The Religion (24 page)

She'd seen little of Mattias since their arrival. On the voyage from Messina he'd spent hours in conversation with Starkey and Giovanni Castrucco, and by the time they'd disembarked he'd known more about the military situation, the Order's disposition of its forces, its supplies and morale, its communications with Mdina and Garcia de Toledo than all but a handful of knights themselves. On arrival La Valette had engaged him a tour of the enceinte and the likely Turkish positions, and Mattias had returned that evening with two stout youths who carried between them a crate of beeswax candles, a firkin of wine, and four roasted chickens.

They ate in the auberge refectory. Mattias brought news that the Turks had anchored to the north, in Ghain Tuffieha Bay, which Carla knew well. There was alarm that the Turks would attack Mdina, but he believed it a feint and had advised La Valette not to be drawn out. His knowledge of the Turks was encyclopedic, and she sensed his pride in their valor and
sophistication and a wistful affection for their ways. Despite his reluctance to become embroiled in war, the titanic drama now unfolding had clearly captured his fancy.

"I've been roped into certain obligations," he said. "I'll be busy until the Turks have disembarked and their intentions are better known, but once I've proved my loyalty I'll be free to do as I please, for on such freedom my worth to La Valette will depend."

This was too opaque for Carla, but Bors knew him better.

"You'll go out among the heathen?" said Bors.

"With the right gear, which is easily acquired, I can pass as one of them more easily than I pass among you Franks."

"And if you're caught?" said Carla.

"In the meanwhile," said Mattias, ignoring this query, "I leave it to you to investigate the records of the church of the Annunciation, the Sacred Infirmary, and the
camerata
."

"What should I tell them?"

Mattias said, "You tell them that you seek the boy's identity because he is to assume an unexpected legacy." He glanced at her mouth, a habit he'd begun to indulge with increasing frequency. "A legacy of some value. You are acting on behalf of the boy's benefactor, whose trust you enjoy, and whose privacy you're obliged to protect." He spread his hands, as if nothing could be simpler. "Thus you tell not a single lie while giving no hostages to fortune. No one would be so churlish as to question a woman of your noble piety and poise."

His lucent blue eyes flickered, as if against his will, to her throat and her cleavage. She knew that he desired her carnally and in his mind had his hands on her body. With liquid intensity, Carla desired him too. The fact that she'd seen him cast lascivious glances at Amparo only served to increase her longing. Mattias rose from the table and beckoned Bors.

"We're to the bastions, to take the measure of the mercenaries and militia. Men reveal certain thoughts in darkness that they keep to themselves in the light."

With that he left her to wonder what his hands might have felt like.

On Saturday he stopped by on his return from a reconnaissance with the news that an advance guard of three thousand Turks, including a division
of janissaries, had landed at Marsaxlokk Harbor, five miles to the south. They'd sacked the village of Zeitun and outflanked the Christian patrol, which had only escaped with the bitter loss of several knights dead and captured. One of those taken by the Turk was Adrien de La Rivière, for whom Carla had provided shelter some months earlier. When she asked as to his fate, Mattias told her he'd be tortured by experts in the craft, and then put to the bowstring. That night Carla slept poorly. La Rivière had seemed indestructible in youth and gallantry. She wondered what she'd done in bringing her companions to a world so perilous and cruel.

On Sunday she saw Mattias not at all.

By that evening the Turkish commander in chief, Mustafa Pasha, and the bulk of his vast army, had disembarked at Marsaxlokk Harbor. They were setting up camp in the flatlands of the Marsa, to the west of Grand Harbor. Carla learned from Bors that there'd been fierce debate as to the wisdom of letting the Turks land unopposed, but La Valette's view, supported by Mattias, had won the day. The Christians lacked the numbers to chance open battle on the beach. Better to let the Turks splash against the walls. As darkness fell, the watch fires of the vanguard of janissaries could be seen in the hamlet of Zabbar, only one mile distant across the undulating ocher hills beyond the walls.

Through these days Amparo said little, taking in the maelstrom of activity through watchful eyes and making of it things that only she knew. She'd set herself to revive the small garden at the rear of the house, squandering water on the struggling blooms with the justification that if all the humans were to die, as she'd heard with tedious frequency that they would, then the least they could do was leave something of beauty as their monument. Her vision stone showed nothing in these first three evenings of their residence, as if a curtain had been drawn across its window into other worlds, and Carla was not sorry, for such prognostications could only have been cheerless. They'd played no music together, as it seemed ill fitted to the general mood of gloom. Their instruments lay in Carla's room, untouched.

On Monday, when Mattias came to visit on his way to the opening of hostilities, Carla and Amparo were pulling weeds on their knees in the neglected garden. Carla turned to find him smiling, as if a sight so preposterous were a tonic.

"I'm glad to see you approach our dire estate with such aplomb," he said.

Carla dusted fine dry dirt from her hands and walked toward him. Her heart raced at the sight of his face and the sound of his voice and she wondered how evident this was.

"We'd like to make ourselves more useful," she said, "but there's little we're allowed to do. Father Lazaro told us that the infirmary is yet another male domain. We are, of course, barred from approaching the walls."

"When the infirmary overflows into the streets, Lazaro will change his tune."

That he seemed so cheerily certain such horror would come undermined her gladness.

"Have you turned up any sign of our boy?" he asked.

