The road across the north of Spain passed through the rocky terrain of Navarra and Aragon before reaching Catalonia. It rained frequently and the high passes over the hills were laden with snow and ice that slowed their pace. Most nights Thomas and Richard stopped in small villages, paying to sleep in barns when they could not find a room. Twice they had to sleep in the open, horses tethered to stunted trees while the two men huddled round a fire in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. They took it in turns to sleep, wary of the small bands of robbers who preyed on passing travellers. Once they were followed for half a day by a group of men on small unkempt ponies. Thomas and Richard stopped briefly to strap on their swords and made sure that the weapons were clearly visible. Shortly after, the men reined in and watched them ride out of sight.
The two Englishmen attracted attention in every village and town they passed through. The King and Church had been assiduous in their efforts to ensure that their people considered the island ruled by the Protestant Queen Elizabeth a godless realm of evil and depravity. As such the knight and his squire excited a degree of suspicion and fear and while they were never threatened or turned away, thanks to the travel warrant issued by the port master of Bilbao, there was no warmth or hospitality in the way they were received.
The conversation that they had enjoyed on their first night in Spain was not repeated; Richard had once again retreated into a quietly hostile demeanour, even though he did as Thomas had asked and made sure that he fulfilled his role as a squire faultlessly. After a few attempts to return to the warm moment of companionship they had shared, Thomas gave up trying and they rode on, exchanging a handful of words only when necessary and eating in silence each night as they sat by a fire or hunched in the shelter of a barn.
At noon on the fifth day of the new year they crested the last ridge in the hills that overlooked the narrow plain where Barcelona nestled against the Mediterranean. The clouds had cleared that morning and the sun shone down from a brilliant blue sky. Even though it was the depth of winter the sea somehow looked bright and inviting and Thomas felt a warm ache in his heart for the island in the very centre of the Mediterranean, a place he had once believed to be his home for life, amongst a band of brothers in arms fighting for God against impossible odds. It had all seemed so clear and noble back then, before Maria had stepped into his life and the realisation had slowly dawned that there was little nobility to be won in a never-ending war where progress consisted in visiting new horrors upon the enemy. For all its sparkling beauty, this sea was a battlefield as old as history. Long before the present conflict had begun, the Mediterranean had been fought over by Romans, Egyptians, Carthaginians, Greeks and Persians. Who knew how many thousands of warships lay rotting in the deeps? This was a sea watered by the tears and blood of generation upon generation of human beings, Thomas reflected with a shudder.
He clicked his tongue and nudged his heels into the flanks of his horse. ‘Come on, let’s not tarry.’
Richard took in the view for a moment longer before he followed and they picked their way along the track that looped back and forth down the side of the hill. Below them the city of Barcelona lay in the shadow of the fortified citadel. In the harbour some thirty or forty galleys lay at anchor and two more rested on timber rollers in front of the royal shipyards, a series of long sheds with high roofs that dominated the shoreline. On the parade ground outside the fortress several companies of pikemen were drilling beneath the billowing colours of their standards. Preparations were clearly in hand to confront the threat rising at the other end of the Mediterranean. But would it be enough? Thomas wondered. From experience he well knew how the Turks could field vast forces of men and ships. They had the finest gunners and siege engineers in the world in their ranks and the size and destructiveness of their cannon were without equal.
As they approached the city walls the track joined a coastal road. A short distance ahead the two horsemen passed a trundling line of wagons laden with kegs of gunpowder and cast-iron shot. Thomas spurred his horse on so that they were in front of the convoy by the time they reached the city’s main gateway. Gesturing to Richard to come to his side, Thomas drew out his travel warrant and handed it to one of the soldiers on duty. The Catalan stared uncomprehendingly at the document before he ordered them curtly to wait and then turned away to find his officer, disappearing through an arched doorway into the gate’s guardroom. Thomas eased himself out of the saddle and slipped on to the ground with a weary grunt. A moment later Richard followed suit and took the reins of both horses, as any squire would have done, Thomas noted with satisfaction.
The guard emerged a short time later with a portly man dabbing at his mouth with one hand as he looked at the warrant in the other. He glanced at the two Englishmen before addressing Thomas, who gestured to his squire.
‘Richard, if you please.’
