Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
It was a fair point, Thomas mused. There were fewer than five hundred knights still with the Order on Malta. The unending war against the Turk had its price in blood and it was proving increasingly difficult to replenish the ranks. With the kingdoms of Europe at war amongst themselves, and the strict entry requirements for those joining the Order, the number of young nobles presenting themselves for selection was dwindling. In the past, a veteran like La Valette could have gone to sea with a dozen younger knights on his galley, eager to prove themselves. Now he had to make do with five, of whom only Thomas had faced the Turks in battle.
Despite that, Thomas knew his captain well enough to know that he would not refuse a fight unless the odds were overwhelming. La Valette’s heart burned with religious zeal, enflamed still more by the thirst for vengeance for the suffering he had endured as a slave chained to a slim wooden bench in a Turkish galley many years ago . La Valette was fortunate to have been ransomed. Most of those condemned to the galleys were worked to death, tormented by thirst, starvation and the agony of the sores caused by the heavy iron used to shackle them in place. For that reason, Thomas reflected, La Valette would fight, whether he succeeded in surprising the enemy or not.
‘What if something has happened to him?’ Stokely glanced round to make sure that they were not overheard by the men on the main deck. ‘If the captain is lost, then someone will have to take command.’
Here it comes, Thomas thought. Stokely was about to stake his claim. He must assert himself before his friend did so.
‘I will take his place, as his appointed lieutenant, in the event of his death or capture. You know that.’
‘But I have been a knight somewhat longer than you,’ Stokely replied in a restrained whisper. ‘It would be best if I was captain. The men would prefer to be led by someone with more experience. Come, my friend, surely you can see that?’
Whatever Stokely might think, the truth was that Thomas’s fighting prowess had been noticed from the outset by his superiors, hi his first action he had commanded a raid on a small port on the coast near Algiers and captured a galleon laden with spices. After that he had been posted to serve La Valette, the most daring and successful of the Order’s captains, to wage war on the Turks. This was his third campaign at sea and he had forged a close bond with the crew and soldiers of La Valette’s galley. He had no doubt that they would prefer him to take command rather than a knight who had only joined the galley a month earlier, fresh from the offices of the Order’s quartermaster.
‘Be that as it may,’ Thomas replied, sensitive to his friend’s feelings, ‘the matter need not concern us. The captain will return, soon, I have no doubt.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘He will/ Thomas said firmly. ‘We must be ready for battle the moment the captain rejoins the galley. Give the order for the rowers to be muffled. Then have the men prepare their weapons.’
Stokely hesitated briefly before he gave a curt nod and returned down the steps on to the broad deck that ran along the centre of the slender galley for almost fifty paces before it reached the covered stem where the knights and senior officers shared their quarters. Above the deck the two broad yardarms crossed the twin masts of the galley, bowing slightly under the weight of the furled sails. Thomas heard his orders being relayed and a small party of men went below to fetch the cork plugs and leather straps from one of the chests in the small hold. A moment later a ripple of bitter murmurs rose from the men chained to their benches. Their protest was silenced by a harsh snarl from the officer in charge of the rowing deck, and the sharp crack of dried leather on bare flesh.
Thomas could well understand the feelings of the hapless creatures who manned the galley’s long sweeping oars. In order to ensure that none of them could shout a warning to the enemy as the galley glided towards its prey, the captains of the galleys on both sides had adopted the expedient of fitting a cork plug in the mouth of each man, held in place by leather thongs fastened by an iron shackle. It was horribly uncomfortable and suffocating once the men began to exert themselves at the oars. Thomas had seen men choke to death after some of the battles he had taken part in. Still, he reasoned, it was a necessary evil in this crusade against those who held to the false religion. For every man who choked on his muffle, lives of Christians were saved for want of a warning given to the unsuspecting enemy. The only other telltale sign of the presence of a galley would be the stench of excrement and urine that lay beneath the rowing benches, where it was left until the vessels were hauled out of the water at the end of the campaigning season. If it was not for the steady offshore breeze, the foul odour might carry far enough to alert the enemy.
Above the rowing deck the soldiers of the Order - Spaniards, Greeks, Portuguese, Venetians and some French, mercenaries all - rose to their feet. They struggled into their padded jackets and buckled on the small guards that protected their exposed joints.
Their equipment was cumbersome and would be stifling when the sun was fully risen. Normally the order to prepare would not have been given until the galley began to close on its prey, but Thomas had sensed the tense mood of anxious expectation amongst the men and judged that it would be better to offer their minds some diversion while they awaited the return of the captain. Besides, it provided an opportunity to exercise his authority over Stokely and remind him of his place in the chain of command.
Thomas’s ears pricked up at the sound of a splash away towards the dark mass of the headland. At once all other thoughts vanished from his mind as he strained his eyes and ears, searching the shifting black shadows of the sea for any sign of movement. Then he saw it, the almost invisible shape of a small boat, the men working hard at the oars. A thrill of relief surged through his heart as the craft edged closer to the galley, accompanied by the faint splash and swirl of the oar blades.
‘Rest. . .’ La Valette ordered in a low voice and a moment later there was a gentle bump against the solid timbers of the galley’s side. A rope snaked through the air and was grasped by one of the sailors. La Valette climbed over the side as Thomas descended from the foredeck to join his captain. The other knights and officers gathered round.
‘Is the galleon still there, sir?’ asked Stokely.
‘She is. The Turks are sleeping like babes,’ La Valette announced. ‘The men of the galleon will give us no trouble.’
Stokely clasped his hands together. ‘Praise be.’
‘Indeed.’ The captain nodded. ‘Our Lord has blessed us with good fortune, which is the reason for my delay in returning . . .’ La Valette paused to make sure that he had the full attention of his followers before he continued. ‘That galleon won’t be the only prize we shall seize tonight. She’s been joined by a pair of corsair galleys. They’re at anchor, close by. A rich haul, gentlemen.’
There was a moment’s silence as the other men took in the news. Thomas glanced round at the faces of his companions and could just discern that some were exchanging nervous looks. The galley’s sailing master cleared his throat anxiously. ‘That’s odds of three to one, sir.’
‘No. Two to one. The galleon is of little account. Once we have dealt with the galleys, she’ll fall into our hands easily enough.’
‘Even so, it would be reckless to attempt it,’ the sailing master protested. ‘Especially with dawn fast approaching. We shall have to withdraw.’
‘Withdraw?’ La Valette growled. ‘Never. Any man who serves the Order is worth any five Turks. Besides, we have God on our side. It is the Turks who are outnumbered. But let us not test providence too severely, eh? As you say, the mom will soon be upon us. Therefore, gendemen, there’s no time to be lost. Is the galley ready?’
