Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
The flagship rounded the end of the promontory and steered into the creek between Birgu and the bare twin promontory of Senglea where a handful of windmills stood on its highest point. Ahead lay the masts of dozens of cargo ships and fishing boats, packed close to the quay lined with the warehouses of Birgu. The walls of St Angelo continued along the creek a hundred yards before reaching the channel that had been painstakingly cut across the promontory to provide a last line of defence before the fort. Thomas’s eyes were drawn to a large galleon riding at anchor in the channel. The forecastle, sides and high poop deck were painted green and decorated in gold leaf and the figurehead was a veiled woman in black robes picked out with stars and moons in gold and silver. There was no mistaking the origins of the vessel and Thomas realised that this must be the galleon that Philippe had told him of, the loss of which had provoked the Sultan’s rage.
‘Ship oars!’ ordered the captain and the dripping blades were raised clear of the sea and rumbled into the hull.
‘Port the helm!’
The flagship slowly swung in towards the length of quay closest to the fort. Thomas could see a small party of men waiting there, several wearing the cloaks of the Order, adorned with the distinctive cross motif. To one side a servant held the leashes of two magnificently conditioned hunting dogs. Standing alone a short distance in front of the others was a tall figure with silver hair and beard who was dressed in a plain black doublet, breeches and half-cloak. He watched the approaching galley without expression as the last of the steerage way carried it towards the quay.
Thomas felt his pulse quicken and an old affection stirred in his breast. He recognised the man, even though the passage of twenty years and the burden of command had wrought their changes on the weathered features.
‘Jean Parisot de La Valette,’ he said softly.
‘Him? The old man?’ Richard stared, comparing the man’s appearance with the more richly finished attire of the men behind him. ‘I would not have taken him for the Grand Master of the Order of St John.’
‘Clothes do not make the man.’
‘Nor does great age. I hope his mind is sound.’
‘The High Council of the Order would not permit him to remain in office if it wasn’t.’
Sailors tossed coils of rope towards men on the quay and the galley was hauled in until it bumped softly against the tarred rope buffers. A section of the bulwark swung open and the gangway was extended to the quay as Don Garcia and his entourage approached. The Spaniard saw Thomas a short distance further along the deck and beckoned to him.
‘It would please me if you and your squire joined us.’
Thomas bowed his head. ‘As you will, sir.’
Four of Don Garcia’s soldiers hurried ashore and formed a small guard on either side of the gangway. When they were standing to attention, Don Garcia led his entourage ashore, followed by Thomas and Richard. Glancing over the faces of the men at La Valette’s back Thomas could only recognise Romegas, the foremost of the galley captains when Thomas had campaigned with the Order. He, too, had grown old, but no doubt his bitter feelings towards Thomas endured.
Don Garcia and La Valette exchanged a bow and brief greetings in French before they took turns to introduce their subordinates. When he waved Thomas forward, Don Garcia could not suppress a small smile.
‘Grand Master, I think you may have heard of my English companion, Sir Thomas Barrett.’
La Valette’s eyes were still clear and piercing, even though they had set deeper into his countenance. He strained them a little as Thomas approached and bowed his head respectfully.
‘Thomas... I hoped that you would answer the call.’
‘I have been waiting for twenty years, sir.’
A brief look of pain flitted across the old man’s expression before he continued. ‘Due to the circumstances there was not much I could do, you understand. But you are here now. Back at my side, where your talents are most needed.’
The kindly tone affected Thomas deeply and memories of their comradeship flooded back. ‘I will do my duty, sir.’
‘I am sure you will. Tell me, are you still as fierce and deadly a fighter as you were when you last served the Order?’
‘In truth? No, sir. But I can still wield a sword as well as most men.’
‘That is good.’ La Valette smiled and gestured to his retinue, none of whom seemed any younger than Thomas. ‘As you see, few of us are men in the prime of life, but we are unequalled in experience and wisdom, the more so since you have rejoined us. For which I give thanks to God.’
‘I suspect that some in the Order will not be as grateful, sir,’ Thomas replied, avoiding the temptation to glance at Romegas.
‘Only a handful survive that still remember, Thomas, and now they are answerable to me and obey my will.’ He paused and then clasped Thomas’s hand gently. His skin was dry and the bones beneath the mottled flesh were pronounced. ‘Your place will not be questioned. It does my heart good to see you again.’ He looked beyond Thomas and his gaze rested on Richard for the first time. ‘And who is your young companion?’
‘My squire, sir. Richard Hughes.’
‘You, too, are welcome.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Richard bowed.
‘Sir Thomas, I will have my servants fetch your baggage. You can retire to the English auberge once you have eaten.’ La Valette turned back to Don Garcia who had been following the brief exchange with a curious expression.
‘I had no idea that my passenger was held in such regard by the Order,’ the Spaniard remarked.
La Valette’s expression was strained for a moment before he responded. ‘Sir Thomas was one of our most promising knights, before his. . . absence. He has proved himself before, and I do not doubt that he will perform valuable service for the Order again in the great trial that we face. Now the light is dying and we have much to discuss. A meal is being prepared in my lodge for you and your officers, Don Garcia. Some of the senior officers of the Order will arrive later. They were not present in Birgu when your ships were sighted. I have sent for them. There is much to discuss.’
‘Indeed.’
La Valette glanced towards the last of the Spanish galleys approaching the quay. ‘Only six galleys? The main body of your reinforcements is following on behind, I take it?’
Don Garcia looked round at the faces of the local people who had gathered behind the Grand Master and his retinue. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. ‘It is best that we talk about such matters in more . . . private surroundings. If you would lead the way?’
La Valette’s expression had hardened. He and Don Garcia were seated together at the head of a long table running down the centre of Fort St Angelo’s banqueting hall, but every man present had sat in silence and listened intently as Don Garcia outlined the instructions he had received from King Philip. The pair of hunting dogs lay asleep by the modest fire burning in the iron grate along one wall, a luxury on an island where wood was scarce enough to be sold by the pound weight. Thomas was halfway down the table and had eaten lightly of the first good meal he had had since leaving Barcelona - honeyed chops of mutton and freshly baked bread. The tension between Don Garcia and La Valette had been palpable and the sour mood had spoiled the appetite of those in the hall. For a moment Thomas envied his squire who was eating at the lower table with the other junior officers of Don Garcia’s small force.
La Valette pushed his platter aside and shifted in his chair so that he might face his guest more directly as he spoke.
‘Last year I sent warning to His Majesty about the Sultan’s plan to strike west, and that Malta would be the Turks’ first target. I said that if Malta was to be held I would need five thousand fresh men, cannon, powder and supplies of food. So far he has sent me nothing but messages of support.’
