The younger man was caught off guard. ‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas explained. ‘I have been somewhat removed from the affairs of the Older. I have no idea who leads it at present.’
‘Oh...’ The messenger did not hide his surprise. ‘I serve Grand Jean de La Valette.’
‘La Valette.’ Thomas nodded. ‘I remember him . . . He must be an old man.’
The messenger stared back, frowning, and Thomas smiled. ‘He always had an old head on his shoulders. And the hardest constitution of any man I have ever met. Tell me, does he still lead the first endurance march of the novices?’
The messenger grimaced. ‘Oh yes. And still he marches us into the ground.’
They both laughed and some of the tension between them was eased. Thomas pulled a stool out from under the table and sat down, smiling at the memory of a slender man in his forties, striding out ahead of a straggling column of youngsters gasping to keep pace with the veteran knight. Then the smile faded as Thomas’s gaze fixed itself on the cross on the messenger’s cloak again.
‘Where are you from, brother?’
‘My family have an estate near Nmies.’
‘Ah, I thought I recognised your accent, Philippe de Nanterre. You have a message for me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Thomas felt his heart quicken inside his chest. ‘They’ve finally made a ruling then. Am I to continue to be excluded from the Order or am I to be recalled, I wonder.’
‘I don’t understand, sir.’
Thomas stared at him, to see if the youth was foolish enough to make fun of him. But the messenger’s confusion seemed genuine enough and Thomas waved a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just give me the message.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The youth reached down to the small leather satchel resting on the flagstones by his riding boots. He placed it on the worn cross-hatching of the kitchen table and then paused to examine the buckle suspiciously. He glanced at the door leading out of the kitchen and shook his head before undoing the buckle. He reached inside and withdrew a folded parchment bearing a wax seal. He handed it across to Thomas who took it from his hand after the slightest hesitation. Thomas held it up to his eyes and turned slightly so that the kitchen fire could illuminate the seal of the Order and the words inscribed close by.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Sir Oliver Stokely gave me directions, sir.’
‘Sir Oliver must have won himself a high position by now. Assuming he is still the same man I once knew.’
Philippe nodded and replied evenly, ‘Sir Oliver is secretary to the Grand Master.’
‘Quite something, isn’t he?’ Thomas laughed. ‘For an Englishman, that is.’
‘Sir?’
‘Never mind. Finish your gruel.’ Thomas turned his gaze back to the parchment. He slipped a finger under the fold and broke the seal. The parchment crackled as he unfolded it and flattened it out on the table. Then he began to read.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The opening of the message was crisp enough and the distaste and disdain of Sir Oliver Stokely were immediately apparent.
Sir Thomas,
I am required by the Grand Master, Jean Parisot de La Valette, to write this message to you by virtue of our common language. You will be aware, as am I, that under normal circumstances your suspension from the Order cannot be reversed. Given the grievous nature of your conduct some twenty years ago it has always been my view that exclusion from the Order was the very least penalty that you deserved. However, the current crisis requires that the Grand Master now rescind your exile. Furthermore, in accordance with the oath you swore when you entered the Order, you are herewith summoned to Malta and shall make your passage as expeditiously as possible or suffer pain of disgrace in the eyes of your peers and before God.
I need hardly convey to you the depth of the shame you brought to our English brothers. The peril in which the Order and, indeed, the whole of Christendom currently stands presents you with the chance to redeem yourself and your countrymen. Having known you, I hold out little hope that you will honour your oath and think that your contribution to our defence would be little enough in any event. Nevertheless, I am under instruction from the Grand Master to issue this summons and hereby do so in accordance with his wishes.
The bearer of this message will provide further information about the situation here in Malta. You may question him for details it would be imprudent to commit to writing.
Y ours,
Sir Oliver Stokely, Knight of Justice of the Order of St John Hospitallers, on this day, November 6th.
Thomas looked up at the messenger. ‘This was written in November. You’ve made good time.’
Philippe shrugged. ‘Time is not a luxury the Order can afford.’
‘So it would seem. Are you familiar with the contents of this letter?’
‘No, sir. The messengers were briefed on the danger and then handed letters to distribute to our brother knights. You are the fifth on my list. After you, there are two more. One in York and the last in Denmark. God willing I shall return to Malta before the enemy arrives.’
‘I see. How many knights are being recalled?’
Philippe stared at him for an instant, and a look of despair flickered across his face before he replied, ‘All of them.’
Thomas laughed. ‘All of them? Come now, don’t humour me, boy.’
‘Sir Thomas, I said we could not afford to waste time. Within the next six months, a year at the most, the Order may be utterly erased from God’s earth by the infidel.’
Thomas was more than familiar with young men who had a passion for rhetorical flights of fancy, but out of politeness to his guest he kept his opinion to himself.
‘The letter says you can tell me the full details. So out with it.’ Philippe pushed his bowl away. ‘Last October our spies reported that Sultan Suleiman had called a meeting of his advisers to discuss strategy for the coming campaign season. Although the spies weren’t able to penetrate the meeting, they saw a great many viziers, admirals and generals arrive at the palace. They came from every corner of the Ottoman empire. There were even envoys from Dragut and the other corsairs and Barbary pirates. It was clear that the Turks were planning something on a vast scale for the coming year. Later, we began to receive reports from other agents telling of vast stockpiles of weapons, gunpowder and supplies of grain and salted meat. Scores of new artillery pieces have been cast in the Sultan’s foundries, and his best gunners and engineers have arrived in Constantinople. Then there was news of shipping massing in harbours all along the Aegean coast, and the arrival of columns of soldiers into camps close by.’ Philippe leaned slightly across the table. ‘It is clear enough. They mean to attack the Order. To wipe us out.’
Thomas smiled. ‘It is clear they intend to attack someone. But why Malta? Why now? Surely Suleiman has more pressing business elsewhere. I fear that our friend the Grand Master is jumping to conclusions.’
‘No.’ Philippe slapped his hand down heavily. ‘How dare you question his word!’
Thomas stared at him and lowered his voice. ‘Careful, lad. I will not be spoken to in that manner, least of all in my own home.’
For a moment the messenger glared back at him, brazenly challenging Thomas. But then he saw the cold, ruthless glint in the older man’s eyes and recalled the few words he had heard back in Malta concerning the reputation of Sir Thomas. His gaze wavered and fell back to the worn surface of the kitchen table.
‘Sir, I apologise. It has been a long journey and my mind is weary. I meant no disrespect to you. I only sought to defend the honour of my master . . . and yours.’
Thomas nodded. ‘I understand well enough. It’s good to see that La Valette still has the power to inspire such fierce devotion amongst his men. But why is he so certain that Suleiman is turning his sword on the Order? And why now, when he is poised to strike at Christendom through the Balkans?’ He frowned. ‘I cannot see the sense of an attack on Malta.’
