Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
Each day, at dawn and towards dusk, the Grand Master and his advisers surveyed the enemy’s progress and were disheartened by the speed with which the Turkish trenches zigzagged closer to the fort. The poor quality of the stone used in the construction of St Elmo was evident from the crumbling of the facing of the walls and the rapid pulverisation of the points of the comers of the fort facing the batteries. As darkness fell and all through the night the guns continued to fire in an endless rhythm of detonations that were accompanied by regular outbreaks of barking from all the dogs in Birgu.
The passing days were spent in improving the defences of Senglea and Birgu. As before, La Valette and the senior knights joined the other soldiers and townspeople as they laboured to increase the depth of the walls and construct a second line of defence across the ground where the nearest houses had been torn down to provide building material. Beyond the main wall, gangs of galley slaves and the handful of prisoners that had been taken were chained in pairs and set to work deepening and widening the ditches that cut across the ground at the base of each promontory. A screen of arquebusiers were sent two hundred paces further out to prevent the Janissary snipers from trying to hinder the work being carried out in front of the walls. The activity only came to an end when the sun set and the slaves were returned to their cells while the rest trudged back to their billets and homes.
There was little time for Thomas and Richard to pursue their respective quests. In any case, they were often too exhausted to do anything more than eat upon returning to the auberge. Then, while Richard fell on his bed and went to sleep, Thomas left the auberge to attend the evening meeting of La Valette’s war council in St Angelo. For the present there was little more to discuss than the progress of the work on the defences, and the steady destruction of the fortifications of St Elmo. Stokely made his report on the current levels of rations. There were no more exchanges between Stokely and Thomas outside the meetings; Stokely always contrived to leave first, while the Grand Master engaged Thomas and Colonel Mas in further discussion about the military situation as they gazed out of the window and beheld the ongoing siege of St Elmo.
The dark mass of the fort with its regular lines loomed over the end of the Sciberras peninsula. There was a faint orange loom from the flames of the braziers and cooking fires burning in the courtyard, but no sign of the sentries on duty along the wall. There had been many losses caused by Turkish snipers before the defenders learned to risk only fleeting glances above the parapet, or to find a sheltered place along the wall where they could lie full length on the parapet and keep watch. Even so, there were occasional flashes from the ground in front of the fort as a sniper shot at any movement detected on the wall. Further back, the Turkish engineers continued digging their trenches by the flickering light of torches, behind the cover of their barricades. Up on the ridge, where the two batteries were sited, the guns continued firing through the night. Each round shattered the darkness with a lurid red glare that illuminated a tableau of the men toiling past the batteries with wicker baskets filled with soil and rock to help build up the sides of the trenches, before the night shrouded the scene once more - until the next gun fired.
Thomas could not help admiring the efficiency with which the Turks pressed on with their siege. In the years that he had served the Order he had mostly fought them at sea, and only heard accounts of their wider military prowess from the handful of older knights and soldiers who had faced Suleiman’s army at Rhodes. There was no question that their technical skills far exceeded those of most of the armies Thomas had faced on European soil. Only the superior armour of the knights, their long experience of conflict and devotion to their cause weighed against the numerable advantages enjoyed by the Turks.
At the end of May La Valette gathered his advisers at noon to hear grim news. The small council sat round the table in his study. A small scroll of paper lay on the table beside the hollowed-out cow horn into which it had been sealed with wax. La Valette’s dogs, as usual, lay at his feet under the table. Trained to run with the Grand Master’s hunt, they were used to firearms and no longer barked at the sound of the enemy’s cannon, unlike the other dogs in Birgu.
‘I have received a despatch from Don Garcia. It came via Mdina and a local goatherd who swam across the harbour. The Viceroy tells me that the reinforcements he was expecting from Genoa have been delayed,’ La Valette said in a voice tinged with bitterness. ‘Don Garcia reports that we can expect to be relieved no earlier than the end ofjuly. We are ordered to hold out until then.’
‘July?’ Colonel Mas let out a sigh of frustration. ‘Another two months? I doubt that St Elmo will last another two weeks, and then the Turks will turn on Birgu.’ He paused to make a rapid calculation. ‘With our defences in the state they are we must expect St Michael and Birgu to fall within a month of the loss of St Elmo. In that event, we will have to make a final stand here, in this fort. With luck we might still hold St Angelo when Don Garcia and the relief force eventually land on Malta.’
‘That would be lucky indeed,’ La Valette replied. He raised a hand to attract the attention of the servant who had been standing silently by the door. ‘Bring in Captain Medrano.’
There was the briefest delay before a tall officer with a neatly clipped beard entered the study and strode towards the table. He was wearing a breastplate tarnished where it had scraped against masonry and Thomas could see that his jerkin was stained with sweat and grime. His eyes had the sunken lustreless look of an exhausted man and his hair was streaked grey with dust.
‘A chair for the captain,’ La Valette ordered and the servant hurriedly brought one to the table. Medrano sat down stiffly and folded his hands together in his lap as the Grand Master introduced him.
‘I doubt that any of you have met the captain before. He arrived a few days before the Turks and was assigned to the garrison of St Elmo immediately. He is one of La Cerda’s senior officers. He has been sent to us to deliver a report on conditions across the harbour. Captain?’ La Valette invited him to address the war council.
‘Yes, sir.’ Medrano nodded. He cleared his throat and began speaking in the clear, direct tones of a professional soldier.
‘The commander of the fort begs me to inform you that the situation at St Elmo is critical. The ravelin is close to collapse, as is the south-west corner of the fort. The south-east corner will not endure much longer. The enemy trenches are less than fifty paces from the outer ditch and we can expect them to make their first assault within the next two days. There is nothing that we can do to hamper their progress. The moment any of our men appear above the parapet they are shot down by the Janissaries. We lost twenty men to snipers just yesterday. As a result we are forced to crawl behind the cover of the parapet and try to build up some makeshift battlements with stones taken from the rubble on the corners of the fort. That’s a dangerous business, given the continual bombardment. The morale of the men is low. They have had little rest, and stand by their arms at all times in case the enemy attempts a sudden assault on the fort. My commander estimates that the fort can hold out for eight more days. Ten at the outside, sir,’ he concluded.
‘Ten days is not good enough, Captain,’ La Valette responded. ‘You and your comrades must buy the rest of us more time. We have heard today that there will be no outside help for two months. Every day that you can hold on increases the chance that our Holy Order will survive. La Cerda must not give up the fight.’
