them to stop. Richard continued to shout, and turned to repeat the call towards the men still engaged towards the bows. The clash and clatter of weapons died away and the two sides drew apart and watched each other anxiously.
‘Order the corsairs to drop their weapons,’ Thomas instructed.
As the swords and pikes fell to the deck, Thomas turned his attention back to the enemy commander. He lay writhing on the deck, his hands clasped over his stomach. Blood oozed from between the dark skin of his fingers and he groaned through clenched teeth.
The sergeants amongst the Spanish soldiers began to bellow orders for their men to gather the prisoners around the foremast. Those corsair officers still standing looked down at their stricken leader before they were roughly shoved towards the bows. Thomas turned to look at Richard who was standing a short distance away. The young man was looking down at the blood smeared on the weapons in his hands and Thomas could see the telltale tremor of one who had survived his first experience of battle. He sheathed his sword and gently rested a hand on his squire’s shoulder.
‘You fought very well.’
Richard pressed his lips together and nodded.
‘A credit to whoever trained you in the use of rapier and dagger,’ Thomas continued. There was no reaction and Thomas stepped closer and spoke in an undertone. ‘Richard, you are alive and you have triumphed over your fears. You have passed the test. You are one of us, a fighter. ’
Richard looked up. ‘I was afraid, sir. More than I ever thought I would be.’
‘I understand.’ Thomas offered a kindly smile. ‘Do you not think it was the same for me? For all those who enter battle?’
Then something caught Thomas’s eye and he glanced down to see a small puddle of blood at Richard’s feet, and another drop fell from a dark rent in the sleeve of his sword arm. ‘You are wounded.’
The young man looked confused. ‘Wounded? I—I don’t recall.’
‘Look there.’ Thomas gestured towards the bloody sleeve. ‘Your arm. Put your weapons up and see to the wound. There will be time to talk of your thoughts later, when the danger has passed.’ Thomas left his squire to sheath his weapons with trembling hands, and made his way over to the side of the galley. The crews of the nearest corsair vessels were looking on, as yet unsure of the outcome of the duel between the two galleys. Any doubt was extinguished as one of the Spaniards freed the halyard attached to the broad green pennant billowing above the deck. A moment later the pennant came fluttering down towards the deck and came to rest in an untidy heap amid the bodies of the dead and wounded. Thomas watched anxiously as the other corsair vessels held their positions for a while, before one of the other Spanish vessels opened fire, the chain shot shredding the foresail of the nearest corsair vessel and shearing off the end of one of the spars. Before the escort could fire again the galley began to turn away, towards the open sea. The neat line of oars swept forward, dipped down and thrust the corsair vessel away from the battle. One by one the other corsairs broke away and retreated to the north. Their comrades to the south continued their attack for a little longer before they ceased fire and drew back out of range in case the escort vessels turned on them.
The sound of boots thudding on to the deck caused Thomas to turn and he saw Don Garcia and his officers crossing one of the boarding planks on to the corsair galley and jumping down. The relief in the Spaniard’s face was clear to see and he grinned as he caught sight of the English knight.
‘We have them on the run, Sir Thomas! They flee like whipped curs now that we have their commander. Where is he?’
‘There, sir.’ Thomas gestured towards the figure lying on his back, the soft leather of his boots scraping the deck as he continued to writhe in his agony. To one side, Richard unbuttoned his gambison and laid it down on top of his breastplate. The sleeve of his white shirt was slick with blood and he peeled it back cautiously to reveal a deep gash on his forearm.
Thomas lifted Richard’s arm to examine the wound. ‘It’s a clean cut. Have it sewn up and bandaged.’
Richard nodded, his face drained of blood as he stared at the tom flesh. Fearing that his squire might faint, Thomas steered him over to a small chest on the deck. ‘Sit there. I’ll see to the wound myself directly.’
Don Garcia and his entourage picked their way over the bodies and discarded weapons on the deck and approached the stem. Don Garcia nodded with gratification.
‘There’s one less of the vermin to trouble our people. Well done, Sir Thomas. I saw you strike him down.’
Thomas bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Don Garcia’s officers grasped the corsair by the arms and dragged him over to the steps leading to the stern deck and propped him up. The corsair’s face contorted in agony for a while before he fixed his eye on the Spanish aristocrat and spoke through gritted teeth in Spanish.
‘You have . . . your small victory today, infidel ... I am dead. Paradise awaits me . . .’
‘So, you speak my tongue.’ Don Garcia smiled faintly. ‘I assume then that you are a Morisco, or some such traitor.’
‘I am no traitor . . . but a martyr, ready to ascend to heaven.’
‘There is no heaven for you, only eternal torment for what soul you may have,’ Don Garcia replied coldly. ‘That is all that awaits you, and all other followers of the false prophet. It is God’s will.’ The corsair’s lips flickered into a smile. ‘We shall see the truth of it. . . soon enough, Christian. Your days are . . . numbered. Soon you will be as I am ... You and all these about you ... A great power is rising. One that shall sweep before it... all the enemies of the Sultan . . . and the true faith. ’
Don Garcia leaned forward and grasped the corsair’s beard, pulling his head closer. ‘Where will the Sultan strike first? Speak, you dog.’
He released the beard and the corsair’s head thudded back against the steps. He winced and then smiled again.
‘Is it Malta?’ demanded Don Garcia. ‘Or Sicily? Tell us.’
‘Go to the devil.’
‘No. It is you who will go to the devil!’ He turned to his officers. ‘Chain his feet together.’
Thomas stepped between Don Garcia and the dying corsair. ‘What do you intend to do, sir?’
‘I intend to teach these scum a lesson, Sir Thomas. Now, out of the way, if you please.’
One of the officers retrieved a length of chain from the hold and thrust the corsair’s booted feet into the iron hoops before sliding the locking bar through the eyelets and forcing the locking spindle into place. Then he wound the rest of the length of chain round the corsair’s ankles. The man groaned in agony at his rough treatment. When the order had been carried out, Don Garcia addressed the corsair again.
‘Your wound is mortal. I can make the end painless, if you tell us where the Sultan intends to strike first. Otherwise I will cast you into the deeps.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘Sir, this is without purpose. He will not tell you.’
‘Then he will drown, in the darkness, alone.’ Don Garcia kicked the man in his side, close to the wound, and he cried out in torment. ‘I give you one last chance. Tell me.’
For a moment the corsair clenched his remaining eye shut and sweat pricked from his brow until the wave of agony had passed. Then he looked up, his chest rising and falling swiftly as he gasped for breath. There was blood on his lips now, and a faint gurgling as he spoke again. ‘You will die ... all die . . . Your women and children too . . . Your bodies will be carrion for the dogs.’
‘Enough!’ Don Garcia turned to the nearest of his officers and snapped, ‘Get rid of this vermin!’
Fadrique and another officer bent down and reached under the corsair’s arms to wrench him on to his feet. Then they dragged him to the bulwark. Spaniards lined the side to get a good view of his end, and began to jeer. By the foredeck the prisoners cried out, some in protest and grief. But others cried in terror and fell to their knees, praying for salvation.
Fadrique was holding the corsair tightly by the arm and he looked towards his father. Don Garcia nodded and Fadrique released his grip and gave the corsair a firm push that sent him tumbling over the rail. Thomas was close by and saw the tranquil blue of the sea explode into white spray and flailing green cloth. Then through the disturbed surface of the water he watched as the corsair swiftly sank into the depths, his robes billowing gracefully like reeds in the flow of a river. Then, with a last dull waver of colour, there was nothing to see, just the blue of the ocean.
