Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon - Страница 82

Miranda frowned. ‘Boats? That’s madness. La Valette must not know that the enemy have covered the harbour with their guns. Sir Thomas, get up on the wall and try to warn them before it’s too late. Go!’

Snatching up his helmet, Thomas ran down the aisle towards the sergeant. ‘Show me.’

Thankfully it was dusk and the snipers could no longer easily pick out their targets inside the fort. Thomas and the sergeant hurried up the stairs on to the section of the wall overlooking the harbour. It had suffered little damage and they stood at the parapet and stared out across the darkened harbour towards the mass of St Angelo. Thomas searched the water and then saw them, six dark blots edging towards the peninsula. A moment later the Turkish gunners saw them too and there was a roar to Thomas’s right as a gun unleashed a blast of grapeshot at the small flotilla. A faint loom of spray lifted from the gentle waves in front of the boats.

Thomas cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could, feeling his lungs strain and bum with the effort. ‘Turn back! Turn back!’

Still they came on, and another gun fired, and missed. The third shot tore into the lead boat and the shattering of timber and the cries of the stricken carried clearly to the men on the wall.

‘Dear God,’ the sergeant muttered. ‘They’ll be cut to pieces.’

‘Turn back!’ Thomas shouted again. ‘For pity’s sake, turn back! Save yourselves!’

The boats were halfway across the harbour now but close to the Turkish battery and more easily visible against the dark grey of the sea. More shots ripped up the surface of the water, then another boat was blasted, its bow shattered by the storm of iron fragments. It began to sink and some of the men still aboard jumped over the side and struck out for St Angelo. Others were wearing armour and carrying weapons and struggled to rid themselves of the burden before the water swallowed tham. Then the boat, and the men, were gone. Thomas felt sickened by the sight.

The sergeant thrust his arm out. ‘They’re heading back!’

The last of the boats had turned aside and as they watched, it began to stroke back towards Birgu. A second boat followed it but the other two held their course.

‘Row faster, damn you,’ the sergeant muttered.

Thomas willed them on. Any moment they would pass out of sight of the Turkish guns and be sheltered by the cliff. Another gun blasted out, thrashing the surface of the harbour just behind the rearmost boat. Then they were safe from the cannon. But there were still the enemy snipers perched in the rocks surrounding the fort. Thomas turned to the sergeant.

‘Find five men and join me by the drain at the back of the chapel. You know the place?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then go.’

They separated, Thomas making for the chapel while the sergeant hurried along the wall towards the corner of the fort overlooking the harbour. As he ran into the chapel the other officers turned to him.

‘Well?’ asked Colonel Mas. ‘Did they get through?’

‘Just two boats, sir. Pulling towards the jetty now. I’ll take a party out through the drain to guide them in.’

Mas nodded. ‘I’ll have a guard placed on the drain until you return.’

A moment later the sergeant returned with his men, Maltese militiamen, and Thomas led them to the rear of the chapel. There, in the corner behind the altar, was the drain cover. He bent down to lift the lid and pulled it aside. The stench of human waste wafted into the air but Thomas ignored it and let himself down into the low tunnel. There was a dim glimmer where the drain passed out of the fort and where a linen screen painted to look like rock hid the opening. Thomas splashed along the drain and the other men followed him. At the screen he paused and cautiously eased it aside. There was no sign of movement in the rocks below the wall. The drain followed a narrow channel down to the sea, not far from the path to the jetty.

‘Follow me,’ Thomas whispered and led the way out into the cool night air. The party stole quietly across the rocky ground until they reached the path. Ahead Thomas could hear the splash of oars and hurried on. They had almost reached the steps leading down to the jetty when a figure emerged from the rocks ahead and offered a friendly greeting in a tongue Thomas did not recognise. He raised a hand in response and continued forward as the man carried on speaking. Only at the last moment did the other man’s tone change to one of alarm, and then he was cut off by a blow to the head from Thomas’s mantlet before he could call out. One of the Maltese soldiers quickly cut the enemy’s throat and the small party hurried on down the steps. At the bottom Thomas saw that the two boats had reached the jetty and the men were climbing out. One of them froze as he saw Thomas and his party approaching.

‘Who’s there?’

‘I’m from St Elmo,’ Thomas called back as loudly as he dared. ‘Come to escort you into the fort. How many of you are there?’

‘Sixteen. The last of the volunteers from Birgu.’

‘Who is in command?’

‘Me.’ A tall man eased his way towards Thomas. There was no need for him to give his name. Thomas had recognised his voice and now nodded in greeting.

‘Welcome to fort St Elmo, Sir Oliver.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Once Stokely had reported to Captain Miranda, Thomas drew him to one side and said eamesdy, ‘We must talk.’

‘Yes, we must,’ Stokely replied. ‘But it would be best if it was somewhere more private.’

‘Follow me.’ Thomas led him from the chapel and across the courtyard to the mess room.

‘Not the most commodious of accommodation,’ said Stokely as he glanced round the large chamber that had once served as the garrison’s dining hall. Earlier in the siege Captain Miranda had set up some gaming tables and a makeshift bar where the men could buy the finest wines from the cellar. Now that the men had given up any hope of leaving the fort alive, they no longer tried to win money from their comrades and had abandoned the hall. Instead it served as a dressing station and bloodied rags and baskets filled with strips of cloth littered the floor. A handful of candles provided dim illumination and there were occasional moans and coughs from men lying on biers along one wall. Thomas found an unopened bottle of wine behind the counter and settled at a table in the comer of the hall where he poured them each a cup and pushed one across the table to Stokely.

Stokely hesitated a moment before he picked it up and forced a smile. ‘What shall we toast?’

Thomas raised his cup. ‘Maria.’

‘Ah yes . . . Maria.’

They took a sip, each man watching the other warily. Then Thomas set his cup down gently. ‘Why are you here, Oliver?’

‘1 volunteered to join the last effort to reinforce St Elmo.’

‘And La Valette gave you permission to come?’

‘He didn’t know. I suspect he will soon enough. But it’s too late to prevent me. For better or worse I am here.’

‘For better?’ Thomas laughed bitterly. ‘How can it possibly be better here? You are on a fool’s errand, Oliver. There is only death here.’

‘I know that.’ He sipped his wine. ‘That is all I seek, now that I know, and accept, the truth.’

‘And what truth would that be?’

Stokely held his cup in both hands as if his fingers were delicately poised about someone’s neck. ‘Before you left Birgu, you discovered where Maria was living and went to see her.’

Thomas hesitated. He did not want any harm to befall Maria as a result of his need to speak to her, yet what difference did it make now? Stokely was as doomed as any man in St Elmo. ‘Yes, I did.’ Stokely nodded slightly. ‘Thank you for your honesty. The fact is, I saw you leave the house.’

‘I see.’ Thomas felt the dread stirring in his heart. ‘What did you do? Oliver, if you have done her any harm