Simon Scarrow - Sword and Scimitar

‘There are fewer than a hundred of us left to man the walls, and most are already wounded. The Turks have the cavalier, and with that they can provide covering fire for any attempt to cross the ditch using the trestle bridges they have thrown up against what remains of the parapet. Gentlemen, the end is near. We have all but run out of gunpowder. I doubt that we will survive the morrow.’ He paused. ‘We have fought a good fight against great odds. It is a struggle to be proud of. We have endured far longer than was thought possible. Let us hope that we have won enough time for the Grand Master to prepare Birgu and Senglea for the onslaught to come when we are no more. I have given orders for the chapel’s tapestries and sacred objects to be destroyed or hidden. Once Robert of Eboli and the other brothers have carried out that task they will make the rounds of our positions and take confession and administer the last rites to those who wish it. Colonel Mas will oversee one last filling of the water butts before the cisterns are fouled with enemy bodies. The rest of you should destroy anything that might be valuable if it falls into enemy hands.’ He paused and looked round at his officers. ‘There is a signal fire prepared on the keep where it can be seen from across the harbour. If the fort falls then the last of us should set light to it. After that, it’s every man for himself. Does anyone have anything to say?’

One of the younger knights nodded. ‘Sir, is it too late to evacuate the fort? We could ask for volunteers for a rearguard while we signal Birgu to send boats.’

Miranda shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that. The moment the enemy realised what was happening they would overwhelm the few men left and then slaughter the rest as we attempted to escape. Besides, there are too many wounded to evacuate. We must resign ourselves to our fate and resolve to go down fighting in a manner that reflects the highest standards of the Order of St John.’

‘What of the wounded?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘We cannot let them fall into the enemy’s hands. I’ve seen what the Turks do to their prisoners.’

Thomas watched Miranda’s reaction closely.

‘The wounded will be brought in here. Each man will be given a dagger, to use to fight from where he lies, or to use as he will,’

Miranda replied carefully, for suicide was a sin. ‘When the Turks get over the walls, every man that can must fall back here. The chapel is where we will make our final stand. If any man decides to appeal for mercy, that is his choice, but I would expect none from the enemy. They have paid a high price in blood and are thirsty for revenge.’ He paused. ‘There is one piece of good news I will share with you. We captured a prisoner today who says that Dragut was felled by a shot from one of our men as he inspected their siege guns.’

The officers murmured their pleasure at the news.

‘It is a sign.’ Friar Robert stood and raised a hand and stabbed his finger at the ceiling. ‘The Lord is watching us, and has reached out his hand to smite our enemy.’

‘It was a bullet that killed Dragut,’ Thomas said mildly. ‘He was not swatted aside.’

Some of the officers smiled, but Robert turned and glared. ‘Do not be impious, Englishman. We have prayed for deliverance and the Lord has begun to answer our call.’

‘I am glad,’ Thomas replied, just before a Turkish cannonball struck the roof of the chapel and plaster and dust fell on to the pews beside the entrance. The officers winced, and after a brief silence Thomas said, ‘It seems that we might not have prayed enough.’ Robert pointed at Thomas. ‘How dare you mock? Do you cast doubt upon the Lord, our God?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This smacks of heresy. Captain Miranda, this man should be arrested and his faith examined.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Miranda growled. ‘Right now I would give my weight in gold for a company of heretics to fight at our side.’ He sighed and rubbed his brow. ‘I imagine that exhaustion has c louded Sir Thomas’s mind. He meant nothing by his comments. If you like, Robert, you should say a prayer for him while you are praying for further divine help.’

For a moment the priest held his ground, an angry frown on his face. Then his expression eased and he bowed his head and sat down. ‘We are all tired, sir. And so I forgive Sir Thomas.’

Thomas gritted his teeth and responded in an ironic tone, ‘And I accept your forgiveness.’

The door of the chapel opened and a sergeant ran inside and called out, ‘There are boats, sir. Heading out from Birgu!’

Miranda frowned. ‘Boats? That’s madness. La Valette must not know that the enemy have covered the harbour with their guns. Sir Thomas, get up on the wall and try to warn them before it’s too late. Go!’

Snatching up his helmet, Thomas ran down the aisle towards the sergeant. ‘Show me.’

Thankfully it was dusk and the snipers could no longer easily pick out their targets inside the fort. Thomas and the sergeant hurried up the stairs on to the section of the wall overlooking the harbour. It had suffered little damage and they stood at the parapet and stared out across the darkened harbour towards the mass of St Angelo. Thomas searched the water and then saw them, six dark blots edging towards the peninsula. A moment later the Turkish gunners saw them too and there was a roar to Thomas’s right as a gun unleashed a blast of grapeshot at the small flotilla. A faint loom of spray lifted from the gentle waves in front of the boats.

Thomas cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could, feeling his lungs strain and bum with the effort. ‘Turn back! Turn back!’

Still they came on, and another gun fired, and missed. The third shot tore into the lead boat and the shattering of timber and the cries of the stricken carried clearly to the men on the wall.

‘Dear God,’ the sergeant muttered. ‘They’ll be cut to pieces.’

‘Turn back!’ Thomas shouted again. ‘For pity’s sake, turn back! Save yourselves!’

The boats were halfway across the harbour now but close to the Turkish battery and more easily visible against the dark grey of the sea. More shots ripped up the surface of the water, then another boat was blasted, its bow shattered by the storm of iron fragments. It began to sink and some of the men still aboard jumped over the side and struck out for St Angelo. Others were wearing armour and carrying weapons and struggled to rid themselves of the burden before the water swallowed tham. Then the boat, and the men, were gone. Thomas felt sickened by the sight.

The sergeant thrust his arm out. ‘They’re heading back!’

The last of the boats had turned aside and as they watched, it began to stroke back towards Birgu. A second boat followed it but the other two held their course.

‘Row faster, damn you,’ the sergeant muttered.

Thomas willed them on. Any moment they would pass out of sight of the Turkish guns and be sheltered by the cliff. Another gun blasted out, thrashing the surface of the harbour just behind the rearmost boat. Then they were safe from the cannon. But there were still the enemy snipers perched in the rocks surrounding the fort. Thomas turned to the sergeant.

‘Find five men and join me by the drain at the back of the chapel. You know the place?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then go.’

They separated, Thomas making for the chapel while the sergeant hurried along the wall towards the corner of the fort overlooking the harbour. As he ran into the chapel the other officers turned to him.

‘Well?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘Did they get through?’

‘Just two boats, sir. Pulling towards the jetty now. I’ll take a party out through the drain to guide them in.’

Mas nodded. ‘I’ll have a guard placed on the drain until you return.’