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