His use of "our" boy touched her. She shook her head. "There's no one with his birth date, or close to it, known to the
camerata
. In the church of the Annunciation, the closest recorded births are a week to either side. Both were girls. The monks at the infirmary were too busy to answer to my inquiry."

"There'll be time, though the sooner we fly this coop the better."

They were standing close and for a moment neither spoke. His brawny bulk stirred her and she felt herself stiffen with anxiety. The impulse to retreat was at odds with the urge of her heart, but it was the stronger of the two. From the distance came a concert of martial harmonies: drums and horns and pipes of a foreign character that wavered with a poignant heroism, and for the first time something human attached itself to Carla's idea of the Turk. Mattias heard the music too and cocked his head. She felt again the stab of remorse at having lured him into a conflict he'd sought to avoid.

"Forgive me," she said.

"For what?" he replied.

"I've brought Death into your sphere."

"He's one of my oldest acquaintances. Dwell on it no further."

He bent his face toward hers and she realized he intended to kiss her on the mouth. Before she could conquer it, instinct made her pull her head back. She regretted it at once, but it was done. She hadn't kissed a man in half a lifetime, but she could hardly explain that now and ask that he try again. Mattias blinked and turned away, untroubled it seemed, and it was as if the moment had existed only in her mind. He called to Amparo in Spanish.

"Amparo, what news from your vision glass?"

Amparo watched from a distance. At being included against her expectations, she brightened and skipped over. She seemed more at ease with Mattias than with any other person Carla had known, including, she felt with a pang, herself.

"The glass is dark," she said, "ever since we boarded the ship."

"So the Angels have abandoned us," he said, with a carefree smile. "With all these thousands calling on their aid, it's no surprise."

Amparo appeared crestfallen by her failure. Mattias rallied her.

"I've a favor to ask, if I may," he said. "There'll be a deal of noise and shooting throughout this day. Buraq is not trained to war, and he has a sensitive soul. If you could pass an hour or two in his company, I'd be in your debt."

Amparo swelled with the honor. Her eyes shone with adoration. Carla's fondness for Mattias increased in equal measure and she regretted again avoiding the swoop of his mouth.

"Oh, gladly," said Amparo. "Buraq has the noblest of souls."

"All horses are nobler than just about every man, but Buraq is a prince without equal," Mattias agreed. "You'll find him at the stables of the Grand Master, by Castel Sant'Angelo."

Amparo threw her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips. Carla felt her cheeks turn hot as Mattias slid his arm around her waist and held her close, and then closer still, and Carla had to turn away. Then he let her go and Amparo stepped back, her own color rising.

"I've never gone into battle with a kiss on my lips," he said. "It sets a most admirable precedent."

Carla suppressed her chagrin. She didn't know where to look.

"Two might serve even better," said Mattias.

Carla looked at him and he grinned. Her cheeks burned more fiercely still, and some perverse fit of temper almost made her refuse. Her mind
was tangled with emotions she couldn't fathom. She willed herself to lift her face and Mattias bent and kissed her on the mouth, not with the violence she expected and which she more than a little desired, but with a tenderness that stole her senses. The moment of contact stretched into forever and she clenched her eyes as tears welled up from nowhere, for his kiss seemed to plumb the abyss into which her womanhood had been cast so long ago. And no sooner had his mouth covered hers than he pulled away. She was left having sipped at a pleasure too intense to be compassed. She turned away to master her emotions.

"I shall now be safe from all harm," he said.

Carla spun back toward him. "Please," she said, "promise me you'll take every care."

"Audacity is a virtue of youth," he said, "and I've left both far behind."

They accompanied him through the auberge and paused on the threshold to Majistral Street. Two dour serjeants of the Order were passing by, and between them they dragged a strange and ancient man with eyes of uncommon brightness and a toothless crescent-moon face. His hands were tied fast behind him and as Carla wondered at his crime, she saw a dark expression cross Mattias's face.

"The earth calls that old man," he said. The expression was unfamiliar to Carla, but Mattias didn't elaborate. He said, "I'd best be to the walls."

"I'll pray for you," said Carla. "Even though you do not fear God."

"I welcome all prayers on my behalf, no matter which god hears them."

He gave them both a final glance and saluted and set off down the street. Beyond him she glimpsed the old man, his gait hopping and frantic between the relentless stride of his guards. The ancient threw back his head and emitted a mournful, yapping howl and Carla suddenly realized that in all she'd witnessed since arriving there'd been neither sight nor sound of a dog. How strange, she thought. A serjeant cuffed the ancient with a fist and the three of them disappeared around the corner.

Mattias followed them, and though she willed him to do so, he didn't look back.

She turned on the step and found Amparo as doleful as she. Carla took her in her arms and they held each other tight. She felt Amparo's heartbeat and its quickness matched her own. Fear for Mattias clenched her stomach; that and perhaps something more. Perhaps she was falling in love. She looked at Amparo and wondered if the girl felt the same. Her instinct said that she did. More than instinct: it was written on Amparo's damaged face. If so it was, Carla told herself, then it must be God's Will and God had His reasons. She set herself to embrace whatever He ordained. Some wisdom so profound that it could only have come from Christ rose up within her. In the days that were to come, there could be no surfeit of Love, whatever its nature. Without Love they would be nothing. Worse than that, they would be damned.

Monday, May 21, 1565