Simon Scarrow - Sword and Scimitar

Then he is not all-powerful.

If he is able but not willing,

Then he is malevolent.

If he is both willing and able

Then why is there evil in the world?

If he is neither willing nor able

Then why call him God?’

He waved his hand at their surroundings. ‘If ever there was a need for God to show himself to give the slightest encouragement to those who serve him, then it is here and now. And yet there is nothing but us and the enemy.’

Richard frowned. ‘I have thought about it but I do not like the implications.’

Thomas nodded and let the matter drop. But there was one question he did want an answer to. ‘This document that has been the cause of our troubles, what exactly is it?’

‘It is better that you do not know.’

‘But you were going to show it to me back in Birgu.’

‘I was wrong. If you are taken alive, there is a danger that you will reveal what you know of the document. I’m sorry, I cannot say any more. Please, let the matter rest.’

Thomas felt a bitter pang of disappointment that Richard would not trust him. He was silent for a moment before he eased himself up into a crouch and peered cautiously over the top of the barricade. The rubble- and corpse-strewn ground in front of him was still. Then he saw a slight movement and saw the flicker of a feather behind a large chunk of masonry and ducked down just as the sniper fired. The bullet struck a rock close to where Thomas’s head had been and then ricocheted overhead towards the heart of the fort.

The hours stretched out as they huddled behind the barricade and both sides sniped at anyone rash enough to expose themselves.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Colonel Mas appeared at noon, moving from position to position gathering reports on the morning action and casualty numbers to pass on to Miranda. Despite holding a senior rank, Mas had chosen to defer to the captain. The garrison looked to Miranda and he in turn inspired them with his courage and coolness under fire and the colonel had the good sense not to disturb the arrangement.

He listened to Thomas’s account of the assault and noted the number of losses on a creased sheet of paper, then refolded it and slipped it inside his haversack.

‘How goes it elsewhere?’ asked Thomas.

‘Not well,’ Mas admitted. ‘They sent a party round the north of the fort under the cover of the attack and broke into the cavalier. It’s in their hands now. The rest of the fort is surrounded, except for a narrow track leading down to the jetty.’

‘If they have the cavalier then the route won’t be safe.’

‘It is safe. We’re using a drain. The grate has been removed and the opening has been camouflaged. It gives us some means of communication with Birgu, for what it’s worth.’

Richard peered across the rubble-strewn walls of the fort towards the free-standing cavalier tower rising up between the fort and the sea. There was a green standard flying above the parapet and now and then a head bobbed up to look down into the fort. ‘They’ll be able to see right into the courtyard.’

Mas nodded. ‘Have your men be cautious when they come down from the wall for ammunition, water or food. From now on Miranda wants the men to stay at their posts. They’ll be safer that way. He wants the officers to meet at dusk in the chapel. Be careful getting there.’ He nodded a farewell and then bent low and scurried towards the next section of the wall.

Thomas and the others sat in the afternoon sun, occasionally taking out a dry biscuit or strip of cured meat to chew on, as much to help the long hours pass as to feed any appetite. Overhead the sun beat down on them and sweat dripped from their brows as they slowly stewed inside their cumbersome armour. Several times there was a brief flurry of shots and shouting from one of the other sections of the wall and the men would stand to their weapons in case it heralded another general assault. But each time the fighting quickly subsided and the skirmishing resumed.

At last the sun dipped far enough towards the horizon to cast long shadows across the walls of the fort and give some relief from the heat the defenders had endured for several hours. As the light began to fade, a trumpet sounded from the Turkish lines and men who had been crouching amid the rubble of the fort crept away, returning to their trenches. As soon as the last of them was in cover, the batteries on the crest of the ridge thundered out again and resumed bombarding St Elmo. Instinctively the men lining the barricade flinched and squirmed down a little further.

Thomas touched Richard’s arm. ‘I’m going to report to Miranda, You take command here until relieved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Richard replied and smiled at his formality. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Keep your head down, understand?’

Richard nodded, and Thomas took one last look at him in case there was never another chance, and felt the familiar stab of guilt and affection as he turned away.

He moved at a crouch until the angle of the wall no longer concealed him from the cavalier or the ravelin. He glanced at both towers and saw heads bob up as the Turks kept watch on the fort. Then several shots were fired from the cavalier as the enemy caught sight of movement along the nearest section of the wall.

Thomas took advantage of the diversion and rushed across the open space towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard. There was a faint shout from the direction of the ravelin and a rippling volley of shots. Stone chips flew past him but Thomas ran on and started down the stairs, taking four or five at a time in a wild rush that threatened to make him lose his balance. At the bottom of the stairs he threw himself against a nearby stretch of wall that was out of sight of the enemy and gasped for breath. Around him the courtyard was filled with rubble and dust that caught in the throat. There were few men about, now that the enemy could reach most of the inside of the fort with their weapons.

When he had recovered his breath Thomas edged his way round the courtyard towards the chapel, which was fortunately out of the line of fire. A small group of men sat to one side of the door playing a desultory game of dice and barely looked up as he passed them and entered the chapel. The building was quite unlike a normal church; it was built into the fabric of the fort, with a handful of windows high up on the walls which made it a gloomy place for the garrison to come and worship. Although it could hold up to four hundred people at a time, there were only a few men that evening, gathered on facing pews in the space before the altar. Most of the officers and the friar, Robert of Eboli, had already arrived as Thomas walked along the aisle, undoing the straps fastening the gorget to his helmet and then removing the helmet.

Captain Miranda was sitting on a chair. His left arm was in a sling and his right leg was fixed in place by splints sawn from the shaft of a pike. A bloodied bandage was wound tightly about his knee. Like the others his face had been burned raw by the sun and his skin was red and peeling. Colonel Mas had also been wounded since midday and was barely recognisable under the bandage that covered one eye and half of his head. Most of the other officers had also been wounded and Thomas reflected that the scene was more like an infirmary than a gathering of officers. All of them looked exhausted and filthy and what had once been neatly trimmed beards were now straggling and matted with blood and the remains of hastily snatched meals.

‘Glad to see you are still with us, Sir Thomas.’ Miranda forced a smile. ‘You are one of the few who can still stand.’

Thomas nodded and took a seat on one of the pews, trying to ignore the ache in his limbs and the discomfort of clothes he had been unable to change for over a week. There was no small talk as they waited for the last officer to arrive, and once he was seated Miranda addressed his subordinates.