Simon Scarrow - Sword and Scimitar

As soon as the Turks realised what was happening a cheer rippled along the battle line and they surged forward, desperate to pursue and overwhelm the defenders and put an end to the dreadful siege that had cost the lives of so many of their comrades. They poured into the breaches, cutting down those too slow to answer the signal to fall back or too maddened by battle rage to retreat, spitting their defiance into the faces of the Turks until they perished under the savage blows of enemy blades.

‘Here, take my dagger.’

Thomas turned to Richard and saw the handle extended to him. He nodded his thanks for the weapon and shifted the standard to his left, hooked his leg round the base of the staff and then tucked the shaft against his left shoulder.

Richard lowered the point of his pike over the rough stonework of the parapet and stared grimly towards the enemy struggling down the piles of rubble towards the open ground. To his left, twenty yards beyond the Grand Master, Thomas saw Maria helping a soldier climb over the wall. More were hurrying up the ladders and on to the inner wall, while others hurried through the gap beside the wagon. La Valette watched intently as the last of the defenders and wounded made for the ladders. The first of the Turks had reached the open ground and began to race after them. Thomas heard the dull whack of a crossbow and saw one of the Turks throw up his arms and tumble forward as a quarrel shattered his knee. More bolts darted across the open ground, most finding their mark at such close range. Those Turks alert to the danger hunched down and raised their shields, and came on more warily. It bought the defenders a sliver of time in which to reach the ladders.

Just then Mustafa Pasha appeared in one of the breaches, together with his standard bearer. He thrust his scimitar towards the inner wall and shrieked a command to his men. The cry was taken up and the Turks charged forward. A handful of men still stood at the bottom of each ladder, waiting their turn to climb to safety. Some turned towards the enemy and lowered their pikes, or swung their swords and clubs in preparation to strike.

‘Raise the ladders!’ La Valette called out. ‘Quickly!’

There were cries of despair from the men still on the far side, and the last few that could raced up the rungs and threw themselves over the parapet. Then the ladders were pulled up by their comrades. Some of the men still on the other side clung on and had to be shaken loose. Thomas saw one of the ladders fall to the side, a gift to the enemy.

‘Close the gate!’ La Valette shouted to the men waiting by the wagon and they put their shoulders to the timbered frame and heaved it across the small gap, sealing the opening, before securing it in place with chains. Then they climbed up on to the bed of the wagon and took up their crossbows to shoot into the bedraggled horde charging towards them. All along the final line of defence the crossbowmen took a last chance to pick off the Turks and scores more fell into the mud and puddles, pierced by the deadly bolts. Thomas caught sight of one last defender in a futile struggle to reach safety before he was engulfed by the enemy. The man had been wounded in the leg and limped as fast as he could, one arm reaching out to his comrades on the wall, imploring them to save him. Then he tripped and fell. At once a bare-headed man in animal skins rushed over to him and raised a spear in both hands. The soldier pushed himself up, his face plastered with mud, mouth hanging open in a last cry. Then the Turk rammed the head of his spear down between his victim’s shoulder blades. The point burst out of his chest and the man’s face contorted in agony before he collapsed, instantly lost from view as the enemy surged over him.

There were enough men on the inner wall to displace most of the women and children and they dropped back behind the fighting step and snatched up rocks and stones to hurl over the wall. With shrill cries of hatred they threw their missiles and Thomas saw them clatter off the helmets and shields of the enemy. But some struck home, striking men in the face, injuring many of the unarmoured fanatics who had joined Suleiman’s army to kill the enemies of Islam and find martyrdom for themselves. Then the Turks reached the wall and cut down the last of the defenders trapped there before they jabbed their spears at the faces looming above them.

Thomas saw La Valette lean forward and thrust his pike into the shoulder of a man below, then wrench the point back and thrust again. Richard cried out as a spear point caught in his sleeve and then cut into the flesh of his arm. His jerkin ripped as he tore his arm free and stabbed his pike into the man who had wounded him. For a short period the Turks were caught tightly against the base of the wall, easy prey for those above them who thrust and stabbed into the tightly packed mass of robes and armour. The first of the men carrying assault ladders forced their way through the throng and ran the ladders up against the wall. At once their comrades began to climb, desperate to get at the defenders of Birgu.

Thomas raised his dagger as a ladder clattered against the wall to his right, just between himself and Richard. It swayed a moment as the first of the Turks swarmed up. Thomas leaned forward and stabbed at his hand. The Turk seemed to ignore the pain; he hauled himself up and his wild eyes beneath the rim of his helmet stared at Thomas with hatred. He pulled his hand free with a rush of blood and drew his scimitar. His blade arced towards Thomas’s neck and he just had time to throw his weight to one side and duck the blow that would surely have struck his head off if he had not moved. The Turk shouted a curse and made to swing again. Before he could, a rock caught him on the bridge of his nose and blood spurted from his nostrils. He blinked and shook his head. Richard swung the butt of his pike and knocked him back amid the swords, spears and spiked helmets of his comrades.

Mustafa Pasha urged his men on, his sword punching out, his mouth stretched wide as he bellowed encouragement. Then he moved forward towards the inner wall, his bodyguard parting the press before him. For a moment Thomas could only follow his progress by the horsehair standard weaving above the sea of helmets, turbans, bare heads, points of spears and sword blades.

‘Sir,’ he shouted to La Valette and pointed out Suleiman’s standard. ‘Look there!’

The Grand Master followed the direction Thomas indicated and saw that the enemy commander was making directly towards him. ‘He means to kill me.’

Thomas nodded. ‘You must get off the wall, sir.’

‘No. Our fate hangs by a thread. I must stay here, where my people can see me.’

La Valette turned away as a spear thrust glanced off his shoulder plate. One of the Turks had climbed up on to the shoulders of his comrades to strike at the Grand Master, and now La Valette coolly turned his pike on the man and ran him through.

Thomas watched the steady progress of the enemy’s standard as it picked its way closer. Then the sea of faces before him parted and a squad of Janissaries pushed through, making space for their commander and his personal bodyguard, tall, well-built warriors, in fine armour and carrying heavy scimitars - hand-picked men from the elite corps of Suleiman’s army. Two of them grabbed a ladder from their comrades and placed it against the wall, directly in front of Thomas and the standard of the Order of St John. Now he could see Mustafa Pasha, his weathered face wet with rain as he shouted orders to his men and pointed at Thomas. The first of his men rushed up the ladder. Thomas stabbed at him with the dagger but the Janissary was quick and dodged the blow. He caught Thomas’s wrist in his hand and clamped tightly as he continued up the last rung and swung his muddy boot over the parapet. He reached for his scimitar. Thomas tried to pull himself free but the other man was too strong for him and his lips parted in a cruel smile.