As the two conversed, Thomas tried to follow the sense of what was being said, but the Catalan language was strange to his ears. It made him feel uncomfortable and even vulnerable; he did not yet trust the young man who had been foisted on him by Cecil and Walsingham. Richard knew a good deal more about the purpose of this mission and the nature of the sensitive document at the heart of it. If the document was located and recovered then what, Thomas wondered, were his companion’s orders at that point? He himself would be of no more use to Cecil; perhaps Richard’s orders included the quiet elimination of a man whose knowledge of the mission, limited as it was, might prove to be an embarrassment at a later date. He must be on his guard against such treachery, even as he faced the Turk in battle. The thought made him feel bitter towards Richard and his spymasters back in London.
Richard interrupted his thoughts. ‘Sir, I have explained our purpose to the captain. He says that since we are to voyage to Malta then it would be best to announce our arrival at the citadel. That is where we will find Don Garcia de Toledo. His army is making ready to embark for Sicily and we may be able to travel with the fleet.’
‘Sicily?’
‘It is where King Philip is gathering his forces to face the Turk. The Spaniards will be joined by mercenaries from Italy, including the galleys of the Doria clan. The captain here says that he has heard it will be the largest army ever amassed to fight in the name of Christ. And Don Garcia is the finest general in all Europe. The Turks, he says, will be utterly crushed.’
Thomas looked at the Catalan officer, fat and too used to good living. He would not last long in any strenuous campaign. ‘Tell him that I pray to God that he is right. We will go to the citadel now.’
‘He says that he will have his men take us there.’ Richard glanced warily at the Spaniard before he continued. ‘There have been rumours that the enemy have spies in Barcelona. I don’t think he trusts us.’
‘Spies?’ Thomas laughed. ‘Do we look like Turks?’
‘We are English, sir. It seems that there are many here who think that their enemies share a common cause. It is understandable. They have never forgiven the French for fighting alongside the Turks twenty years ago.’
Thomas nodded with feeling. It had been an alliance that had scandalised the rest of Christendom as little more than a pact with the devil. It had endured only briefly. The French had been shamed by the massacres carried out by their new allies against the Christians along the coast of Italy. Thomas could imagine the horror that it would have brought to the French knights of the Order, and La Valette most of all.
‘Very well, thank the captain for providing us with an escort.’ With two men leading the way and another pair following on behind, Thomas and his squire walked their horses through the sturdy walls and into a wide thoroughfare. The towers of the cathedral of Santa Eulalia rose up above the roofs of the closely packed buildings lining the route. The recent rains had washed away much of the filth that covered the streets and the more offensive smells of the city were mild in comparison to the stench of London. It had been many years since Thomas had last seen Barcelona but for Richard it was clearly the first time, judging from the way he gazed at his surroundings with frank curiosity. With his dark looks he might have passed for a local if not for his lack of a Catalan accent. Cecil and Walsingham had chosen their man wisely, Thomas mused.
As they entered the square in front of the cathedral, Thomas’s attention shifted to the ornate facade with the three towers constructed from a sturdy latticework of stone. So different from the cathedrals back in England, he thought. Craning his head, he squinted at the crosses thrusting up towards the azure heavens. A handful of seagulls circled above, black against the glare. For a moment Thomas felt his heart lift at the sight, before he was struck by the thought that at the other side of this sea, in Constantinople, the great city that the Turks had renamed Istanbul, a man like him, a warrior, might be standing in front of the great mosque, staring up at a golden crescent — a man he might face in battle one day soon. The thought sent a cold tremor down his spine. It was not fear, just a brooding sense that he was fated to be consumed by the coming clash of faiths and empires.
The small party crossed the square and soon they had left the confines of the city behind and were making their way up the steep hill to the citadel. A fresh breeze was blowing in off the sea, carrying a salty tang with it. When they reached the entrance to the citadel, once again they had to explain their business. While the escort was sent back to the city wall, the knight and his squire were admitted to the outer courtyard where they tethered their horses and sat down on a bench to wait.
They were not kept long. An officer dressed in red velvet hurried out of the governor’s headquarters and approached them.
‘Sir Thomas Barrett? It is an honour to meet you, sir,’ he announced in good French and bowed deeply. Thomas and Richard rose to their feet and inclined their heads in return.
‘May I introduce myself?’ He flashed a pleasant smile. ‘I am Fadrique Garcia de Toledo, and I am at the service of you and your squire, Sir Thomas.’
The young man looked to be in his early twenties at most and Thomas exchanged a brief glance with Richard before clearing his throat and replying in French.
‘Are you the commander of the force that King Philip is sending against the Turks?’
