Down in the drain Richard heard Stokely’s last cry of defiance and glanced back in the direction of the grille. At any moment some Turk was bound to become curious and search the drain. His only hope was that the overpowering stench of human waste would put the enemy off long enough for him to drag his father out of the tunnel and into the cover of the rocks beside the path leading down to the jetty. He reached under Thomas’s shoulders, took firm hold of the gambison and pulled. The material caught on the burned flesh of his arms and Thomas let out a groan.
‘Quiet!’ Richard hissed. ‘Do you want to get us killed?’
Thomas clamped his jaws tightly shut to bite off the urge to cry out. He began to tremble as the shock hit home and his strangled moans echoed faintly along the drain. Richard bent down close to his ear.
‘Father, for pity’s sake, please be quiet.’
He pulled on the dead weight of Thomas’s body, dragging him through the trickle of fluids that ran amid the stinking slurry along the bottom of the drain. It was only a short distance to the screen that concealed the opening where the drain passed under the wall. Easing his father down, Richard gently moved the screen to one side and peered out into the daylight. The sounds of cheering came from above, carrying over the walls of the fort. Occasional shots added to the enemy’s celebrations, but there was no one to be seen on this side of the fort which faced across the harbour towards Birgu and Senglea. Richard pushed the screen aside and crawled from the drain. He glanced quickly to both sides and saw only a handful of men some distance away, too far for them to make out any detail of Richard’s attire. He stood up and waved his arm casually. A moment later one of the enemy waved back and then turned his attention back towards St Elmo.
Richard pulled Thomas out, eased him on to his feet and raised his unburned arm across his shoulder.
‘Not far to go. Hold on to me.’
They picked their way across the rocks and stepped on to the path. At any moment Richard expected to be seen from the walls above and hear the alarm raised. But they continued their slow progress without being discovered and Richard guessed that the Turks were busy hunting down the last of the defenders inside the fort and looking for the loot that many of them had been promised in return for joining the campaign. There would be scant pickings, he reflected. Almost everything of value had been thrown into the fort’s well the night before when the defenders had accepted that all was lost.
Richard was steering Thomas towards the steps that led down to the jetty when he heard the scrape of boots on rocks. A figure stepped out immediately in front of them and Richard’s hand flew to his sword handle. Then he let out an explosive sigh of relief as he saw it was one of the Maltese militiamen. The man stared wildly at the two Englishmen and then turned towards the sea.
‘Wait!’ Thomas called after him in Maltese. ‘I need help.’
‘Too late,’ the man replied. ‘It’s every man for himself now.’
‘Help me,’ Richard pleaded. ‘For pity’s sake, help me.’
The man hesitated and then stepped to the other side of Thomas and lifted his arm before Richard could stop him. At once Thomas threw his head back and let out a cry. Before they reached the top of the steps a voice called down to them from the wall. ‘Don’t look back!’ Richard hissed. ‘Keep moving.’
The voice called out again, louder this time. Then there was a short pause before a challenge was shouted down to them. They kept going, Thomas’s feet bumping down the steps between the rocks until they reached the jetty.
‘Oh no. .’ Richard muttered in despair. There were no boats moored alongside the jetty. Only the bows of a sunken craft bobbed low in the water, all that remained of a boat pounded to pieces by the enemy guns that had been sited to sweep the sea between the Christian forts. There were more shouts from the direction of the wall and Richard glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of a pursuit yet. They continued to the end of the jetty and set Thomas down against a post before stripping off their clothes, down to their loincloths. Then Richard did the same for his father, wincing as he saw for the first time the full extent of the bums on the exposed flesh. Much of the right side of Thomas’s face and neck was raw and red, like freshly butchered meat. So was most of the left side of his body. Patches of skin had peeled back and now lay on his flesh in puckered skeins of white and grey. The removal of most of his clothes caused fresh agonies and Thomas bit down as hard as he could to fight the urge to cry out.
‘We’re going to have to swim for it,’ Richard said.
‘Leave me,’ Thomas said through his teeth.
‘No. Not now.’ Richard shook his head and forced a quick smile. ‘I would not lose a father so soon after finding him.’
Then he took Thomas’s right arm and leaped into the sea. The Maltese soldier dived in close by. The water closed briefly over Thomas’s head and then his face burst clear of the surface. The water was cold and instantly dulled the sharpness of his agony. Even so he could not move his left arm or leg to swim without being tormented by pain.
‘I can’t make it, Richard. Please. . please save yourself.’
‘Float on your back,’ Richard ordered. ‘You there, take his other arm, and let’s get moving.’
Thomas lay staring up as his companions struck out for the far shore, some four hundred yards across the harbour. For a while Thomas let himself be borne slowly along, then he strained his neck and looked towards St Elmo. He could see the full extent of the side of the wall facing Birgu and Senglea. The parapet was filled with figures shaking their swords and spears in the air, shadows against the morning sunlight. A few thin trails of smoke lifted a short distance into the sky before dispersing. Then, as he watched, the flag of the Order gracefully billowed away from its staff, and was pulled down rapidly. A short moment after, the green flag of Islam rose up above the fort to renewed cheers.
‘What happened to Sir Oliver?’ Thomas blurted. ‘Where is he?’
Richard lifted his head clear of the water to reply. ‘Dead. He made his stand in the chapel.’
The three men edged across the channel and were already a hundred yards from the jetty when Thomas saw a party of Turks armed with arquebuses running down the steps. They rushed to the end of the jetty where two of them set up the stands for their weapons and took aim. A small cloud of smoke engulfed the first man and the bullet slapped into the sea six feet to Thomas’s side, throwing up a tall plume of water. The second shot was closer, in line, but overhead and it struck the surface some distance in front of the swimmers. More shots followed, some missing by a wide margin while a handful struck close by.
