When the corsairs on the stern saw that their captain was mortally wounded they threw down their weapons and fell on their knees to beg for mercy. Swords and pikes hacked and stabbed at the men on the deck for a few more moments and then the fight was over. La Valette wrenched his blade free, wiped it on the robe of the corsair and sheathed the weapon then turned to survey the carnage on the deck of the galley. He caught sight of Thomas.
‘Sir Thomas! Over here.’
Thomas quickly picked his way over the deck towards the stem, stepping over the bodies sprawled and heaped across the bloodstained deck. He stopped at the foot of the short flight of stairs leading up to the stern and looked up at his captain. La Valette had taken a blow to the head and his morion helmet had a deep dent in the wide brim, but there was no sign that he was wounded or even dazed as he calmly regarded his subordinate.
‘Take command here.’
‘Take command? Yes, sir.’
‘I’m taking the Swift Hind and going after the galleon.’ He gestured with his hand and Thomas looked round to see that the sails of the big cargo ship had filled with the light dawn breeze and she was about to clear the bay. If she got far enough out to sea then she would be more weatherly than the galley and might yet escape if a heavy swell picked up along with the increasing breeze.
‘I’ll leave Sir Oliver and twenty men with you,’ La Valette continued. ‘Free any Christians you find amongst the rowers. Take care, mind you. I don’t want any of the Muslims claiming that they are of the faith.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Chain the prisoners to the rowing benches. Then make the necessary repairs, clear the bodies away and set course for Malta.’
‘Malta?’ Thomas frowned. There was still plenty of time before the end of the campaign season. It was too early to return to the home of the Order. But the captain had made a decision and Thomas had no right to question him. He stiffened his back and bowed his head curtly. ‘As you command, sir.’
‘That’s right.’ La Valette regarded him with a stern expression for a moment before he relented and continued in a lower voice that was meant for the young knight alone to hear. ‘Thomas, we have sunk one galley and taken this one. I hope to take the galleon in due course. We must take our prizes to Malta where they will be safe and revictual the Sunft Hind before we continue. By noon we shall have three vessels and barely enough men to crew them. We cannot take the risk of any further clashes until we have returned our prizes to Malta. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Thomas replied flatly.
‘There are few enough of us left now. Some in Europe think that the Order is the vanguard of the Church’s struggle against the Turk. The truth is we are the rearguard. Never forget that. Every man we lose brings the enemy one step closer to victory.’ His eyes bored into Thomas’s. ‘In time, if you live long enough, you will command your own galley and be responsible for the lives of the men who serve under you. It is not a duty to be taken lighdy.’ Thomas nodded. ‘I understand, sir.’
‘See that you do.’ La Valette backed off a pace and looked over the men standing along the deck. ‘Sergeant Mendoza!’ he called.
A portly figure trotted up to him and saluted. ‘Sir?’
‘You and your men are staying aboard, under the command of Sir Thomas. The rest of you, back to the Swift Hind at once.’
The party following the captain made their way along the deck until they reached the place where the bows of their ship were bound to the corsair galley by the grappling hooks. They climbed up on to the bulwark and crossed back over to the other vessel. As soon as the last man had left the corsair, Thomas gave the order for the grappling-hook lines to be slackened off so that the iron points could be worked free and carefully tossed back to the deck of the Swift Hind. A gap opened between the two galleys as La Valette gave the order to unship the oars 'and back the vessel off far enough to allow them to turn the bow in the direction of the fleeing galleon. Then the oars, working in a steady rhythm, powered the sleek galley after their prey. Thomas watched for a moment and then turned his attention to his temporary command.
CHAPTER FOUR
The first priority was to deal with the men imprisoned below deck. He turned to the sergeant. ‘You and two others come with me. The rest are to dispose of the bodies. Make sure our men are set aside for a proper burial.’
He and Mendoza made their way over to the grating above the entrance to the main hold. As Thomas approached he could hear muttering from below and a terrified keening that was hurriedly silenced. A bolt fastened the grating in place and Thomas knelt down to draw it back, noting the thoroughness of the corsairs, who chained their rowers to their benches and then locked them into the hold for good measure.
‘Help me with the grating.’
With the sergeant’s help they lifted the grating and slid it on to the deck beside the entrance to the hold. Thomas peered over the edge and winced at the warm blast of the foulest stench he had ever encountered. There was movement below and the clink of chains as limbs stirred. Then he saw faces turning towards the pallid light entering through the hatch. Wild locks of filthy hair and straggly beards hung over their emaciated features. Most were white, but there were darker hues of skin there as well, though it was hard to tell for the filth that covered them. A ladder descended on to the narrow walkway that stretched between the lines of benches running along each side of the galley. He climbed down and saw a figure holding a small whip standing towards the stem, beside the pace keeper still chained next to his drum. Thomas and his men had to bend their heads as they strode aft, under the gaze of glittering eyes on either side.
‘Praise the Lord . . .’ a voice croaked. ‘They’re Christians . . . Christians! Come to set us free!’
His words set off many of his comrades who raised their hands imploringly towards their rescuers. Some simply hunched over the oars and wept, their shoulders wracked by sobs.
The overseer dropped his whip as Thomas approached and clasped his hands together, begging in French, ‘Please, sir . . . Please.’
‘Where is the locking pin?’ Thomas demanded.
The overseer jabbed a finger towards a ring bolt on the deck just beyond the reach of the pace setter. ‘Th- there.’
Thomas brushed him aside. He fought back his nausea at the overpowering stink rising from the bilges. How could any man endure this? he wondered. He reached the ring bolt and saw that the locking pin was just beside it. He took out his dagger and began to work it free. A moment later it fell out of its sheath and then Thomas fed the chain back through the ring bolt and laid it at the foot of the nearest rowing bench. He stared at the faces of the men sitting there.
‘Who amongst you is Christian, if any?’
‘Me!’ The nearest man nodded emphatically. ‘Me, master. I’m from Toulon.’
‘Set him free,’ Thomas ordered.
‘And me!’ said the rower’s neighbour.
‘Liar!’ the first man snapped. ‘You are a Morisco. The corsairs took you from Valencia.’
‘Sergeant, free this Frenchman. The other man stays in chains.’ The Morisco, descended from the Arabs who had once ruled Spain, opened his mouth to protest but then, seeing the implacable expression on Thomas’s face, he closed it and bowed his head over his oar in resignation. Thomas looked round as more voices called out, proclaiming their faith. If all were telling the truth, only a third would be left at the oars, too few to work the passage to Malta. As the tumult of desperate cries rose, he drew a deep breath and bellowed down the length of the galley, ‘SILENCE!’
The rowers, long since cowed by the whip of the overseer, obediently stilled their tongues. Thomas turned to his sergeant. ‘Set the Christians free, and only the Christians. Any man who claims the faith and is found to be a liar will be put to death.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the soldier replied tonelessly.
‘Carry on.’ Thomas could not bear the smell of these creatures and their surroundings any longer. ‘I’ll be on deck.’