‘Me?’ The Spaniard’s eyebrows rose in amusement. ‘Decidedly not, sir. That would be my father. I have sent him word of your arrival. He will be pleased to greet another member of the Order who is answering the call to arms.’
‘Have there been many of us?’ asked Thomas.
Fadrique’s smile faded. ‘Not as many have passed through Barcelona as we had expected, sir. You are, in fact, only the fifth knight we have seen. Of course many will have taken ship from other ports. I am sure that no member of your Order will deny himself the chance to partake in the glorious victory we shall celebrate over the Turk.’
‘Let us hope that you are right.’
‘I am sure of it, sir. This is the great battle of our age. The decisive test of arms between our faith and the false faith of Islam.’ Thomas pursed his lips but held his peace.
The Spaniard gestured towards the entrance. ‘If you follow me I shall provide you with refreshment while you wait on my father’s pleasure.’
Thomas smiled faintly as he recalled the fine manners of those Spaniards he had once fought alongside. He bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’
Inside the building they passed through a tiled hall with arches leading off into gloomy corridors on either side. Other than a handful of guards on duty, there was little sign of activity. The three men’s footsteps echoed off the walls.
‘It seems very quiet here,’ Thomas commented. ‘I had assumed your father’s staff would be busy planning for the campaign.’
‘It is all in hand, I assure you,’ Fadrique said lightly. ‘Most of his staff officers are down at the shipyard overseeing the loading of our galleys. We sail for Sicily in a matter of days. Once we have joined forces with our allies we shall confront the Turk.’
They entered a modest chamber with a long table stretching down the centre. Comfortable chairs stood on each side and two, more ostentatious, stood one at each end. Fadrique waved them towards the table.
‘Please sit. I have given orders for food and wine to be brought to you. Now, if you will excuse me I shall attend my father until he is ready to meet you.’ He bowed again and left them alone. Once the door had shut, Richard let out a sigh. ‘Just five knights. . There should be more than that making for Barcelona. Many more.’
‘There is time yet,’ Thomas countered. ‘And, as he says, they might be taking other routes.’
Richard stared at him. ‘Do you really believe that?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘It does no harm to hope for the best and accept the worst.’
‘That is a fool’s philosophy.’
Thomas was not disheartened. ‘The greater the odds we are required to face, the more our share of the glory.’
‘Glory, that’s what you knights live for. I understand that. But whereas your glorious deeds will be entered, by name, in the record, that is not the case for those in the lower orders. Our heroes are faceless. I have little desire to add to the sum of obscurity, Sir Thomas.’
They were interrupted by a servant who entered the room carrying a tray. He crossed to the table without meeting their eyes and set the tray down. Then with a deep bow of his head he retreated a few steps before turning and hurrying out.
‘There,’ said Richard. ‘That is what becomes of those who have no place in history.’ „
Thomas did not respond for a moment but silently took a plate from the tray, placed the other in front of his companion and poured them both a cup of wine. Then he looked at Richard and spoke in a quiet, weary tone.
‘I cannot help the way that history marks the passage of a man’s life, Richard. Nor can I mend the accident of your birth. So it achieves nothing to lay your troubles before me with such poor grace. All that matters is that we do our duty. I, to the Order I have pledged my life to defend. You, to your masters in London, for the sake of whatever task they have placed in your hands. You must
help me in my duty, in so far as you can. For my part, I would be better placed to assist you if I knew more of your purpose in Malta.’ Richard’s dark eyes stared back. ‘I can tell no more than you already know.’
‘And what happens if any ill fate should befall you?’
‘In that event, I dare say Walsingham will send another agent to complete the mission.’
‘I see. And your master has a ready supply of men who speak as many languages as you do?’
Richard looked down at his plate and delicately picked up a lamb chop. He took a small bite and began to chew.
‘I thought not.’ Thomas smiled to himself. ‘So if you are lost, the mission is over. Unless you can tell me more about the document.’
Richard swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Why not? Surely you can see the sense of it?’
‘I have my orders.’
‘I understand. But if the stakes are as high as Sir Robert said, then it is vital that one or other of us retrieves the document and returns with it to England.’
‘Assuming that either of us survives the attack on Malta,’ Richard replied wryly.
Thomas pursed his lips. ‘Granted.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but my orders are clear. I am to tell you nothing about it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Walsingham does not trust you.’
‘I see. Then what about Cecil?’
