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

‘That’s good, very good,’ Don Garcia said. ‘Though you will still need to defend the shore. Even if your chains prevent them landing, you must be able to contain them on the beach so that they can be cut down by fire from your cannon. You will need to construct a parapet there.’

The Grand Master gestured to his clerk to make a note.

Don Garcia looked slowly round to survey the Grand Harbour and the surrounding landscape. ‘The trouble with the entire position is that every fort is overlooked by higher ground. You may have a fine base for your galleys, Grand Master, but it is a poor situation to defend in a siege where the enemy will have cannon, and no doubt plenty of them. The main aspect in your favour is that the Turks will be obliged to attack on narrow fronts, whichever fort they attempt to take.’

‘Which is just as well, given how few men I have.’

Don Garcia pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘The question is, which will they attack first? If I was the Turkish commander I would begin there.’ He raised his hand and pointed at St Elmo. ‘It is the smallest of the forts and it is isolated from the rest of your defences. It should be the easiest one to capture. If St Elmo falls then the enemy commands the approaches to both harbours and can safely anchor his ships in the Marsamxett. Moreover he will be able to fire across the Grand Harbour and bombard both these promontories. It will also deliver a blow to your morale while raising the spirits of his own men.’ Don Garcia weighed up his observations and then nodded. ‘Yes, that is where he will attack first, I am certain of it. Therefore it is vital that St Elmo holds out for as long as possible. Let us see that fort now

Even though it was early in spring and the air was still fresh, Thomas, Richard and the other officers in the small party were perspiring freely as they climbed the stairs of the cavalier tower rising to one side of Fort St Elmo and looking north-east out to sea. Thomas emerged at the top and stood to one side for a moment to catch his breath. The Grand Master stood by the parapet, leaning against the cut limestone to recover. Don Garcia’s face was also flushed with the effort and for a moment no one spoke on the platform of the tower. Beyond the parapet the cavalier tower dropped down towards the rocky end of the peninsula where the sea began. There was no wind and the surface of the sea looked smooth and grey as it stretched out towards the horizon like a sheet of cold steel.

Richard looked at the other officers around him calculatingly before he muttered, ‘There are too many old men here, Sir Thomas.’ The knight shot him a black look but did not trust himself to reply without gasping and proving his squire’s point.

‘Look at them,’ Richard continued. ‘The Grand Master is a relic from an old war, and so are most of the other senior knights. How can they hope to hold Malta with a band of greybeards and the natives of the island? Even if they can find some mercenaries foolish enough to take their coin, it would still be a hopeless situation.’ Thomas licked his dry lips and sucked in a deep breath. ‘Never underestimate the value of. . . experience. These men, and I, were fighting the Turk long before you were born. When the time comes, the value of such experience will be clear to all. If the enemy make the same mistake as you and misjudge the quality of the knights of the Order,’ Thomas smiled grimly, ‘both you and the Turks will be in for a surprise. Mark my words.’

He turned and walked steadily across the platform to join the other men clustered around Don Garcia and La Valette. The Spaniard was tutting to himself as he looked down on the rest of the fort. The tower afforded a clear view into the heart of St Elmo where a Maltese militia company was being drilled by a Spanish sergeant, bellowing out his orders for a swarthy local to translate in a pale imitation of the sergeant’s ferocity and volume.

‘Who gave the order to build the fort here?’ he asked La Valette. ‘You?’

‘The Grand Master before me.’

‘And who advised him, if anyone?’

‘There was an Italian siege engineer commissioned to oversee the work but he died shortly after reaching Malta.’

‘That is a shame, since he might have prevented your predecessor from making such a catalogue of mistakes.’

‘Oh?’

‘To begin with, this fort is in the wrong location. It should be up there.’ Don Garcia pointed towards the ridge running along the peninsula dividing the harbours. ‘Up there it could command every approach. As it is, the enemy will be able to occupy the high ground and dominate the fort. Furthermore, there is no shelter along the parapet. As soon as a man shows his head above the wall he will be clearly outlined against the sky, making an easy target for any arquebusiers concealed in front of the fort. And there’s too little space on the walls to mount more than a handful of cannon. You will have to use the towers. There’s another thing. Look down there.’ Don Garcia pointed to the nearest corner of the star-shaped fort. ‘If the Turks can work round the front face they’ll be able to scale that comer easily. It’s too low. You’ll need to construct a ravelin there.’

As La Valette nodded, Richard leaned towards Thomas and whispered, ‘Ravelin?’

‘It’s a fortification that’s constructed in front of a weak spot,’ Thomas explained calmly. ‘Usually in the form of a chevron.’

Don Garcia was quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘Every day that the flag of the Order flies over St Elmo is a day that you can use to improve the defences of Birgu and Senglea. If you can only buy enough time for the relief force to gather, or for the campaigning season to come to an end in October, then there’s a chance Malta will remain in our hands.’

‘I will ensure that Malta holds out,’ La Valette said firmly. ‘The Order of St John was cast out of the Holy Land, and then Rhodes. Whatever the odds, we will hold Malta. If not then the Order will perish here. Every one of us is resolved to that end.’

Don Garcia looked at the old knight. ‘A glorious death, eh? Is that what you want?’

‘I am not afraid to die in the service of Christ. I never have been.’

‘Laudable as your devotion to your cause may be, I would strongly advise you to keep yourself from harm’s way as much as possible if the Turks come to Malta.’

La Valette frowned. ‘I will do no such thing.’

‘You must. You are a proud man, I know that. But you must consider the morale of those you command. You are their figurehead, not just their commander. They will look to you and you must appear strong and resolute at all times. If you were wounded, or killed, then the spirit of your men would be greatly harmed. I have been a soldier long enough to know the truth of this. The will to fight is a fickle thing. You know what is riding on the successful defence of this island and I beseech you to put the interests of others before your pride. The Order already faces the gravest of challenges.’

‘Then perhaps you should consider sending me the soldiers I requested from His Majesty. Five thousand men would make a most valuable contribution to the safety of Malta.’

‘I do not have five thousand to spare you. I have little more than that in Sicily as it is. More men are being recruited in Spain and will soon be joining my army. As I said last night, I will send you reinforcements the moment they can be spared, but you must be patient.’

‘Patient?’ La Valette repeated bitterly. ‘For months I have been sending you and the King details of what our spies have observed in the shipyards and arsenals of the enemy and you have done nothing but make ships and sit in your castles in Spain and wait for the enemy to come. I tell you, he is coming here, and it is here that the fate of the Order and the rest of Christendom will be decided.’

‘You may well be right, but I have my orders and my own responsibilities. However, I will request the King’s permission to send you a thousand of my best soldiers from Sicily, and I will do what I can to send further reinforcements as soon as possible.’