Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
‘It seems not.’ Thomas picked up a thick slice of cured sausage from his plate and chewed slowly. In truth, La Valette’s offer made him anxious. It was a great responsibility and he was determined not to betray the Grand Master’s trust. In all aspects but one. Thomas glanced down the table and saw that Richard was watching him with a triumphant gleam in his eye. No doubt he was already scheming to turn the situation to his advantage.
Sir Martin concluded his meal speedily and noisily and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before stretching his neck and sighed contentedly. He drained the last of his wine and smacked his lips.
‘Ah, that’s a good feeling. A decent meal after a hard day’s labour. And now, sleep!’ He rose stiffly, rubbing the small of his back. ‘I bid you good night, gentlemen.’
Thomas nodded his response and Richard stood up and bowed his head in dutiful respect. At the sound of Sir Martin’s cell door closing behind him, Richard turned to Thomas with an intent expression.
‘I had begun to fear that we might never find a way to gain entry to St Angelo without arousing suspicion. Now you have access to the Grand Master’s lair you can get me into that dungeon. I have the description of De Launcey’s chest, and the prize is sure to be inside. If it’s done quickly we can quit this death trap before the Turks arrive.’
‘Quit?’ Thomas raised his eyebrows. ‘I have no intention of leaving. Not now. I am needed here. Every man is.’
Richard stared at him. ‘Are you mad? When the enemy lands on the island no one will be spared. They will pound all the forts into rubble and cut the throats of any survivors.’
‘That is one possibility.’ A smile passed fleetingly across Thomas’s face. ‘Or we make our stand and hold out until the Turks give up the attempt to reduce the island. That, or we are relieved by Don Garcia and the army he is gathering on Sicily.’
‘You might as well wish for the moon.’ Richard gave a hollow laugh. ‘Don Garcia’s force is only ever going to be a paper army. His king will not let him take any risks with what men he has, and I would wager my soul that less than half of the men and ships promised to him by the other powers will be forthcoming. There is no chance of the Turks turning tail. If Suleiman has ordered that Malta be reduced, then do you think for one instant that those to whom the command is given would dare risk his wrath if they failed?’ Richard paused to see if his words had struck home but Thomas kept his silence and the younger man hissed with exasperation before he continued.
‘Sir Thomas, I have been with you long enough to see that you are a good man. There is sure to be a place for you within Walsingham’s service when we return to England having carried out our mission successfully. Don’t throw your life away in some futile gesture.’
Thomas stirred. ‘Firstly, this was never really our mission, just yours. I was simply the pretext to get you inside the Order. Secondly, this is no simple gesture, Richard. Whatever that precious document may turn out to be, there are times in a man’s life when he must stand for something. When I was forced to leave the Order I lost my place in the world, as well as the woman I loved. Now she is gone, and all that I have left is the chance to do something right.’
‘I thought you had grown tired of the Order’s endless war.’
‘And so I had. But the situation has changed. The very existence of these knights and the islanders who stand with them is under threat. If the Order is annihilated and Malta falls, you know well enough the danger posed to every Christian kingdom in Europe. Even England may fall under the sway of the Sultan. The coming battle is the very fulcrum upon which the fates of two civilisations are balanced. Even one man might make a difference to the outcome.’
‘One man?’ Richard shook his head. ‘You have drunk too deeply at the well of the Order’s fanaticism, Sir Thomas. That, or . . . perhaps I see a more simple truth. It is the Grand Master’s offer to take you into his confidence that has clouded your judgement. You feel flattered by his request, and now you cannot face letting him down. Is that it?’
‘There is some truth in that. But it matters not.’ Thomas splayed his hand over his heart. ‘All I know is that I must make my stand along with the rest of the Order. There is no reason to it. Just a certainty that brooks no doubt. I will stay and fight, and die, if that is my fate.’
‘Then you disappoint me. I had taken you for a wiser, more rational man than that.’
‘Well, I am content to disappoint you. But I will do what I can to help you complete your mission and escape before it is too late to flee, if you do not choose to fight at my side.’
Richard thought for a moment before he replied in a world- weary manner, ‘I would count it an honour to fight at your side. Believe me. But I would not share a certain death without good purpose. I must let you have your glorious death alone, or at least in the ranks of your precious band of brothers.’ He scraped the bench back and stood up. ‘There is nothing more to be said. We can talk in greater detail on the morrow and plan our next step. Good night, sir.’
They exchanged a brief nod and Richard turned and strode off towards his cell, leaving Thomas alone in the hall decked with the mementos of the English knights who had devoted their lives to the Order. He stared up at the heraldic devices on the small wooden shields and the faded banners that hung from the beams. In his heart lie knew, as surely as a man can know, that his decision to remain and fight with his comrades was the right and only path for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
18 May
When he had listened to the strength returns of each of the garrison posts, and the report on the output of the gunpowder mills, the Grand Master rose from his chair and walked over to the window. His favourite hunting dogs, Apollo and Achilles, jumped up from beneath the table and padded over to their master. He reached down and stroked their silky ears as he stared out at the view from the keep of St Angelo, gazing over the thick walls and across the glittering blue water of the harbour towards the peninsula where the ridge of Sciberras dominated the small fort of St Elmo. It was a clear morning, the sky was a deep blue and the low rays of the sun washed the stone of the fort with a brilliant yellow hue. A light air lifted the flag of the Order flying from the mast above St Elmo so that the white cross on the red background fluttered lazily. The faint chink of picks from those working to deepen the ditches in front of the fort carried across the harbour. Despite the continuing preparations, the scene looked peaceful enough and the fair weather heralded the arrival of summer, and the dreadful heat that came with it.
From his chair Thomas scrutinised La Valette and saw that the hard work of the previous months, far from exhausting the Grand Master, had given him renewed strength and energy. He stood erect, and moved with purpose. Only the white curls of his hair gave indication of his true age, for his face, though weathered and creased, seemed to belong to a man fully ten or fifteen years younger, and his grey eyes gleamed beneath his heavy brows. Glancing to his side, along the line of chairs where the other members of the war council sat, Thomas noted that Romegas and Sir Oliver Stokely looked tired and tense. Only Colonel Mas seemed at ease. That could be misleading, though; the colonel was a professional soldier to his core and rarely showed any emotion except anger at any sign of inefficiency or laziness in the men under his command.
With a sigh La Valette turned away from the window and faced those he had chosen as his closest advisers, his eyes flicking over each man in turn before he spoke.
