Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
‘Take them!’ he commanded his servant. ‘Take them back to the kennels with the others and see that it is done at once.’
The servant approached the table and took them each by the collar and drew them away from their master. As they reached the door, Apollo twisted his heavy head round and looked one last time at his master before being willingly led from the room for the last time. After the door had closed no one spoke for a moment. Then Thomas coughed lightly.
‘I am sorry, sir. It seemed to be for the best. I wish it had been otherwise.’
‘Yes, well, it is a necessary evil,’ La Valette responded in a matter- of-fact tone. ‘And they are only dogs, after all. The smallest of sacrifices to be expected of us in the days to come. The meeting is over, gentlemen. Please leave. ’
His advisers rose to their feet and filed out of the study. Thomas was the last to go, and he paused at the door and saw that the old man was staring at the floor where his dogs had been lying shortly before. It had gone hard with him to insist on the destruction of the old man’s hounds, yet they had barred the way to the archives and would have to be dealt with one way or another.
‘Only dogs,’ Thomas said under his breath as he closed the door quietly behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
On the second day of June, at dawn, the lookouts on the towers of St Angelo sighted fresh sails approaching the island. La Valette was holding his morning council on the platform above the keep and they watched thirteen galleys steer towards the entrance to the harbour, before they turned north-west to anchor close to the shore. The lead galley was richly draped with an emerald-green awning embroidered with stars and crescent moons. From the Turks waiting on the shore a cry rose up, repeated over and over.
‘Turgut! Turgut!’
Richard had attended with some of the other squires and turned to Thomas with an arched brow. ‘Turgut?’
‘Their name for the corsair we call Dragut.’
‘It is an ill day indeed,’ La Valette said. ‘Of all the men Suleiman could send against us, this one I fear most of all. He is as much a legend to the enemy as he is a demon to the Christian world. His men revere him and his worth on the battlefield is incalculable. And he brings thirteen galleys laden with his corsairs as well.’
‘This will not sit well with our people,’ said Stokely. ‘Soon every man, woman and child in Birgu will know that Dragut has joined the Turks. Something needs to be done to strengthen the resolve of our people, sir.’
La Valette nodded gravely. ‘And now, more than ever, we need to place our faith in the Lord our God and beg for his mercy and salvation.’
Dragut was rowed ashore in his gilded barge, and the cheers of the enemy reached a fresh crescendo as he stepped ashore. His procession around the northern harbour was screened by the bulk of St Elmo and the Sciberras peninsula yet the jubilant welcome of the Turks could clearly be heard from the battlements of St Angelo.
The sounds were briefly overwhelmed by the crash of the siege guns as they continued to bombard St Elmo without interruption. The once neat lines of the walls had been broken down by heavy iron shot and rubble partially filled the ditch facing the Turks. Only the cavalier tower to the rear of the fort seemed wholly intact. The steady crash of shot into the walls of the fort filled the air with a brown pall of dust that hung in the air like a shroud when the breeze dropped during the hottest hours of the day. The flags marking the extent of the enemy’s trenches were now no more than ten paces from the wall and La Cerda’s prediction seemed to be vindicated, Thomas reflected.
The Grand Master had given orders to provide the defenders with as much support as possible. Each night boats slipped across the harbour carrying supplies and returned with the wounded. The Turks, through carelessness or simple arrogance, had not yet interfered with the passage of the boats. Even though the defenders were under constant bombardment, they were ready to face the assaults that would follow the moment the first breach appeared in the walls.
The man that La Valette had chosen to become the fort’s new commander was Captain Miranda, a veteran Spanish soldier. When he had been presented to the war council Thomas had been impressed by Miranda’s outline of his plans for the defence of the fort. Colonel Mas had recommended him as a cool-headed and decisive leader, plain-speaking and, most important of all, the kind of man who inspired those he led.
As they waited for the first enemy assault the defenders were huddled below the remains of the parapet, grouped in threes, two arquebusiers to each man armed with a pike. Clay pots filled with incendiary materials were stacked at regular intervals. A handful of the dangerous naphtha bellows were readied for use on the cavalier — terrifying weapons that shot jets of liquid fire that consumed any man in their path. To complete the arsenal of the defenders, fire hoops were ferried across and placed on the walls, ready for use.
This last was a new weapon conceived by La Valette and demonstrated to his advisers only the day before. Barrel hoops were covered with multiple layers of linen which had been soaked in fat and tar and then steeped in boiling water. Thomas and the others had watched as two soldiers held one of the hoops in iron tongs at arm’s length while a third soldier set it alight. The fiery hoop was released and flared brilliantly as it ran down the wall of St Angelo and into the narrow channel that had been cut between the fort and Birgu. Thomas could imagine the terrifying effect that such a weapon would have on the Turks as they assaulted the crumbling walls of St Elmo.
As Dragut made his way round the harbour to the main camp sprawling across the landscape at the base of the Sciberras peninsula, La Valette dismissed his advisers and sent for the archbishop of Malta.
‘A penitentiary procession?’ Sir Martin scratched the stubble on his chin as Jenkins relayed the brief message that had been given to him by one of the Order’s servants a moment earlier. The Englishmen and the Italian mercenaries had only just sat down to their evening meal after labouring throughout the afternoon on the inner wall of the town’s defences. ‘Tonight?’
‘Aye, sir. At eight, from the steps of the cathedral, around the town and then into the market square for the sermon. Everyone in Birgu is to attend. All the civilians, and every soldier who can be spared from his duties.’Jenkins’s eyes sparkled with keen expectation. ‘Robert of Eboli is to speak.’
Richard exchanged a brief look with Thomas.
‘Should I have heard of this Robert of Eboli?’ asked Thomas. ‘Oh, yes, sir! He is a simple friar but he speaks with such passion and fervour that it is as if the Lord himself has blessed his tongue. I have heard him deliver two sermons in the cathedral and not one of the congregation failed to feel touched by a divine presence. Truly, sir.’ Jenkins lifted the wine jug, glanced at the Italians and scowled. ‘The other gentlemen appear to have worked up a thirst. At the rate they are working through the cellar, our present stocks may not last much longer.’
‘Nor may we,’ said Sir Martin. ‘Carpe calix et non postulo credo, eh? Just refill the jug.’
‘Let us hope that the procession and sermon help to bolster morale,’ said Thomas. ‘With Don Garcia not able to send a relief force for some months, the arrival of Dragut, and the likelihood that St Elmo will fall any day, it is hardly surprising that La Valette is appealing to God for help. Piety may be the only thing that can save us now.’
‘Piety, and a sharp sword.’ Sir Martin chuckled as he mopped up the last of the stew with a hunk of bread. ‘Who would have thought that dog meat could be so tender? Jenkins made a fine job of it.’ He popped the bread in his mouth and chewed. When he was done he pushed the bowl away and sat back and stretched. ‘Your squire is a sombre fellow tonight.’
