Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗

‘Thanks be to God,’ Thomas heard the Grand Master mutter. ‘We survive.’

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

11 September

The rain stopped and for several days the sky cleared and the sun shone down on the devastation of the battlefield. The Turkish bombardment resumed, interspersed with a handful of attacks that were not pressed home and quickly disintegrated under the withering fire from the defenders crouching in the rubble along the line of the walls of Birgu and Senglea. The Grand Master no longer held meetings for his advisers. There was nothing to discuss. Rations were running short, their numbers were so diminished that one more determined assault was bound to result in defeat and annihilation. It was simply a matter of holding on for as long as possible.

Each morning Thomas rose before dawn to take his position in the bastion, alongside Richard and the other defenders, and then watch and wait, senses straining to pick up any warning of another assault. But eventually the attacks stopped coming and only a few of the enemy batteries still maintained their bombardment of the defences. To Thomas it seemed as if the enemy no longer had the heart to continue the siege and for the first time he allowed himself to hope that he, Maria and Richard might yet survive. They would return to England, he resolved, and begin to live the life that had been denied them for so long. There was a rightness about the quiet fantasy he allowed himself to indulge in. It was meant to be, Thomas told himself with a smile of contentment, surely, after all that they had endured?

He would not pray for such an outcome, though he knew that Maria prayed for little else, and she prayed fervently. He had watched her, kneeling before the small shrine that she had erected in the cellar of the house, rosary beads clenched in her hand, eyes gazing at the small statuette of the Virgin Mary, lips working faintly as she muttered her imprecations. She paused whenever a Turkish cannonball droned overhead, or smashed into a building nearby. Thomas looked on with a fatigued sense of disappointment in Maria, and in all those who held to their conviction that this world was the creation of a loving compassionate God. But her religious convictions did not extend to denying herself the full pleasure of their relationship, one of many compromises among the faithful that Thomas took as a sign of the emptiness of religion.

He was aware that he no longer felt the burden of guilt that had formerly accompanied his abandonment of belief, when he had felt that he had failed himself and all those around him. Now it was as if a cloying mantle had been lifted from him and he felt free, and just a little afraid of the idea of the finality of death. At the same time, it served as a stark reminder of the need to live fully in the moment. There was no eternity of reward in the afterlife, just a shallow promise of paradise to sugar the bitterness of the brief span of life that for many was little more than a struggle against starvation and violent death. What better way to hold people in thrall, Thomas thought to himself, his expression bitter.

‘What is it?’

Thomas blinked as his thoughts refocused. Richard was watching him curiously where they both sat behind the parapet of the bastion.

‘What were you thinking?’ Richard asked.

‘It was nothing. A passing fancy.’ Thomas stiffly eased himself up behind the parapet and cautiously peered towards the enemy trenches a hundred paces away. The Turkish marker flags were still in position, hanging limply from their standards in the calm morning air. There was no sign of movement there, nor further back beyond the trenches where there were usually small parties of men carrying supplies from the ships to the enemy camps. Richard rose up too and peered over the edge of the parapet, eyes scouring the ground for any sign of enemy snipers.

‘They’re quiet today.’

‘Quiet be damned,’ Thomas muttered. ‘They’ve gone.’

‘Gone?’ Richard scrutinised the enemy’s entrenchments. ‘It could be a trick.’

Thomas pursed his lips. ‘Let’s see.’

He sat down again and unbuckled the chinstrap of his helmet. Then, taking up one of the loaded arquebuses that were leaning against the parapet ready for use, he balanced his helmet on the butt and slowly raised it behind the crenellation so that its plume would be visible above the top of the stone. Then he eased the helmet sideways round the masonry until it was in clear view of the enemy’s trenches.

‘If there’s any of them out there, they’ll not pass up the chance of trying a shot at one of the knights,’ said Thomas.

There was no response to his bait. He waited a moment longer before he lowered the arquebus and retrieved his helmet.

‘Have one of the men report to La Valette. Tell him that there is no sign of the enemy to our front. I’ll confirm that when I return.’ Richard sucked in a quick breath. ‘You’re going out there?’

‘Of course. We need to be sure.’

‘What if it’s a trick? An attempt to lure us from cover?’

Thomas tapped the brim of his helmet. ‘You saw. Not a single shot. They’ve abandoned their trenches, I’m sure of it.’

‘But why?’

Thomas smiled. ‘I would hate to tempt fate, and I will not say what my heart hopes, not until I have seen it with my own eyes.’ He patted his son on the shoulder. ‘No more tarrying, Richard. Send word to La Valette and then keep watch for me. I might just return somewhat more swiftly than I set out.’

He did not wait for a reply but scurried a short distance along the parapet towards the nearest breach where a low breastwork had been hurriedly thrown up. Easing his head up, Thomas swept his gaze over the ground in front of him. Satisfied that there was no movement, he snatched a quick breath, slid over the breastwork and scrambled down the rubble slope and dropped into the ditch where he pressed himself against the ground, breathing hard. He waited, his ears straining for any sound of voices or movement. A short distance to his right he saw a corpse, half buried in dust and rubble. There was a dried brown stain on the turban and torn cloth where a bullet had passed through his skull. His head lay back and his eyes stared into the clear heavens as flies buzzed lazily about the blotched skin of his face and walked undisturbed across his rotting flesh. From the sight and smell of the corpse, Thomas estimated the body must have lain there for at least ten days, one of many that the Turks had not dared to retrieve for a proper burial according to their custom.

Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, Thomas crept up to the rim of the ditch and peered over. Before him the rocky ground was scarred by the rough furrows of enemy shot that had grounded in front of the wall and ricocheted on into the defences. Broken ladders and abandoned weapons and armour lay scattered on the ground, together with the dead, their stomachs grossly distorted by mortal corruption under the glare of the sun. The shattered remains of a siege tower were no more than twenty yards away and Thomas slowly eased himself up before rushing across the open ground towards it, head and shoulders hunched down. Still there was no shout of alarm, nor the crack of sniper’s weapon. He squatted down behind the shelter of the solid timbers and caught his breath before he glanced back towards the bastion. There was a brief glitter of sunlight on steel and he saw Richard watching him.

‘Keep your head down, you fool!’ Thomas hissed and gestured furiously with his gloved hand, but Richard continued to expose his head above the parapet. Fearing for his son, Thomas moved out from his shelter and ran for the nearest Turkish flag indicating the front line of their trenches, trusting that if there was a sniper lying in concealment then he would find him an easier target than Richard. He did not run in a straight line, but zigzagged across the open ground. All the while his heart pounded with a mixture of exertion and fear. Then he suddenly found himself on the parapet of a trench and he dropped into it on his hands and knees, splashing into the muddy water pooled along the bottom. At once he pressed against the side, hands splayed against the stony surface, gasping for breath. He looked quickly from side to side.