their knees to surrender but were cut down without mercy. Other boats were picking up the last of those still in the water and Thomas could see activity on the bows of the galleys as their gun crews loaded the cannon ready to fire on the Christians in one last act of defiance before the Sultan’s humiliated host was driven from the island.
Mustafa Pasha, accompanied by his standard bearer and two other men, waded out towards the flagship’s boats. Behind him his bodyguards fought on, to buy him time.
‘This way!’ Thomas panted, striking out at an angle towards the enemy commander. They splashed into the shallows and then waded towards the personal standard of the Sultan, the horsehair tail flicking from side to side as the man carrying it struggled towards the boat. Mustafa turned towards the splashing in the water nearby and saw the two knights making directly for him. He snapped an order to the two bodyguards protecting him and they instantly turned towards Thomas and Richard, raising their scimitars. Richard held his pike clear of the water and feinted towards the nearest of the Janissaries. The Turk made to dodge to one side but failed to make allowance for the drag of the water and the pike tore into his side. Richard thrust home, and then worked the tip free. Thomas caught up with him and waded past to engage the other bodyguard. There was no finesse to his actions as he struck out at the Janissary, just brute force and determination. He hacked again, and again, driving the man back. Then the Turk missed his step on the seabed and fell back with a splash. At once Thomas pushed forward and pressed the man down with his left hand, holding him under the surface of the bay as he stabbed with his sword, and blood billowed up through the water.
Thomas turned to see that Mustafa had reached the prow of the nearest boat, not twenty feet away, and two of the sailors were struggling to drag him aboard. Richard, too, saw that the enemy commander was on the verge of getting away; he cast his pike aside and the water boiled around him as he reached out for the shoulders of the standard bearer waiting in the water behind his master. Richard grasped the man roughly and turned him round before striking his fist into the Turk’s face. The man clung on to the shaft of the standard with one hand and lashed out at Richard with the other. Richard blinked, momentarily disorientated, and then he growled angrily and struck the man again in the face with all his strength and the Turk’s head snapped back. His grasp on the standard slipped and with a triumphant shout Richard ripped it from his hands and raised the standard up so that all could see it had been captured.
Thomas saw that Mustafa Pasha had been hauled into the boat and sat in an undignified heap near the bows as the crew lowered the oars and began to pull away from the shore. Just beyond Mustafa a soldier stood up, bracing his legs as he raised a light arquebus and took aim at Richard.
‘No!’ Thomas shouted, his voice cracking. Without thinking he pushed Richard aside and surged between his son and the boat as the flame flashed out. There was a small ring of smoke, a loud crash in the hot air, and Thomas felt a blow, like a vicious punch, in his stomach. The impact drove the breath out of him. He saw Mustafa Pasha’s lips part in a cold grin as the boat drew away.
Richard burst out of the sea with an enraged expression. He still had the standard clasped in both hands and he glared at Thomas.
‘What are you doing? Why did you . . His words dried up as he stared at the hole in Thomas’s breast- plate.
With a sick feeling of certainty, Thomas was aware that he had been shot. He looked down and saw the indent in his armour, just above where it curved towards the flange above his groin. Blood oozed from the hole and dribbled down the polished steel.
‘Oh God, no,’ he muttered. ‘Not this. Not now.’
‘Father!’ Richard hurled the standard towards the shallows and waded towards him. ‘Father, you’re hit.’
Thomas shook his head, not wanting to believe it but knowing that the wound was mortal. The numbing impact of the shot began to fade and a terrible pain spread through his stomach. He staggered towards his son, stumbling into his arms before the strength in his legs gave out. A dark veil blurred his vision and he wanted to vomit as he felt his consciousness slipping away.
Richard held him under the arms, struggling towards the shore. Thomas was dimly aware of his son’s voice as he called out desperately, ‘Over here! Help me! For pity’s sake, help me!’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
‘There’s nothing that can be done to save him,’ La Valette said gently as they approached the door to the infirmary. Maria did not reply but stared fixedly ahead. The glow of the rising sun lit up the battlements on the wall above them, and in Birgu the bells of every church continued to ring, as they had done ever since news of the defeat of the Turks had reached the town. The courtyard of St Angelo was filled with the wounded who had begun to arrive from Naxxar the night before.
‘It is a miracle that he has lived through the night,’ La Valette continued. ‘When his squire brought him in, he had lost much blood. But all he said was that he wanted to see you. I sent for you at once. I can only imagine the strength of will that is still keeping him in this world. He has made a final request of me.’ La Valette stopped on the threshold of the infirmary and turned to face Maria. ‘A strange thing, and you should know of it before you see him.’
‘What is it?’ Maria frowned.
‘He asks for two things. That you are married here and now, and that I prepare and sanction the adoption of his squire as his legal son and heir. That young man has not left his side since he brought Sir Thomas back from the battlefield, but there is more to this than merely rewarding loyal service, I think.’ La Valette shook his head. ‘A peculiar situation. But the Order owes a great debt to Sir Thomas and I am happy to fulfil his wishes. The question is, are you?’
Maria said nothing, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she nodded.
‘Well then. All is in readiness. I have a priest at hand and I shall witness the ceremony, together with his squire. But it grieves me that you should become a widow so soon after becoming a wife.’ Maria swallowed and held her head high as she responded, ‘I can think of no greater happiness than being the wife of Sir Thomas. Now take me to him.’
An hour later the ceremony was over. Thomas slipped back on his bolster with a smile of contentment as his wife and son sat either side of him, each holding one of his hands. His hair was plastered to his scalp and sweat gleamed on his pallid skin and the scar tissue on his face. He felt cold and what was left of his strength was steadily failing. Only the agony in his stomach kept his thoughts coherent. He knew that there was little time left to him and felt a burst of rage until he recalled that because he was dying his son was still living. He nodded to himself and whispered, ‘It is a fair fate.’
He turned his head towards Richard and moistened his lips so that he might speak clearly. He found the effort a strain and his voice was thin and frail. ‘Swear to me that you will look after your mother. She has been wronged all through her life. Swear to me that you will care for her.’
‘I swear it.’
Thomas smiled. ‘I am proud of you. Any man would be honoured to call you his son.’
Richard swallowed hard and gently laid a hand on his father’s chest. ‘I know. And to you I owe it all.’
‘No. I should have been a better father. A better man.’ Thomas turned to Maria, his eyes filled with pain and longing. ‘A better husband.’
She tried to fight back tears, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, ‘There is no better man. You are my all . . . my love.’
Thomas’s vision began to blur and he had barely enough strength to breathe. His expression twisted in agony. ‘And you . . . are mine. Always . . . Always. Forgive me.’
Then his eyes closed as his breathing became more laboured, and with a last sigh, he lay silent and still. There was no mistaking the moment of his death; that final stillness of body and spirit from which there was no return. His son and wife stared in silence and each shed tears. Their grief was raw and they sat a while together as the hours passed.
As dusk closed over the island, La Valette returned to the infirmary to pay his respects. Maria eased her hand away from the growing chill of Thomas’s fingers and rose stiffly. She stared down at his scarred face and leaned to kiss him on the brow before she turned and walked slowly away, her hand resting on Richard’s arm. La Valette accompanied them outside.
‘Rest assured, Sir Thomas will never be forgotten. Nor will any who endured the siege.’ La Valette breathed
