Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon - Страница 41
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‘Yes. More than you know,’ said Richard. ‘Sir Peter was a cousin of mine.’
Jenkins paused in his polishing and looked up. ‘Really, sir? I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Oh, we weren’t close. But he was family.’ Richard paused for a moment as he put down the breastplate and reached for the gorget. ‘I met his brother before we left London.’
‘Brother? I didn’t know he had a brother.’
‘Well, a half-brother in fact. He was an infant when Peter left England. I doubt he would have mentioned him. Anyway, when I told him where I was bound he asked me if I might look into a small matter for him.’
Jenkins kept his attention on his work. ‘Mmm?’
‘Sir Peter’s personal effects were never returned to the family. They’d written to Sir Oliver Stokely but received no reply.’
‘He’s a busy man. I’m not surprised.’
‘Still, it would have been a small kindness to at least have answered the letter and arrange for the return of his property, such as it was.’
‘Well, he didn’t leave much behind.’ Jenkins hawked up some phlegm and spat on to the crest of the helmet and rubbed furiously. ‘A small wardrobe of clothes, a Bible, a writing case and a few other oddments. Just enough to fill a small chest. His armour was added to the Order’s stores.’
‘I see ... I don’t suppose you could show me his chest? There might be time to arrange for it to be sent back to his family before the Turks arrive. I know they’d appreciate it. They took the news of his death badly.’
Jenkins lowered the helmet and flexed his gnarled fingers. ‘The chest isn’t here any longer.’
‘It isn’t?’
Jenkins shook his head. ‘We had it in the cellar for a while. Then a cistern in the next building started leaking so we had to move the lot out. As far as I recall, anything of value was removed to St Angelo. That’s the last time I saw it. The chest was taken up to the fort in a cart with some other boxes and caskets. I remember it well enough as it was a handsome lacquered piece. Anyway, the chest is still up there as far as I know.’
‘Good.’ Richard smiled. ‘Lacquered, you say? Black, I assume.’
‘Black as coal. With brass strappings. And his coat of arms set in a crest on the lid.’
‘Coat of arms? What device would that be?’
Jenkins looked up at the crests fixed along the beams above. ‘There. That one. The field of red with the boar’s head beneath a gold chevron. See?’
Richard tilted his head back, stared a moment and nodded. ‘It should be easy enough to find if I go and look for it.’
Jenkins chuckled. ‘Not so easy as that, Master Richard. They put it in the dungeon beneath the keep, where they store the archive and treasury of the Order. You don’t just walk in. You have to get written permission from the Grand Master himself to enter the dungeon. There’s a fortune in gold, silver, gemstones and silks in there. The proceeds from the galleys’ raids on enemy ships and ports.’
‘No wonder he keeps it under lock and key.’ Richard laughed. ‘Out of temptation’s way. And under heavy guard, I’ll warrant.’
‘Of course.’
‘’Tis a pity. I would have liked to send Peter’s belongings home to his family.’
Jenkins cracked his knuckles and nodded towards the greaves and mantlets. ‘Just those to do now. Should be done in time to see to the gentlemen’s supper.’
Richard heaved a sigh, reached for the nearest greave and began to apply the first blob of polish. He glanced sidelong at the servant whose concentration was fixed on the tricky overlapping plates of the mantlet, and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction now that he knew what to look for and where to find it. The smile faded as he contemplated the challenge of getting into the dungeon — in the very heart of the Order’s headquarters, and under heavy guard.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The pace of the work being carried out on the island’s defences increased feverishly following the departure of Don Garcia and his squadron of galleys. True to the Spaniard’s advice the Grand Master gave orders for the construction of a ravelin to protect the most vulnerable comer of Fort St Elmo. The bare rock of the peninsula provided a firm foundation but there would only be time to cut enough stone for the outer facing before the Turks could arrive. Behind the stone facade the defenders would have to pile up and pack down rubble and earth. From the outside the new fortification would look formidable enough but the moment it was subjected to the penetrating power of iron cannonballs it would soon be battered down.
Meanwhile St Elmo was fully provisioned and the modest cistern that lay beneath the keep was filled to the brim. Gunpowder and shot was placed in the storerooms, ready to feed the small complement of artillery that was mounted on the fort’s gun platforms. Stout boxes filled with shot for the arquebusiers were positioned along the parapet and hessian sacks were filled with soil and piled in the courtyard, ready to fill any breaches in the walls.
Each day ships entered the harbour with cargoes of grain, wine, cheeses and salted meats. There were also tools and building materials needed to prepare the defences and ensure that damage could be repaired. Some of the vessels had been intercepted at sea by Captain Romegas and his galleys and summarily requisitioned since the Order’s needs overrode any notions of legality. The owners and crews were promised compensation in due course, though that depended upon Malta surviving the Turkish onslaught.
In the first days of spring the companies of Spanish and Italian mercenaries hired by the Grand Master began to arrive and were assigned billets in the towns of Birgu and Mdina. They were hardened professionals and had been lured by generous payments from the Order’s coffers, and the prospect of loot. It was well known that the Sultan’s elite corps, the Janissaries, were richly dressed and paid handsomely in gold and silver. Their corpses would provide rich pickings for the mercenaries. There were also small groups of adventurers who travelled to Malta to offer their services to the Order, motivated by religious fervour and the desire for glory. Amid the new arrivals were a handful of knights who had received and honoured the request to return to Malta and fight alongside their brothers.
Throughout April the defenders laboured hard to raise the height and depth of the walls and bastions that protected the promontories of Senglea and Birgu. In front of the wall, slaves and Maltese work gangs swung picks to break up the rocky ground and excavate a defensive ditch deep enough to hamper attempts to scale the walls. So short was the time and so desperate the need to bolster the defences that none was spared the duty of toil. The Grand Master, despite his advanced years, appeared every morning in a plain tunic and a strip of dark cloth tied about his brow, ready to work for two hours, breaking ground with a pick or joining the long chain of workers carrying baskets of rubble inside the walls of Birgu. All the knights and soldiers were required to do the same and the grudging indifference of the local people gave way to surprise and then respect as they found the sons of Europe’s noblest families working alongside them. Within days they had taken to cheering La Valette when he appeared each morning and took up his pick or basket.
Buildings close to the walls that might be used by the enemy for shelter were demolished and the timbers and rubble taken into Birgu to add to the material set aside for repairs. Those made homeless by the destruction of their houses were given billets in the town. There was little problem accommodating them as a steady stream of the town’s inhabitants with sufficient wealth to fund their temporary exile took ship for Sicily, Italy and Spain, there to await news of Malta’s fate.
As April drew to an end all knew that the Turkish fleet would already be at sea, heading west. Orders were given for the farmers and villagers across the island to prepare to abandon their homes and seek shelter in Mdina, a fortified hill town that had once been the capital of the island, or within the walls of Birgu. No crops, cattle, goats, grain or fruit was to be left for the enemy to forage and preparations were made to foul the wells and cisterns with rotting animal carcasses and slurry. The Turks would find a wasteland waiting for them when they landed and would be forced to ship in their sustenance, or starve before the lines of the Christian defences.
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