‘Sir Robert respects Walsingham’s judgement in nearly all things.’ Thomas folded his fingers together and rested them against his chin as he felt the anger rise in him. This was a wound to his honour. ‘I take it that their suspicions arise from my religious convictions — because I am a Catholic. Is there some aspect of the document that would make it dangerous if I was to know its content?’
‘I cannot say,’ Richard replied before he took another bite of meat.
‘Cannot, or will not?’
‘I have already said more than is wise. If it helps to put your mind at rest then know that Cecil trusts that you consider yourself an Englishman first and a Catholic second. But enough. I will speak no more on it. Talk of something else, if you must.’
‘Very well. Tell me, are you a Protestant, like your masters, or of the Church of Rome?’
Richard stopped eating as he considered the question. ‘Surely you must know. Do you really think Cecil would employ a Catholic in his service? That is no question.’
‘And were you always a Protestant?’ Thomas persisted.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I am curious to know you better. In the conflict that lies before us I would prefer to know what manner of man will be fighting at my side.’
‘And knowing if I have been a Catholic will make a difference?’ Richard chuckled briefly. ‘It would be better to know if I have ever killed a man.’
‘And have you?’ Thomas watched him closely.
‘No. But I am sure that I will have done before I return to England.’
Before Thomas was able to probe any further the door opened and a heavily built man in his fifties entered. His hair was grey and thinning and his beard clipped close on his ponderous jowls. The eyes, however, were lively and alert and he scrutinised the two Englishmen rising from their chairs. Fadrique entered behind him and made the introductions.
‘His Excellency Captain General at Sea of his most Catholic Majesty King Philip of Spain and Viceroy of Sicily, Don Garcia Alvarez de Toledo.’
Don Garcia advanced towards them and stopped just out of reach as Thomas made to reply with a dignified bow. ‘It is an honour to meet you, sir. Sir Thomas Barrett, and his squire Richard Hughes, at your service.’
‘Fadrique tells me that you are travelling to Malta.’ Don Garcia spoke softly with a faint lisp. ‘You are answering La Valette’s call to arms.’
‘That is so.’ Thomas nodded.
‘Then you are most welcome, Sir Thomas. Particularly given your hard-won reputation on the battlefields of Europe.’ Don Garcia smiled warmly.
Thomas was mildly surprised that his reputation was known in Barcelona. He smiled modestly. ‘That was some years ago.’
‘Experience is everything in warfare.’
‘Almost. But numbers play their part.’
Don Garcia patted Thomas on the arm. ‘I trust your journey has been untroubled thus far.’
Visions of the storms that they had battled on the voyage to Spain passed fleetingly before Thomas’s mind’s eye but he suppressed them and nodded. ‘We have made good time, sir, given the season.’ Don Garcia looked at him shrewdly. ‘The Atlantic in winter can be like a wild beast. You have done well to reach us. And it is good that you have. Every man will be needed to bolster the defences of Malta. But pardon me, you must be weary.’ He waved a hand towards the chairs. ‘Sit, please. I did not mean to interrupt your meal.’
Once the four men were seated, Thomas pushed aside his plate, the food upon it untouched. He indicated to Richard to do the same, as it would be unseemly for the squire to eat alone in front of his superiors.
‘Sir Thomas, forgive me if I avoid the usual niceties and come directly to the point. I have little time before I sail for Malta. What do you know of the situation?’
‘Only what I was told by the knight who brought the summons to me in England, sir. He said that the Grand Master had intelligence of the Sultan’s plan to take Malta and eradicate the Order of St John once and for all.’
‘That is so.’ Don Garcia nodded. ‘He must secure Malta to protect his supply line. And that is where we must hold him. I have no doubt about his wider strategy. For many years Suleiman, and his corsair allies, have been extending their influence throughout the western Mediterranean. Every spring we have been watching the eastern horizon, waiting for the assault, but they have been content merely to probe the coasts of Italy, France and Spain, seizing our ships, or raiding coastal villages and small towns for slaves. There has been little that we could do to prevent it. By the time we receive a report and despatch a fleet to the scene, the enemy has slipped away. Meanwhile, I have been doing all in my power to ready our defences and prepare our galleys for the onslaught when it comes, as it must. Now that time is upon us. There is no question of it. Our spy in Istanbul has seen the enemy’s preparations at first hand. Galleys and galleons are massing in the Golden Horn, while daily wagons enter the city with powder, shot, siege tools and rations. Outside the walls, tens of thousands of soldiers have gathered to await the order to embark.’ He sat back and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. ‘There is no question that the Turks are coming. This is the moment I have long dreaded. This is the year when our faith must make a stand or fall under the shadow of the crescent.’
