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

‘I sincerely hoped that I would never have cause to.’

Richard finally spoke. ‘And you think the will is safe in your hands?’

‘Safer in mine than in Walsingham or Cecil’s. They would use it to protect their position at Elizabeth’s court. She would hardly defy the will of men who could threaten to make public the dying wishes of her father.’

‘Better that my masters have the will than it should remain in the hands of a Catholic or fall to the Muslims, as now seems likely,’ Richard responded bitterly.

‘A Catholic I may be but I am an Englishman before that,’ Stokely countered.

For the first time Thomas’s heart warmed slightly towards Stokely. Then he recalled that this was the man who had made Maria his wife, and done all in his power to prevent them meeting again.

‘One thing puzzles me,’ he said. ‘Why was it necessary for you to threaten Maria with my arrest? She told me that she could not leave you. She said it was too late to change the past. She was your wife now and that was how it would remain.’

Stokely stared at him with a stricken expression. ‘She said that?’

‘Yes.’

Stokely closed his eyes and his face twisted in pain. ‘Dear God, I spoke too hastily. I was angry. After I saw you leave the house I confronted her and said I knew you had been there. I said I knew that she had been unfaithful to me.’

‘No. She was not,’ said Thomas. ‘I would have given anything for that, but she refused me.’

‘She refused you?’ Stokely slowly shook his head. ‘What have I done? Dear God, what have I done? I raged at her. I accused her of faithlessness, of harlotry. She stood there and took it all in silence. Then she said she did not love me. That she had only ever loved you.’ Stokely swallowed. ‘I lost my temper. I struck her. So help me God, for the first time in my life I struck her.’

Thomas clenched his fist and fought to control the rage that welled up inside.

‘She fell back on the chair.’ Stokely trembled as he recalled the moment. ‘There was blood on her lip, and then I saw fear in her eyes. And worse, disgust and pity. I wish she had struck me back, screamed at me. Instead she just looked at me. I walked out and went to the cathedral to pray for forgiveness. When I returned to the house she and her maid had gone. There was no note. She just disappeared. I searched Birgu for the next two days before I realised I would not find her again, and even if I did she would not have me back at her side.’ Stokely smiled weakly. ‘She was all that ever mattered to me. That was when I resolved to come here, and die along with you. Not for any affection I bear you, but for hate. You are the cause of my misery, Thomas. If providence is kind I shall see you die before I fall.’

‘Then I had better guard my back,’ Thomas responded. ‘It seems I have enemies on both sides.’

‘No. You need not fear me.’

‘I don’t fear you, Oliver. I pity you.’

‘And I hate you, I have always hated you. But, as is so often the case with hatred, it was imperfect. I see that now. Before, I wanted to hurt you and then destroy you, as if that would somehow resolve the matter. But it never could. My hatred is unquenchable. Harming you would in no way diminish it.’ He smiled. ‘It is a strange thing, but I feel almost at peace now. I do not fear death. I only ever feared the prospect of a life without Maria. This is where it ends. Here in St Elmo. For me, for you, and for your son. Poor Maria. She still thinks that Richard is safe in England. For her sake, I hope she never discovers the truth.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘There, that is all that needs to be said. I shall find somewhere to rest, though I shall not sleep. There is only one release from my torment now.’

Without waiting for a response he got up and walked out into the courtyard.

Richard, his expression dark, made to rise from the table but Thomas grasped his wrist firmly.

‘Leave him be.’

‘You heard him,’ Richard hissed. ‘He harmed my mother.’

‘Stokely has suffered enough. In any case, he is like the rest of us, walking in the shadow of death. It serves no purpose to hasten his end.’

Richard shook his head. ‘Are you so lacking in heart that you are not moved to act?’

‘My heart is replete, my son. Did you not hear him? She loves me, and always has. And you already know that she loves you. I would rather you were with her and spared this death but that is not to be.’ He released Richard’s wrist and took his hand. ‘At least we will be together at the end.’

Richard stared at his father, struggling to control his emotions, and nodded. ‘Together, at the end.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

23 June

In the hour before dawn, the enemy’s preparations for the coming assault were clearly audible to the survivors thinly spread out along the ruined walls of the fort. Most were clustered about the breach that had opened up when a section of the wall had finally collapsed under the weight of the Turkish cannon. Murmured exchanges carried up to the defenders as the Turks gathered in their trenches that surrounded the fort. Across the water, oars splashed and there were occasional cries from the men at the bows as they sounded the depths of the harbour. The dark mass of the galleys was easily visible in the darkness as they took up position to add the weight of their cannon to the preliminary bombardment of St Elmo.

Thomas, like most of the others, had not slept at his station. During the long hours of the night he had lain down, his head resting on a rolled-up gambison, and gazed up at the stars. The night sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly. As he stared at them Thomas found some comfort in their eternal serenity. They had been there before he ever breathed and would be there still the following night, hours after he and the others had fallen. Their cold aloofness seemed to mock the petty tribulations of mankind. All the grand causes, all the heroic efforts, the religious fanaticism that motivated men to kill others and willingly face death, seemed trivial when considered in the round, Thomas reflected. He did not wish a martyr’s death. He wanted more than anything to live, now that he felt sure of Maria’s love. Thinking of the life he might have had caused him to smile sadly. When his mind drifted towards the coming day, he could not help fearing his death. He hoped it would be quick, and that he might die before Richard and be spared that hideous spectacle at least.

He turned to look at his son, sitting against the parapet a short distance away, his chin resting on his breast, breathing easily. Despite the circumstances, Richard’s exhaustion had got the better of him and had embraced him with a few hours of merciful oblivion. The sight moved Thomas unbearably and his throat tightened with grief at the thought of losing what he had only just been given, the most valuable treasure a man could find in life, the gift of a child. He had only had a handful of days in which to know his son and it was bittersweet to discern those precious virtues and quirks of character in him that would never have the opportunity to mature further.

Some distance along the wall beyond the breach Thomas could just make out the still form of Stokely hugging his knees as he stared across the heart of the fort. Thomas could only wonder at the private despair of that tormented soul and hoped that Stokely would also find peace in a swift death.

As the sound of muttered prayers rose around the fort like the sound of surf on a distant shore, Thomas leaned towards his son and gently shook his shoulder. There was no response and Thomas shook him again, more forcefully, until Richard snatched a deep breath and sat up quickly, startled and confused. He blinked for a moment and then stared at his father.

‘You let me sleep.’ His tone was accusing. ‘My God, you let me sleep through my final hours.’