Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн полные версии .TXT) 📗
Thomas touched Richard’s arm. ‘I’m going to report to Miranda, You take command here until relieved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Richard replied and smiled at his formality. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘Keep your head down, understand?’
Richard nodded, and Thomas took one last look at him in case there was never another chance, and felt the familiar stab of guilt and affection as he turned away.
He moved at a crouch until the angle of the wall no longer concealed him from the cavalier or the ravelin. He glanced at both towers and saw heads bob up as the Turks kept watch on the fort. Then several shots were fired from the cavalier as the enemy caught sight of movement along the nearest section of the wall.
Thomas took advantage of the diversion and rushed across the open space towards the stairs leading down into the courtyard. There was a faint shout from the direction of the ravelin and a rippling volley of shots. Stone chips flew past him but Thomas ran on and started down the stairs, taking four or five at a time in a wild rush that threatened to make him lose his balance. At the bottom of the stairs he threw himself against a nearby stretch of wall that was out of sight of the enemy and gasped for breath. Around him the courtyard was filled with rubble and dust that caught in the throat. There were few men about, now that the enemy could reach most of the inside of the fort with their weapons.
When he had recovered his breath Thomas edged his way round the courtyard towards the chapel, which was fortunately out of the line of fire. A small group of men sat to one side of the door playing a desultory game of dice and barely looked up as he passed them and entered the chapel. The building was quite unlike a normal church; it was built into the fabric of the fort, with a handful of windows high up on the walls which made it a gloomy place for the garrison to come and worship. Although it could hold up to four hundred people at a time, there were only a few men that evening, gathered on facing pews in the space before the altar. Most of the officers and the friar, Robert of Eboli, had already arrived as Thomas walked along the aisle, undoing the straps fastening the gorget to his helmet and then removing the helmet.
Captain Miranda was sitting on a chair. His left arm was in a sling and his right leg was fixed in place by splints sawn from the shaft of a pike. A bloodied bandage was wound tightly about his knee. Like the others his face had been burned raw by the sun and his skin was red and peeling. Colonel Mas had also been wounded since midday and was barely recognisable under the bandage that covered one eye and half of his head. Most of the other officers had also been wounded and Thomas reflected that the scene was more like an infirmary than a gathering of officers. All of them looked exhausted and filthy and what had once been neatly trimmed beards were now straggling and matted with blood and the remains of hastily snatched meals.
‘Glad to see you are still with us, Sir Thomas.’ Miranda forced a smile. ‘You are one of the few who can still stand.’
Thomas nodded and took a seat on one of the pews, trying to ignore the ache in his limbs and the discomfort of clothes he had been unable to change for over a week. There was no small talk as they waited for the last officer to arrive, and once he was seated Miranda addressed his subordinates.
‘There are fewer than a hundred of us left to man the walls, and most are already wounded. The Turks have the cavalier, and with that they can provide covering fire for any attempt to cross the ditch using the trestle bridges they have thrown up against what remains of the parapet. Gentlemen, the end is near. We have all but run out of gunpowder. I doubt that we will survive the morrow.’ He paused. ‘We have fought a good fight against great odds. It is a struggle to be proud of. We have endured far longer than was thought possible. Let us hope that we have won enough time for the Grand Master to prepare Birgu and Senglea for the onslaught to come when we are no more. I have given orders for the chapel’s tapestries and sacred objects to be destroyed or hidden. Once Robert of Eboli and the other brothers have carried out that task they will make the rounds of our positions and take confession and administer the last rites to those who wish it. Colonel Mas will oversee one last filling of the water butts before the cisterns are fouled with enemy bodies. The rest of you should destroy anything that might be valuable if it falls into enemy hands.’ He paused and looked round at his officers. ‘There is a signal fire prepared on the keep where it can be seen from across the harbour. If the fort falls then the last of us should set light to it. After that, it’s every man for himself. Does anyone have anything to say?’
One of the younger knights nodded. ‘Sir, is it too late to evacuate the fort? We could ask for volunteers for a rearguard while we signal Birgu to send boats.’
Miranda shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that. The moment the enemy realised what was happening they would overwhelm the few men left and then slaughter the rest as we attempted to escape. Besides, there are too many wounded to evacuate. We must resign ourselves to our fate and resolve to go down fighting in a manner that reflects the highest standards of the Order of St John.’
‘What of the wounded?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘We cannot let them fall into the enemy’s hands. I’ve seen what the Turks do to their prisoners.’
Thomas watched Miranda’s reaction closely.
‘The wounded will be brought in here. Each man will be given a dagger, to use to fight from where he lies, or to use as he will,’
Miranda replied carefully, for suicide was a sin. ‘When the Turks get over the walls, every man that can must fall back here. The chapel is where we will make our final stand. If any man decides to appeal for mercy, that is his choice, but I would expect none from the enemy. They have paid a high price in blood and are thirsty for revenge.’ He paused. ‘There is one piece of good news I will share with you. We captured a prisoner today who says that Dragut was felled by a shot from one of our men as he inspected their siege guns.’
The officers murmured their pleasure at the news.
‘It is a sign.’ Friar Robert stood and raised a hand and stabbed his finger at the ceiling. ‘The Lord is watching us, and has reached out his hand to smite our enemy.’
‘It was a bullet that killed Dragut,’ Thomas said mildly. ‘He was not swatted aside.’
Some of the officers smiled, but Robert turned and glared. ‘Do not be impious, Englishman. We have prayed for deliverance and the Lord has begun to answer our call.’
‘I am glad,’ Thomas replied, just before a Turkish cannonball struck the roof of the chapel and plaster and dust fell on to the pews beside the entrance. The officers winced, and after a brief silence Thomas said, ‘It seems that we might not have prayed enough.’ Robert pointed at Thomas. ‘How dare you mock? Do you cast doubt upon the Lord, our God?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This smacks of heresy. Captain Miranda, this man should be arrested and his faith examined.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ Miranda growled. ‘Right now I would give my weight in gold for a company of heretics to fight at our side.’ He sighed and rubbed his brow. ‘I imagine that exhaustion has c louded Sir Thomas’s mind. He meant nothing by his comments. If you like, Robert, you should say a prayer for him while you are praying for further divine help.’
For a moment the priest held his ground, an angry frown on his face. Then his expression eased and he bowed his head and sat down. ‘We are all tired, sir. And so I forgive Sir Thomas.’
Thomas gritted his teeth and responded in an ironic tone, ‘And I accept your forgiveness.’
The door of the chapel opened and a sergeant ran inside and called out, ‘There are boats, sir. Heading out from Birgu!’
