Sword and Scimitar

‘Sir.’ Stokely turned to La Valette. ‘Can we bring one of the ca

La Valette shook his head. ‘Look for yourself. They have chosen their ground well. There is no gun that we can aim in that direction. There’s nothing we can do - other than spare our men from witnessing it. Only those on sentry duty are to remain. Order all the others to return to their billets. At once.’

As the men filed away into the narrow streets of the town, it was clear from their quiet exchanges that the earlier euphoria had been extinguished by the spectacle of La Riviere’s torture. The afternoon wore on and the beating continued under the eyes of those defenders still on watch. On the bastion of Castille, Thomas remained, together with Stokely and Colonel Mas. The Grand Master and the others had retired to St Angelo. In front of Birgu, small parties of Turks gathered their dead for burial. The wounded were carried back to their camp for treatment. When they tried to retrieve those of their comrades who had fallen in the ditch, Thomas ordered one of the sentries to fire a warning shot to keep them away so that they could not examine the wall or bastions at close hand. The bulk of the forces that had made the morning attack had joined the procession of troop columns, wagons and artillery trains passing to the west of Senglea. A covering force remained, busy cutting trenches into the ground ringing Birgu and Senglea.

Despite all the enemy activity the attention of the defenders was irresistibly drawn to the ongoing execution of La Riviere. The first two Janissaries had been relieved early in the afternoon and their replacements continued the beating in a steady rhythm until dusk, when one of their officers strode up to examine the knight. Squatting down, he raised La Riviere’s head and examined his face briefly before he drew a dagger and cut the Frenchman’s throat.

‘At last.’ Stokely closed his eyes and bowed his head. ‘Poor soul.’ Mas shrugged. ‘He should not have allowed himself to be captured. I’ll not make the same mistake. Nor will any of our men. It is a lesson well learned and will surely harden the resolve of every man, woman and child on the island. As the Grand Master said, there are no civilians on Malta. And now they know one thing more — there is only victory or death.’ Mas stretched his back and turned away from the enemy. ‘I’ll do the rounds of our sentries before I let the Grand Master know that La Riviere’s suffering is over.’

‘Very well,’ said Stokely. ‘I’ll see you at the evening briefing.’ The colonel bowed his head and descended the stairs. Only four soldiers remained on the bastion apart from Thomas and Stokely, and they kept a respectful distance from the two knights. For a while neither man spoke as they stared at the naked body still tethered to the post. Then Stokely cleared his throat gently.

‘I understand that you have seen Maria.’

Thomas’s smile faded as he turned his gaze towards Stokely. ‘You’ve spoken to her?’

Stokely’s lips momentarily lifted in a mocking smile. ‘Oh yes. You gave her quite a surprise, but she has recovered now and come to her senses. She does not want to see you again, ever.’

Thomas felt a cold stab of anxiety in his heart, then it passed as he recalled her expression, her shock in seeing him and then the unmistakable stirrings of the old affection in her eyes. He felt certain that Stokely was lying. ‘I must confess, seeing her came as quite a surprise to me too after you told me she had died.’

‘I said she was dead to you.’

‘And now she is very much alive to me. And I am to her. Where is she?’

Stokely stared at him, then said, ‘Safe.’

‘Safe? From the enemy, or from me?’

‘None of us is safe from the enemy. But at least I can save her from you, Thomas. I can spare her that misery.’

‘Where is she?’ Thomas asked again, this time through gritted teeth. ‘Tell me.’

‘I will do no such thing. Seeing you again has disturbed her mind enough as it is. Fortunately I was able to talk sense into her and Maria accepts that it would be foolish to even set eyes on you again. As I said before, she is dead to you, Thomas. Do not try to find her.’

‘I will find her.’ Thomas spoke in a low growl, his hands clenched by his sides to keep him from grabbing Stokely by the throat. ‘I swear it. I shall see her again.’

Stokely stared at him for a moment before he spoke with a vehemence that Thomas had never seen in him before. ‘May God damn your soul to the eternal fires of hell, Thomas. I pray for that with every fibre of my being. It is what you deserve.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Why do you hate me so very much? What have I done to wrong you that you wish such a fate for me?’

‘Hate you? Of course I hate you. It was you she loved. Always you.’ Stokely gritted his teeth. ‘It should have been me. I deserved Maria, not you . . . And you shall never have her. Now get out of my way.’

Thomas met his cold, malevolent gaze, and then slowly eased himself to one side. Stokely swept past and started down the staircase. Thomas listened as the sound of his footsteps faded away, shaken by the venom in his words. After a moment he turned to watch the distant artillery train winding its way around the end of the harbour towards the end of the Sciberras peninsula. One thing was clear. The enemy had swiftly discarded the idea of an assault on Birgu and Senglea. Their full weight would be thrown against St Elmo, just as the Grand Master had hoped. The defenders had won some time to improve the fortifications of the most important positions. Their chances of surviving the siege would improve with every day that St Elmo held out. Thomas turned to look across the harbour at the fort. The setting sun bathed its walls in a warm glow and cast dark shadows where the acute angles of its star-shaped layout cut off the light. The breeze had dropped and the standards flying above the fort hung limply. It was a peaceful scene, Thomas mused. Not something that the eight hundred men garrisoning the fort were likely to see again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The mood in the auberge that evening was subdued. Jenkins served them a simple barley gruel, explaining that there was no longer any fresh meat to be had in the markets of Birgu. In order to save feed the Grand Master had given instructions for all livestock to be slaughtered and salted and stored in the warehouses by the dock. Only a small number of horses were to be given fodder from now on. With the arrival of a large number of refugees in Birgu, new billets for the soldiers had to be found and so a dozen Italian mercenaries had been assigned to the English auberge and these now joined Thomas, Richard and Sir Martin at the long table in the hall. With the arrival of the mercenaries Jenkins’s labours had increased considerably and he treated the Italians with ill-disguised disdain and resentment.

As the men supped they were quiet and reflective and conversation was mainly limited to requests to pass the bread platter, the salt or the jug of watered wine. The mercenaries kept to the end of the table nearest the door and left the three Englishmen to the end nearest the fireplace.

‘Where is Sir Oliver?’ asked Richard. ‘He said he would be accommodated at the auberge once the Turks landed.’

Sir Martin shrugged. ‘He has money enough to rent his own quarters. And a sufficiendy inflated sense of his own worth not to have to share accommodation with his brother knights.’

Thomas stirred his gruel. ‘Do you have any idea where he might have taken up residence?’

‘No,’ Sir Martin answered and they continued eating.

‘ ’Twas a great pity about La Riviere,’ Sir Martin said at length. ‘He was a good soldier. Never balked at the chance to take the fight to the Turk. One man we could ill afford to lose.’