Sword and Scimitar

Thomas held his pike ready. Richard hurried to his side, his weapon in an overhead grip. Then the Turks were all along the barricade, either side of the fiery avenue caused by the jets of the naphtha bellows. Through his visor Thomas concentrated his attention on an officer in brilliant scale armour shouting encouragement to his spearmen as they charged forward. Raising his pike, Thomas aimed at the man’s chest and thrust hard. The point slammed home but the armour was well-made and the blow did not puncture the armour. Even so, the impact drove the breath from the officer’s lungs and he staggered back, gasping. His men swept past and steel clattered and scraped on steel either side of Thomas as the two sides met.

Despite the overwhelming number of enemy the defenders had better armour and enjoyed a slight height advantage from their side of the barricade. Most of the Spaniards were armed with stout pikes which they thrust at the Turks to keep them at bay. Scimitars flashed as the Turks hacked at the shafts of the pikes, and any exposed hands or arms. A man wearing a lion skin over his head and shoulders burst through the crowd in front of Thomas and grasped the end of his pike just below the steel point. Instinctively he tightened his grip and wrenched it back. Another man grabbed the shaft. To his side Thomas saw a Spahi warrior scramble up on to the barricade and raise his blade high, ready to strike at Richard who was battling a white-robed fanatic.

Seeing the danger to his son, Thomas released his hold on the pike and the two men on the other end tumbled back. Thomas snatched up a mace that was leaning against the inside of the barricade and swung it in a short, vicious arc at the shin of the Spahi before he could strike. The iron head smashed through flesh and bone and the man crumpled on to his side. Thomas swung the bloodied weapon again, this time smashing the Turk’s skull open in an explosion of blood, bone and brains. Richard, still heedless of the danger that had threatened him, was thrusting his pike again, forcing his enemy to duck to one side to avoid being hit in the face.

A sharp blow to his left shoulder knocked Thomas round and he slashed out with the club, knocking his attacker’s sword aside. Then, for an instant, there was no enemy within his reach and he glanced quickly to each side to see how the rest of his comrades were faring. Three men were down, sprawled on the flagstones behind the barricade. A man who had lost his hand clasped the bloodied stump to his chest as he staggered towards the top of the staircase. Then his head jerked to one side as a sniper on the ravelin picked him off. He fell headlong, only yards from the shelter of the staircase.

A flicker of motion to the right caught Thomas’s eye and he just had time to step to one side as a curved blade slashed down. With a deafening clatter it deflected off his shoulder guard. He turned quickly and hammered on the blade with the mace, knocking it down on to a rock atop the barricade. The blade shattered and the Turk who had wielded the weapon screamed a curse and threw the guard and handle at Thomas, which struck his breastplate harmlessly. The man’s curse was abruptly cut off as Richard piked him in the side of the chest. With a groan the man pulled himself free and staggered back into the throng of turbans, spiked helmets and robes.

An arrow whirled close by Thomas’s head and he saw that some archers had taken position on the mounds of rubble and were shooting over the heads of their comrades. The defenders were higher up than the Turks and made clear targets.

‘Watch out for the arrows!’ Thomas bellowed the warning above the din of batde. It came too late for the soldier operating the naphtha bellows. An arrow struck him high in the shoulder and his hand spasmed and he released one of the handles on the bellows. The nozzle dropped down. At once the nearest of the Turks let out a savage cheer.

‘Richard!’ Thomas called out. ‘Take the bellows!’

Richard nodded and dropped his pike as he ran across to the wounded soldier and took the weapon from him. On the other side of the barricade the Turks had begun to surge forward, sensing that the chance to overwhelm the defenders was within their grasp. Richard grasped the handles and hefted the bellows up on to the barricade, resting the nozzle on a flat stone that had been positioned there for the purpose. He pressed the handles together to prime the weapon and then again to pump the liquid out towards the enemy. It flared into a glittering arc as the taper ignited the mixture. Richard aimed directly at the mass of Turks surging towards the middle of the barricade and the fire burst upon them, lighting them up like walking torches that screamed and swirled as they burned to death. With a grim expression he worked the bellows, pivoting them from side to side, spraying fire into the terrified horde. Those at the back stopped advancing over the rubble, staring in fear at the horrific scene in front of them, and then they began to fall back, seeking shelter on the rubble sloping down into the ditch.

Their fear spread from man to man and soon even those who had reached the barricade fell back, until only an officer remained shouting his defiance at the defenders and contempt at his retreating men. He swung a heavy scimitar from side to side across the top of the barricade to drive his opponents back. Then he clambered up and stood, clearly visible to all, and waved his men forward. One of the Spaniards took up an arquebus, crouched down, took aim and coolly shot the Turkish officer under the chin. The ball burst through the top of his turban in a spray of blood and he stood for a moment, still as a statue, then fell back amid the scorched and bloodied bodies of his men on the outside of the barricade.

Thomas saw with relief that they had broken the attack.

‘Get under cover!’ he ordered, waving the men down on either side. ‘Richard, you too.’ He was still standing in clear view behind the bellows.

Richard lowered the weapon and crouched down behind the barricade to pinch out the small flame on the taper and make the bellows safe. If the enemy attacked again, the taper could be quickly relighted from one of the slow fuses used for the arquebuses.

Thomas cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Sergeants, keep watch on the enemy!’

He made his way to the left of the barricade and picked his way along, counting the casualties and offering words of praise and encouragement to the Spanish soldiers whose grime-streaked faces cracked into grins at having driven off yet another assault and survived. Some had not been so lucky. Of the forty men who had held the position that morning, four were dead and another five wounded, three of whom were still able to bear arms and refused to quit their posts. The others crawled towards the stairs and made their way to the shelter of the infirmary.

When he returned to his place at the centre of the line, Thomas slumped down beside Richard with a weary sigh.

‘Water?’ Richard held out his canteen and Thomas gave him a grateful nod as he took it, removed the stopper and tilted his head back, taking a mouthful and swilling it around his parched mouth before he lowered the canteen and handed it back. He looked up at the clear sky. In a few hours the walls would be baking, with no shade for the men. He would have to ensure that there was plenty of water available to see them through the day. Now that the initial assault had failed, the enemy would take to sniping at the defenders, while their officers attempted to harangue them into forming up for another charge.

It had been several days since he, Richard and Colonel Mas had joined the garrison. In that time he had noticed the growing reluctance of the enemy to renew their attacks after each one had been thrown back. They had taken to sniping, and small rushes at the defences to try and hurl incendiaries in amongst the defenders. The garrison had once numbered eight hundred men. When Thomas had arrived in the fort there was barely half that number and now only three hundred remained. A handful of reinforcements arrived each night from Birgu, and it was clear to the defenders that the Grand Master was husbanding his resources for the struggle to come once St Elmo finally fell to the enemy. It would not be long now, Thomas reflected.