Simon Scarrow - Sword and Scimitar

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Richard.

‘I need to find something out. You go back to the auberge. I’ll join you later.’

‘Why?’ Richard glanced round but could see no obvious danger.

‘Just go!’ Thomas ordered fiercely and pushed him down the street.

Richard stumbled a few paces and turned to stare at Thomas with a concerned expression. Then, touching his haversack to make sure that the leather tube was still safe, he strode away.

Thomas stood still and watched the figures passing by the end of the street. He heard Stokely’s voice and a moment later he and Romegas paced by, followed by the tall slender form of Maria, staring fixedly at the ground in front of her. Thomas felt an impulse to step out behind her, speak her name and tell her to follow him into another street but he feared she would refuse, or that she, or her maid, might cry out in alarm and alert Stokely. So he kept his mouth shut and instead slipped into the crowd and followed them at a short distance, making sure that he kept his head bowed enough for the hood to conceal his features in case she turned to look back for any reason. Stokely and Romegas continued for another hundred yards along the wide thoroughfare before Romegas halted, made his farewells and took the street that led to the fort. Stokely took Maria’s arm and turned into a side street. Thomas paused at the edge of the junction and then risked a quick look round the corner and saw Stokely approach the gate of a courtyard. Beyond, the walls of a modest town house rose up into the darkness. Stokely paused and looked back to see if they were being followed. Satisfied that there was no one stalking them, he rapped on the door to the courtyard. It was opened a moment later and Stokely led his small party inside and the door closed behind them.

Thomas waited for a moment before entering the narrow street and walking slowly past the gate. The walls were perhaps ten feet high and there were no obvious foot- or handholds. The gate itself was solid-looking and reinforced with lengths of oak. He walked on and then turned back and waited. It did not take long for others to enter the street and make for a neighbouring property. Thomas strode up to a rotund man who, like most of those who had attended the sermon, wore a sombre cloak.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Thomas addressed him in French. ‘But I have a message to deliver to the house of an English knight.

‘I was told he lives in this street but I don’t know which house is his.’

‘Sir Oliver Stokely?’ The neighbour arched an eyebrow. ‘Yes, he lives here. That house, next to mine.’

‘I thank you, sir. But the message is not for him, but a lady. Maria, I believe she is called.’

‘Yes.’ The man nodded his head. ‘That would be his wife.’

‘Wife . . .’

The man tapped his nose. ‘What these knights claim to believe and what they do are as different as chalk and cheese, eh?’ Thomas was silent for a moment and the man frowned. ‘Is that all?’

‘Yes.’ Thomas forced a smile. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bid you good night. It’s late. I’ll deliver my message another time.’

He turned and walked away, back towards the auberge, his heart as heavy as a rock.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

‘Thieves, right here in the heart of our defences.’ La Valette shook his head in consternation. ‘It’s an outrage. Whoever it was strolled into the fort and attempted to break into our archives last night. I give thanks to God that they did not account for the quality of the lock or they would have looted the place for whatever they could carry out of the castle. It’s a scandal, gentlemen.’ He looked round the table at his advisers. ‘Not only that but two of our men were injured in the process.’

There was a tense silence before Colonel Mas spoke. ‘We were lucky they weren’t killed, and lucky the lock held.’

‘Luck had nothing to do with it. That lock was made by one of the finest smiths in Paris, as were the locks on the treasury door. Monsieur Berthon assured me that they were impregnable.’

Thomas nodded thoughtfully, along with the others. Despite his apparent calm his heart was beating swiftly and he could feel the clammy sweat on the palms of his hands.

Stokely shot him a curious glance before returning his gaze to the Grand Master, who continued speaking.

‘I want these robbers found and made an example of. They will be shown no pity, regardless of what rank they hold. The same penalty will apply for all such crimes from now on. We are all in this together, those who serve the Order as well as the common people of Malta. Colonel, I want a reward posted on every main street in Birgu. A hundred gold pieces for the person who captures these criminals, or who can provide information that leads to their capture.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Colonel Mas nodded.

‘Very well, from now on I want the guard on the archive doubled, and also the main gate. This will not happen again.’ La

Valette slapped his hand down on the table. He stared round at the other men and then his expression began to soften. ‘We must address other matters now. Firstly, Sir Oliver, your report on the water supplies. I gather that we are consuming more water than anticipated.’

‘Indeed, sir. But there are additional problems. One of the cisterns under St Michael has been contaminated by seawater. There must be a crack somewhere that has allowed the sea to enter. As a result we have lost approximately one-eighth of our supply. I suggest that we begin rationing the water immediately. I know this will not be a popular—’

‘Shhh!’ Colonel Mas raised a hand to silence Stokely.

‘Colonel, I must protest.’

‘Quiet, listen.’ Colonel Mas gestured towards the window. ‘Something’s wrong.’

They had grown so used to the irregular rhythm of the gunfire from across the harbour that they had begun to ignore it. But now it had ceased.

Thomas knew at once the meaning behind the silence of the enemy guns. ‘They’re attacking St Elmo.’

Chairs scraped as everyone rushed to the windows and stared across the calm waters of the harbour towards the end of the Sciberras peninsula. The sound of drums and horns carried from the enemy trenches and Thomas could just make out the tiny figures of Janissaries rushing forward beneath a green banner, from the top of which flowed a white horsehair tail. They surged out of their trenches and across the broken ground towards the defensive ditch in front of the fort. The defenders appeared along the parapet and the first puffs of smoke from the arquebuses blossomed into the dawn air. Those in St Angelo heard the crackle of fire from the fort, and then the sound intensified as the Turkish snipers began picking oft'targets along the battered walls of St Elmo.

‘Look there.’ Colonel Mas raised his arm and pointed towards the end of the ravelin visible beyond the fort. ‘Is that an enemy banner flying there? I can’t make it out.’

Thomas strained his eyes to pick out the detail through the shimmering air across the harbour. Sure enough, there was a banner flying from the top of the ravelin, but neither it nor the figures swarming about it could be distinguished at that distance. Then, as if in response to their anxiety, the light breeze caused the banner to ripple out and there was no mistaking the colour.

‘It’s the enemy,’ said Stokely. ‘They’ve taken the ravelin.’

La Valette shook his head. ‘Impossible! They’ve only just launched their attack. Quite impossible

Despite what was clear to his eyes, Thomas shared the Grand Master’s disbelief. The Turks would first have had to cross the ditch and deal with the obstacles there, then scale the walls of the ravelin before they even clashed with the defenders. Yet, incredibly, an enemy banner had been planted on the ravelin and now spurts of flame and tiny puffs of smoke showed that the enemy were firing on the fort from the ravelin.