caused their footsteps to echo dully as they crossed the drawbridge.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice called from the wall above. ‘Michel? Is that you?’
Richard froze but Thomas pushed him on. ‘It’s too late for that. Keep going.’
They crossed the bridge and set off across the parade ground at a brisk pace.
‘Michel?’ the voice called out again. Then a moment later: ‘You there! Stop!’
They ignored the command and broke into a trot, then a dead run, until they reached the cover of the fisherman’s hovel where they had left their boots. From the direction of the cathedral the sound of singing carried across the rooftops of Birgu; close by they heard footsteps approaching, and voices muttering. Thomas waved Richard back out of sight against the wall and then pulled a length of fishing net over his body. Several shadows approached along the narrow street.
‘Don’t care what he says,’ one grumbled. ‘There ain’t no help coming. We’re in this alone. Long as we last.’
‘Always looking on the bright side, eh, Jules?’ another laughed. ‘Even after that performance by Robert of Eboli?’
‘What, you think the Lord himself, and his cohort of angels, are really going to descend on a wave of celestial light and smite the followers of the false prophet and deliver us from the ambitions of Suleiman and his hordes?’
‘They might, if we pray hard for it and perform our Christian duty,’ someone responded defensively. ‘If we are righteous.’
‘Oh, good luck to you!’ the first man growled. ‘Me? I’m trusting in a sharp pike and dry gunpowder.’
They continued past the two Englishmen and set off across the parade ground towards the drawbridge. Thomas knew that they would come across their unconscious comrade as soon as they reached the far side. He slipped out from under the net and pulled on his boots. As soon as Richard had followed suit, they slipped into the street and hurried away from the fort. They had not gone more than twenty paces when there was a cry of alarm, instantly lost in the boom of a gun as it fired a shot at St Elmo. They increased their pace and soon they came across another party of men and exchanged nods as they passed by. Then they reached the main street leading towards the cathedral. The singing had ended and the street was filling with small groups of townspeople and soldiers returning to their homes and billets. Conscious that they were heading against the flow, at least as far as the side street on which the auberge stood, they kept to the edge of the street and slipped along as unobtrusively as possible. They overheard snatches of conversation, most of which was in praise of Robert of Eboli, and some spoke in confidence about the great army that Don Garcia was mobilising in Sicily to bring to Malta and crush the forces of the Turkish Sultan.
They had almost reached the side street they wanted when Thomas saw Stokely a short distance further along. He was in earnest conversation with Romegas. Walking a pace behind him was Maria, together with a maid. Thomas froze for an instant and then hurriedly turned off the main thoroughfare and stood against the corner.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Richard.
‘I need to find something out. You go back to the auberge. I’ll join you later.’
‘Why?’ Richard glanced round but could see no obvious danger.
‘Just go!’ Thomas ordered fiercely and pushed him down the street.
Richard stumbled a few paces and turned to stare at Thomas with a concerned expression. Then, touching his haversack to make sure that the leather tube was still safe, he strode away.
Thomas stood still and watched the figures passing by the end of the street. He heard Stokely’s voice and a moment later he and Romegas paced by, followed by the tall slender form of Maria, staring fixedly at the ground in front of her. Thomas felt an impulse to step out behind her, speak her name and tell her to follow him into another street but he feared she would refuse, or that she, or her maid, might cry out in alarm and alert Stokely. So he kept his mouth shut and instead slipped into the crowd and followed them at a short distance, making sure that he kept his head bowed enough for the hood to conceal his features in case she turned to look back for any reason. Stokely and Romegas continued for another hundred yards along the wide thoroughfare before Romegas halted, made his farewells and took the street that led to the fort. Stokely took Maria’s arm and turned into a side street. Thomas paused at the edge of the junction and then risked a quick look round the corner and saw Stokely approach the gate of a courtyard. Beyond, the walls of a modest town house rose up into the darkness. Stokely paused and looked back to see if they were being followed. Satisfied that there was no one stalking them, he rapped on the door to the courtyard. It was opened a moment later and Stokely led his small party inside and the door closed behind them.
Thomas waited for a moment before entering the narrow street and walking slowly past the gate. The walls were perhaps ten feet high and there were no obvious foot- or handholds. The gate itself was solid-looking and reinforced with lengths of oak. He walked on and then turned back and waited. It did not take long for others to enter the street and make for a neighbouring property. Thomas strode up to a rotund man who, like most of those who had attended the sermon, wore a sombre cloak.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Thomas addressed him in French. ‘But I have a message to deliver to the house of an English knight.
‘I was told he lives in this street but I don’t know which house is his.’
‘Sir Oliver Stokely?’ The neighbour arched an eyebrow. ‘Yes, he lives here. That house, next to mine.’
‘I thank you, sir. But the message is not for him, but a lady. Maria, I believe she is called.’
‘Yes.’ The man nodded his head. ‘That would be his wife.’
‘Wife . . .’
The man tapped his nose. ‘What these knights claim to believe and what they do are as different as chalk and cheese, eh?’ Thomas was silent for a moment and the man frowned. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes.’ Thomas forced a smile. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bid you good night. It’s late. I’ll deliver my message another time.’
He turned and walked away, back towards the auberge, his heart as heavy as a rock.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘Thieves, right here in the heart of our defences.’ La Valette shook his head in consternation. ‘It’s an outrage. Whoever it was strolled into the fort and attempted to break into our archives last night. I give thanks to God that they did not account for the quality of the lock or they would have looted the place for whatever they could carry out of the castle. It’s a scandal, gentlemen.’ He looked round the table at his advisers. ‘Not only that but two of our men were injured in the process.’
There was a tense silence before Colonel Mas spoke. ‘We were lucky they weren’t killed, and lucky the lock held.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it. That lock was made by one of the finest smiths in Paris, as were the locks on the treasury door. Monsieur Berthon assured me that they were impregnable.’
Thomas nodded thoughtfully, along with the others. Despite his apparent calm his heart was beating swiftly and he could feel the clammy sweat on the palms of his hands.
Stokely shot him a curious glance before returning his gaze to the Grand Master, who continued speaking.
‘I want these robbers found and made an example of. They will be shown no pity, regardless of what rank they hold. The same penalty will apply for all such crimes from now on. We are all in this together, those who serve the Order as well as the common people of Malta. Colonel, I want a reward posted on every main street in Birgu. A hundred gold pieces for the person who captures these criminals, or who can provide information that leads to their capture.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Colonel Mas nodded.
‘Very well, from now on I want the guard on the archive doubled, and also the main gate. This will not happen again.’ La
Valette slapped his hand down on the table. He stared round at the other men and then his expression began to soften. ‘We must address other matters now. Firstly, Sir Oliver, your report on the water supplies. I gather that we are consuming more water than anticipated.’
‘Indeed, sir. But there are additional problems. One of the cisterns under St Michael has been contaminated
