Sword and Scimitar

He stood up and walked out of the chamber. While he was gone, Thomas gritted his teeth and edged himself up the bed so that his shoulders were on the bolster and his head rested against the stone wall behind his bed. For a moment he had to fight off the pain from his side. The monk returned with a small square mirror of polished steel and handed it to Thomas.

‘There. Though you may not like what you see.’

Thomas raised the mirror above his face and stared at his reflection. A short distance from the mid-line of his features the skin was tight and glossy like highly polished marble streaked with red and purple. The skin round his right eye was swollen and red, and the eyeball was bloodshot and the lens appeared milky. He adjusted the angle and saw that there were only tufts of hair on that side of his skull and his ear looked withered. Moving the mirror again he drew the sheet covering him aside and examined the left of his body, shocked by the tortured flesh he saw there. Swallowing, Thomas handed the mirror back and covered himself again.

‘She saw me like this?’ he asked softly.

‘You looked far worse for the first two weeks.’ The monk gestured towards his head. ‘The scarring is permanent but the colour will fade. Most of the hair will grow back but some patches will remain bald. You may find that your vow of chastity will be a little easier to keep from now on.’ He smiled to show that he was making a joke, albeit a harsh one.

Thomas turned his face to the wall at his side. ‘I am tired. I need to sleep.’

‘Yes. Of course, Sir Thomas. Do you wish me to send a message to Lady Maria to say that you are awake?’

‘No,’ he replied quickly. ‘Let her rest too.’

‘Very well. I’ll bring you food later, once you have slept.’ Thomas heard the scuffing of the monk’s sandals as he moved off, and then he shut his eyes tightly as they filled with tears of grief. He no longer felt like a man. He felt repulsed by what he had seen in the mirror, and shamed by the idea that he would no longer be fit enough to fight or hunt or take part in the myriad pastimes of other men. Worse still, if the Turks carried the day and captured Birgu, then he and all the others too helpless to defend themselves would be butchered where they lay, like swine.

He eventually fell back into a troubled sleep and awoke close to midday, as far as he could calculate from the angle of the light streaming in through the window. As he stirred and his eyes flickered open, he saw Richard sitting on a stool beside his bed. The young man’s head was slumped on his chest and a thick stubble of dark hair covered his jaw. His hair was matted with sweat and dust and the skin round his eyes was dark with fatigue. His doublet was filthy and torn in several places and there were scabs from cuts and scrapes on his hands and face.

Thomas reached out his left hand, wincing at the sting the movement caused, and gently touched his son’s cheek. Richard twitched as if to discourage some bothersome insect and Thomas could not help smiling at the gesture as he let his hand drop back to his side.

‘Richard . . .’

The young man’s eyes flickered open at the mention of his name and he stirred wearily, then his lips parted in a warm smile. ‘You’re back with us at last.’

‘Did you doubt I would be?’

‘Not me.’ Richard chuckled. ‘Just that monk. He was certain we were wasting our efforts and that you should just be given the last rites. I told him I had served you long enough to know that you would not die half so easily.’

Thomas glanced round the room and saw that they would not be overheard. ‘Does he know that I am your father?’

‘No. Any more than he knows that you are a man without faith.’ Thomas nodded with relief. Either one of those truths could be dangerous and it was impossible to know what he might have revealed in his delirious condition. He gestured to the table beside Richard. ‘Some water please.’

He managed to drink it unaided this time and once his throat and lips were moistened, he felt more able to converse. ‘The monk gave me some idea of what has happened since I have been recovering, but tell me, how is the Grand Master coping?’

‘Him?’ Richard smiled thinly. ‘La Valette is as hard as steel through and through. He is everywhere, encouraging the men and promising that we shall live through this trial. I tell you, he is a man possessed by the idea of confounding the will of Sultan Suleiman. He has also made it impossible for there to be any thought of surrender.’

‘How so?’

Richard chewed his lip briefly. ‘It was something that happened after St Elmo was taken. The next morning, at first light, a lookout on St Angelo saw some objects floating in the water close to the wall. They turned out to be the bodies of four knights and that of Robert of Eboli, nailed to crosses, all of them beheaded. When they were fished out of the sea we saw that plaques had been nailed to the crosses naming the men - Mas, Miranda, Stokely and Monserrat, as well as Robert of Eboli. Besides hacking their heads off, the enemy had torn their hearts out.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ Thomas muttered. ‘What happened then?’

Richard pursed his lips. ‘La Valette repaid them in kind. He had all of the Turkish prisoners brought from the dungeons and taken up on to the walls of St Angelo where the enemy could see them. There they had their throats cut, one by one, and when it was over La Valette gave the order for their heads to be loaded into ca

‘It always has been. La Valette was at Rhodes when it surrendered to Suleiman. I think he resolved then never to taste such a defeat ever again.’ Thomas was silent for a moment before he reached out and took his son’s hand. ‘You saved my life. I am in your debt. And it is one I fear I shall never be able to repay with this body.’

‘Father, you gave me life. What man can ever repay that? Think no more on it. It was my duty, as your squire, and as your son.’ Thomas gently squeezed Richard’s hand. ‘If only I deserved to be your father . . .’

Richard looked away and withdrew his hand. ‘I would not take too much pride in me. I have done questionable things in my time. Don’t forget, I am Walsingham’s man. I came here for Henry’s last will and testament, and I have it. Stokely told me where to find it. If I live, then Walsingham will expect me to take it back to him.’ Thomas thought for a moment. The will would always be a potent weapon in the hands of whoever possessed it. The Catholics would use it to shatter the grip that Elizabeth held over many of the most powerful men in her realm. Walsingham would be only too willing to use it to blackmail the Queen into sanctioning his persecution of the Catholics in England, whom he saw as his enemy.

Thomas looked directly at his son. ‘You could take it back. Or you could destroy it. You understand full well the implications of the will. The choice is yours. I trust that you will make the right decision.’ There was a moment of silence before Thomas went on. ‘No man is beyond redemption. Just as no man is immune from doing the wrong thing. Son, I know this better than most. Think on it. I would not have you go through life carrying a burden like I have. Learn from me.’

Richard gazed at him and then glanced towards the door. ‘I had better go. I need to prepare my men for a patrol tonight. I’ll come again, when I can. Goodbye, Father.’

He stood up and walked away. At the door he paused and then Maria stepped into view and held his arms and kissed him on the cheek. Richard received the kiss awkwardly before he raised a hand to touch her arm gently. Then he bowed his head and eased himself from her grasp and strode off down the corridor. Maria stared after him fondly, then turned back towards the room, towards Thomas, a smile lighting up her face as she saw that he was awake. The image he had seen earlier in the mirror was still fresh in Thomas’s mind and he angled the scarred side of his face away from her as she approached and sat down.