suggest you obey my orders without further delay. I will not warn you again.’
Don Juan stared back briefly and then his gaze wavered. Abruptly he turned round and shouted the necessary orders. The sergeants drove the men down the staircases at each end of the platform, leaving a handful on watch duty and the two knights and squire.
‘You had no right to speak to me in such a manner in front of my men,’ La Cerda hissed furiously.
‘And you have no right to be in command of your men if you can’t do what is required of you. Now, while the orders are carried out I want you to accompany me while I inspect the fort. Provide my squire with paper and a pen to take notes. Richard?’
‘Sir?’
‘You will record my findings and recommendations for each post in the fort.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then show us to your quarters, Don Juan. As soon as my squire has his materials we can begin.’
The last shred of La Cerda’s defiance melted away and he nodded and turned to lead them down the nearest staircase. Thomas strode after him, too angry to feel much satisfaction at having faced the other man down. Before they reached the head of the stairs, he paused to take one last look at the Turkish fleet. The sun had risen high enough to bathe the island in its warm rays and out to sea the last of the haze had disappeared to reveal the full scale of the invasion force. It seemed as if the entire horizon was covered with the sails and hulls of vessels, now little more than five miles from the coast, arragned in a giant crescent across the surface of the sea. Thomas’s lips lifted in a brief smile at the appropriateness of the enemy’s formation, and then he hurried down the stairs.
For the rest of the day the garrison laboured to clear the courtyard. La Cerda followed meekly as Thomas toured the fort and dictated notes about the number of men allocated to each position, the siting of the fort’s cannon and the ground covered by each weapon’s firing arc. He questioned La Cerda on where the ammunition would be stored and what arrangements had been made for its replenishment once the siege began. He also demanded to know the arrangements for the treatment of the wounded and their evacuation to Birgu if communication with the other side of the harbour could be kept open.
At noon the first of the civilians began to enter the fort and Thomas and Richard stood above the gate and watched as an extended stream of humanity anxiously hurried along the dusty track that ran along the peninsula, just below the crest of the ridge of Sciberras. In the distance thin trails of smoke billowed into the air above glittering flames as buildings and stocks of food were fired by the parties sent out from the fort.
The people were ushered into the courtyard, their expressions anxious. Some of the children were crying as they clung to their parents. They had been raised on stories of the terrifying raids that the corsairs had made on the island and how families had been captured and sold as slaves, tom from each other’s arms forever. Only those too young to understand the danger wore smiles and laughed cheerfully at the exciting break from the usual routines of daily life. Older members of the family were helped by their kinfolk while some were bodily carried. A few brought livestock with them: a handful of goats, mules and large cane cages with chickens inside. The smaller animals were permitted to enter the fort, but Thomas knew that there would be no space within for the larger beasts, and in any case the garrison could not afford to feed them. They were taken from their owners at the gate and led round the corner of the fort and killed. Many animals were hurriedly butchered and chunks of meat tossed into barrels of brine ready to be added to the garrison’s stores. But the carcasses of the dogs and mules were thrown into the sea.
Early in the afternoon Thomas’s attention was drawn to a small party approaching along the track on foot. Their clothes were of good quality and he realised that this must be the household of one of the island’s estates. The party was led by a stout figure carrying a staff. Behind him came a handful of women in headscarves, led by a tall figure in a green cloak.
Richard chuckled. ‘There’s nothing like fleeing from an enemy to erode the most obvious distinctions between the common people and their betters.’
‘Oh, they’ll do well enough for themselves, you can be sure,’ Thomas responded.
Both men continued to watch for a moment, and Thomas found his gaze drawn to the tallest of the women who carried herself with Ml air of authority, slightly apart from the rest. As they came within a hundred paces of the gate he felt some memory stir deep within his mind. The detail eluded him for a moment, and he was aware of a vague, unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He strained his eyes but the distance was too great. Yet there was a growing sense of recognition and he felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine, even as his pulse quickened. His fingers clutched the edge of the parapet tightly and he craned his neck forward, staring.
Beside him Richard turned to him with a puzzled look. ‘What is it, Sir Thomas?’
Thomas opened his mouth to reply but his jaw just hung slackly. Then the woman raised her face, framed by dark, unadorned tresses of hair, to look over the fort as she approached, and Thomas shuddered in a turmoil of denial and hope.
‘It’s her . . . Sweet Jesus, it’s her . . . Maria.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Maria?’ Richard started. ‘Impossible. She’s dead. Stokely said so. How can she be alive?’
‘That’s her,’ Thomas replied simply. ‘As sure as I live.’
‘Where?’
Thomas raised his hand and pointed. ‘The woman in the green.’ The finery of her clothes marked her out from the procession of frightened islanders and Richard picked her out at once. She was still some fifty yards away. ‘You must be mistaken.’
Thomas did not reply at once, fearing that Richard was right, and that he had allowed his deepest desire to see her again trick him. He stared hard, and his certainty that this was Maria grew with every step she made towards the gate. There was only one way to tell for certain and before he knew what he was doing, Thomas turned away from the parapet and strode across to the stairs leading down into the passage behind the gate.
‘Sir Thomas!’ Richard called after him. ‘Wait.’
He ignored the squire and quickened his pace, his boots echoing off the stone walls of the staircase. A hand grasped his shoulder. It was Richard.
Thomas shook him off and continued down the steps.
‘What are you going to do?’ Richard called after him but made no attempt to follow.
Thomas did not know, only that he had to be certain. Already the doubt was creeping back in and he dreaded the deadening blow to his heart should he be wrong. He emerged into the gloomy passage at the bottom of the stairs and saw that it was filled with people streaming past from the main gate. The woman and her retinue could not yet have reached the gate, Thomas reasoned. He stepped to one side of the passage and waited, his heart beating swiftly and a light, almost giddy feeling filling his head.
Then the man carrying the staff came out of the shadow of the passage. A moment later there was the woman and now he could see the fine patterns of green lace sewn on to her cloak. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, showing faint streaks of grey. She paused, not more than five paces from him, and looked around the interior of the fort. Her eyes, dark and piercing, passed over Thomas and the parties of soldiers carrying off the last of the supplies that had been heaped in the courtyard that morning. Lastly she looked with pity on the frightened huddles of civilians squatting on the flagstones, some openly crying with despair. The small group of servants who had been following her caught up and were pressed on by those behind, and their mistress stepped forward into the courtyard.
The image of Maria that Thomas had carried in his mind for over twenty years was not that of this woman, yet there were enough similarities to feed his burning desire for it to be her. He felt the urge to call out her name, but he could not bring himself to and thereby shatter the possibility that this was her. The woman took several more paces, each one slower than the last, until she stopped and stood quite still. Despite the people filing past either side of her, including those of her household, a sense of stillness bound her to Thomas and he was blind to the swirl of detail that surrounded them both, and deaf to the voices of the soldiers and the sobs of the civilians. Slowly she turned round and then, as if not quite daring to meet his gaze, her eyes tracked across the flagstones that separated them and up his body towards his face. Her lips moved slightly as she stared at Thomas.
All doubt was banished now and Thomas slowly paced towards her and stopped at arm’s length, not knowing what to say. What words could express twenty years of longing that had warred with the need to accept that the
