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

‘You have your instructions, gentlemen. May God have mercy on us all. Now go.’

The garrison of the fort were still standing watching the approaching fleet when Thomas and Richard entered St Elmo. The small courtyard was piled with baskets of apples and oranges, sacks of flour, roundles of cheese and kegs of gunpowder just arrived from the powder mills on Senglea. Thomas’s brow furrowed as he beheld the disorganised scene and he stopped a small party of Spanish troops crossing the courtyard to get a better view of the enemy from the keep.

‘You there! Why are all these supplies still left out? Get them into the storerooms at once! Where is your commander?’

One of the sergeants who was with the party pointed towards the keep. ‘Up there, sir. I saw Don Miguel on the tower.’

‘Right.’ Thomas gestured towards the kegs of gunpowder. ‘Start with that before some panicky fool sets the lot off.’

Thomas left the sergeant to bark out his orders and strode across the courtyard to the entrance of the keep. There was a large hall beyond the door where several long tables were still littered with the meals abandoned when the signal guns had sounded across the island. A serving boy was busy filling his pockets with bread rolls and looked up guiltily as the knight and his squire entered.

‘Where are the stairs to the top of the tower?’ Thomas demanded. The boy looked at him fearfully and shook his head. Richard spoke quickly in the local tongue and the boy turned to point to a doorway to one side of the hall. They hurried past him, through the arch, and found a short passage ending where the stairs climbed up in a series of flights. At the top, fully a hundred men were crowded along the parapet, gazing out to sea. Some wore the red surcoats with the white cross of the knights of the Order. There was no time to single out the commander and Thomas cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘Don Juan de La Cerda! Don Juan!’

Faces swivelled round towards the shout, some with startled expressions. A knight stepped back from the parapet and approached Thomas.

‘I am Don Juan de La Cerda.’

He was one of the older knights, thin and gaunt with a fringe of grey-streaked hair around a bald crown. He frowned as he looked Thomas over. ‘Who are you? I’ve not seen your face before.’

‘Sir Thomas Barrett.’

The knight’s eyes widened as he recognised the name. ‘The English knight.’

‘One of them.’

‘The one who has been much on everyone’s lips since he arrived.’ Thomas ignored the comment. ‘I am here on the authority of the Grand Master to take charge and ensure that the fort is ready for action.’

There was a brief look of surprise before La Cerda responded with a haughty air. ‘My garrison is ready. We don’t need you.’

‘Ready?’ Thomas shook his head. ‘The courtyard is in chaos, and soon a small horde of terrified locals are going to come pouring through your gate seeking shelter — while you and your men sit here and take in the scenery.’ He spoke loudly so that all might hear his words and the scorn in his tone. ‘Ready? If this is what you consider ready then the battle is already as good as lost. The Grand Master needs you and your men brought to order at once, Don Juan. I want half your men clearing the courtyard. Everything must be placed in the storerooms before the Turks land. The other half of the garrison is to form into parties and leave the fort and gather in every civilian between here and the approaches to Mdina. If they are too old, or infirm, then your men will carry them. They are to bring back any useful tools and portable stocks of food that they find. Anything else is to be destroyed. Leave nothing that will be of use to the Turks. Understood?’

La Cerda hesitated. ‘By what authority do you give such orders?’

‘I told you. The Grand Master sent me.’

‘You say.’

‘There is no time to lose.’ Thomas stepped closer to the knight. ‘If you waste another moment then I assure you that the Grand Master will strip you of command of this fort and find you a post worthy of your indolence. I suggest you obey my orders without further delay. I will not warn you again.’

Don Juan stared back briefly and then his gaze wavered. Abruptly he turned round and shouted the necessary orders. The sergeants drove the men down the staircases at each end of the platform, leaving a handful on watch duty and the two knights and squire.

‘You had no right to speak to me in such a manner in front of my men,’ La Cerda hissed furiously.

‘And you have no right to be in command of your men if you can’t do what is required of you. Now, while the orders are carried out I want you to accompany me while I inspect the fort. Provide my squire with paper and a pen to take notes. Richard?’

‘Sir?’

‘You will record my findings and recommendations for each post in the fort.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then show us to your quarters, Don Juan. As soon as my squire has his materials we can begin.’

The last shred of La Cerda’s defiance melted away and he nodded and turned to lead them down the nearest staircase. Thomas strode after him, too angry to feel much satisfaction at having faced the other man down. Before they reached the head of the stairs, he paused to take one last look at the Turkish fleet. The sun had risen high enough to bathe the island in its warm rays and out to sea the last of the haze had disappeared to reveal the full scale of the invasion force. It seemed as if the entire horizon was covered with the sails and hulls of vessels, now little more than five miles from the coast, arragned in a giant crescent across the surface of the sea. Thomas’s lips lifted in a brief smile at the appropriateness of the enemy’s formation, and then he hurried down the stairs.

For the rest of the day the garrison laboured to clear the courtyard. La Cerda followed meekly as Thomas toured the fort and dictated notes about the number of men allocated to each position, the siting of the fort’s cannon and the ground covered by each weapon’s firing arc. He questioned La Cerda on where the ammunition would be stored and what arrangements had been made for its replenishment once the siege began. He also demanded to know the arrangements for the treatment of the wounded and their evacuation to Birgu if communication with the other side of the harbour could be kept open.

At noon the first of the civilians began to enter the fort and Thomas and Richard stood above the gate and watched as an extended stream of humanity anxiously hurried along the dusty track that ran along the peninsula, just below the crest of the ridge of Sciberras. In the distance thin trails of smoke billowed into the air above glittering flames as buildings and stocks of food were fired by the parties sent out from the fort.

The people were ushered into the courtyard, their expressions anxious. Some of the children were crying as they clung to their parents. They had been raised on stories of the terrifying raids that the corsairs had made on the island and how families had been captured and sold as slaves, tom from each other’s arms forever. Only those too young to understand the danger wore smiles and laughed cheerfully at the exciting break from the usual routines of daily life. Older members of the family were helped by their kinfolk while some were bodily carried. A few brought livestock with them: a handful of goats, mules and large cane cages with chickens inside. The smaller animals were permitted to enter the fort, but Thomas knew that there would be no space within for the larger beasts, and in any case the garrison could not afford to feed them. They were taken from their owners at the gate and led round the corner of the fort and killed. Many animals were hurriedly butchered and chunks of meat tossed into barrels of brine ready to be added to the garrison’s stores. But the carcasses of the dogs and mules were thrown into the sea.