The Maltese soldier suddenly cried out, ‘Look there! The Turks are coming!’
Richard craned his head and stared across the light swell. A boat had set out from one of the small batteries running along the shore of the Sciberras peninsula. There were men armed with arquebuses on board. More were filling a second boat.
‘Damn,’ Richard growled. ‘They’re certain to reach us before we gain the other side.’ He turned to the Maltese man. ‘Swim for your life!’
They struck out, dragging Thomas through the sea behind them, his mind slipping in and out of lucidity. They were halfway across when there was a rolling boom from the direction of St Angelo and Richard looked up to see a cloud of smoke swirling from one of the towers. He turned his head quickly and saw a pillar of water collapse close to the nearest of the Turkish boats, less than a hundred yards away. The near miss shook the men at the oars and the drag on the blades to one side caused the boat to swing round. The soldiers crowding the bows struggled to retain their balance and one dropped his arquebus which bounced off the side and splashed into the sea. An officer drew his sword and shouted orders at the crew. They swiftly took up their oars again and the boat turned back towards the swimmers and resumed the chase.
The cannon in the fort fired again and this time Richard saw the shot slap into the sea just behind the stern of the boat, throwing up a column of spray and sending a small wave over the transom. Still the officer urged the rowers on and the boat rapidly closed the distance. The next time Richard looked back he was horrified to see the enemy a scant thirty yards away. One of the men in the bows lowered his barrel and took aim, bracing his legs to take account of the movement of the boat beneath him. His right eye squinted as he raised the length of smouldering match up to the pan above the barrel.
At that moment the boat seemed to leap from the sea and lengths of wood and water exploded into the air. With cries of terror the Turks were pitched into the harbour. There was a flurry of splashing as the soldiers thrashed about and wreckage dropped into the water about them. Richard saw the officer struggling to stay afloat as his robes and armour dragged him down. His hands thrashed to the surface before he disappeared, along with the other soldiers who were encumbered by their equipment. But the second boat was still rowing hard, some distance behind.
Richard felt a painful cramp seize his right leg but forced himself to swim on. It seemed that every muscle in his body ached and felt heavy and for the first time he feared that he did not have the strength to reach the far side of the harbour, still some two hundred yards away. He could see men on the walls of St Angelo waving them on and the cannon fired again, aiming for the second boat.
‘Richard. .’ Thomas spoke feebly, spluttering as seawater washed across his face. ‘Son. . Leave me.’
‘No.’
‘I am in such pain … I would rather die. Save yourself.’
‘No, Father, I will not leave you.’
‘I am dead already. I will not survive these wounds.’
Richard tightened his hold on his father and kicked out, using every last reserve of his failing strength to move forward.
‘Leave me.’
‘I will not. You will not die.’ Richard spat out a mouthful of seawater. ‘Think of Maria. She is there in Birgu. Waiting for you. Hold to that thought.’
‘Maria. .’ Thomas muttered, barely conscious.
‘Sir!’ The Maltese soldier raised a hand above the water and pointed. ‘Look!’
Richard craned his neck and followed the direction of the man’s finger and saw a boat putting out from St Angelo. Sunlight glinted off armour and weapons as the craft surged across the slight swell in the morning sun. Richard took renewed hope from the sight and forced himself to continue on even as his lungs and muscles burned from the effort. As the cannon fired again, he glanced back and saw that the enemy had not given up the pursuit, clearly intent on running down their prey and ensuring that not one man of the garrison of St Elmo survived its destruction. The men on the boat from St Angelo were equally determined to save their comrades and rowed desperately. It was impossible for Richard to guess who would win the contest as he struggled on, with increasingly feeble strokes. The rocks at the foot of the fort and walls rising up still seemed impossibly far away.
Then he heard a voice cry out to them, urging them on, and soon there were splashes close at hand and a surge of water and then the long overlapping planks of the boat filled Richard’s field of vision.
‘Get ’em aboard! Quickly does it!’
Hands grasped his arms and hauled him bodily out of the water, over the side and down. He lay on his back staring into the blue heavens, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. There was a crash as an arquebus fired, and then another. The fire was returned from the enemy and bullets cracked into the prow of the boat. More shots were exchanged and then a chorus of jeers filled Richard’s ears.
‘They’re bolting! Good shooting, lads. Now, back to St Angelo.’
As he felt the boat turn, a shadow loomed over Richard. He took a deep breath and propped himself up and saw that it was Romegas, the Order’s senior captain.
Romegas nodded grimly. ‘You’re Sir Thomas’s squire.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Your master is in a poor way.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you all that’s left of the garrison? Did no one else get out?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else. There may be some who also managed to hide in rocks or the caves down by the water. I don’t know, sir.’
‘I see.’ Romegas handed him a wineskin. ‘Here. Take this.’
‘Not yet.’ With great effort Richard sat upright and saw his father lying on his back, trembling. Beyond him the Maltese soldier was sitting upright, arms wrapped round his knees. Richard crawled over to his father’s side and took his hand. Thomas’s eyes flickered open and he turned his head with a wince and squinted at his son.
‘We’re safe?’
Richard nodded, averting his gaze from the terrible burns on his father’s body.
‘Safe?’ Romegas shook his head as he turned to gaze across the harbour at St Elmo, battered and ruined beneath the flags and standards of the enemy. ‘The prelude is over. Now Birgu and Senglea will face the full weight of the enemy. Unless Don Garcia comes to our aid soon, I fear the worst is yet to come.’