‘Then we shall make our stand,’ Thomas said firmly, ‘and if the Order is wiped out, then the manner in which we face our destruction will inspire the rest of Christendom to match our example.’
‘I pray that you are right, Sir Thomas. If the rulers of Europe do not make common cause against the greater threat then we are lost. Our people will be forced to kneel before the false religion. It is a small mercy that none of us at this table will live to see that day. I swear before you that I will die with a sword in my hand, and Jesu’s blessed name on my bloodied lips, ere I kiss the foot of Suleiman.’
‘So swear we all,’ Thomas replied and crossed himself.
There was a brief stillness before Don Garcia spoke again. ‘I have chosen to concentrate my forces on Sicily. His Majesty has informed the other powers of Europe that if they wish to be allied to our great cause they must send their men and their ships to join us in Sicily. With good fortune I shall have enough galleys at my disposal to face Suleiman’s fleet. I will also be able to sail south if he strikes at Malta first, and north if he lands in Italy.’
‘A wise plan, sir,’ Thomas agreed.
‘Wise? Yes.’ Don Garcia smiled. ‘But unless I receive all the forces that I have been promised, we can have little hope of victory.’ Fadrique cleared his throat. ‘However few our numbers, we shall always have God on our side. We cannot be defeated. Our Lord is all-powerful and would not permit it.’
His father looked at him indulgently. ‘Of course you are right.’ Then he turned back to Thomas. ‘I leave for Sicily tomorrow with six galleys, escorting four galleons carrying the first two thousand men to establish my base of operations. I will go from there to Malta to confer with La Valette. I would be pleased to offer you and your squire a place on my flagship.’
‘That is most generous of you, sir.’
‘Then be aboard by first light. We sail at dawn.’ Don Garcia rose from his chair and the others followed suit. ‘Now you will have to excuse me. There are still many details to attend to. Fadrique will see to it that you are provided with quarters here in the citadel, and stabling for your horses.’
‘They are not mine, but the property of your King, loaned to us by the port master in Bilbao.’
‘Then they can be impressed into my army. Now, I bid you good day, gentlemen. Please, finish your meal and rest. Come, Fadrique!’
Despite his bulk Don Garcia moved with great energy and strode swiftly from the room, his son hurrying after him. The door closed behind them and their footsteps faded. Richard drew his plate back across the table and continued eating for a moment before he spoke quietly. ‘The odds against us are not encouraging.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘That has always been the case as far as the Order is concerned. Throughout its history.’
‘The heroic ideal,’ Richard mused. ‘Or perhaps a way to add glory to a suicidal compulsion.’
‘Still your tongue. You know not of what you speak. The men of the Order are sworn to fight for the glory of God, and no other purpose. Suicide is a sin, and well you know it.’ Thomas restrained his irritation and continued in a wry tone. ‘Besides, as Don Garcia’s son said, God will be on our side.’
‘Yes, a divine change of heart would be welcome. He did not seem to be in evidence when Suleiman took Rhodes from the Order. And where was he when the Order was almost wiped out at the fall of Acre? What makes you think he will stand behind you, behind us, at Malta?’
‘It can do our cause no harm to put faith in the Lord,’ Thomas replied, though he shared Richard’s doubts. He looked up to see the younger man watching him closely.
‘I wonder, if it is God’s will to heap such sorrow on those who worship Him, I cannot help but question His purpose.’
‘Be careful, Richard. That is blasphemous.’
‘It is only philosophy. My point is that both sides in the coming conflict are fighting in the name of their faiths. If the Turks win, does that mean that God has forsaken us, or that their faith is the more potent? If the faith of both sides is equally strong then this fight will be decided by men alone.’
Thomas could not disagree but if he could no longer kill in the name of Christ, he would still fight to prevent being killed in the name of Allah. ‘If it is to be settled by men, then so be it. I am ready to play my part.’ He stood up. ‘I need to take a walk.’
‘Shall I-’
‘No. You stay here. Finish your meal, then fetch our bags and rest. Get as much rest as you can. All too soon it will be a luxury you will crave as no other.’
‘Save the final rest.’
Thomas thought a moment and shook his head. ‘Even that you may come to welcome before this is over.’