “Lift the ladder up so I can reach it. Quickly, come on!”

  Cursing, Jack forced his tortured muscles to perform one more feat, raising the ladder high enough, so Richard could reach the top rungs from where he hung though the opening in the ceiling.

  “You’re wobbling it! Hold it straight or I can’t reach it.”

  “It’s bloody heavy, although not as bad as it was with your backside on the top of it. Get a hold of it. I can’t get it any higher.” Jack was holding it as high up as he could. A second later he felt it pulled from his grasp as Richard lifted it through the hatch.

  “Just wait, I’ll not be long,” Richard’s voice called down. Then the ladder and his brother disappeared from view.