The Religion (33 page)

"I was a gunner's mate at the age of nine," said Bors, "in the army of the King of Connaught. I still bear the marks."

"Concussion to the brain can last a lifetime," agreed Mattias.

Bors laughed. "As will my oath never to work with artillery again."

In the high clear morning sky dozens of vultures on broad black wings wheeled above Fort Saint Elmo in placid counterclockwise gyres, their orbits perfectly stacked one above the other by that mysterious science known only to their breed. A tall, slender monk stood on the alure of the northwest wall, studying the monstrous birds as if he would fathom their secret. Starkey cut as scholastic and unwarlike a figure as one could imagine, yet he'd done his time on the Religion's caravans, ravaging the Levantine coast and Aegean Isles and mauling Ottoman ships in the Ionian Sea.

Mattias said, "There's our man."

As they circled the vast flat roof toward Starkey, Bors said, "What news of the contessa's boy?"

"I've one last place to look. If I find no sign of him there, it'll be time to take our leave." He looked at Bors. "Sabato waits in Venice. And you can boast that you stood with the Religion."

"Desertion's not something to boast about. And if they catch us, they'll hang us."

"I'm deserting no one," said Mattias. "I gave no bond and signed no contract. Despite which I've given priceless service for not a penny piece in pay. That debt I intend to collect."

Bors knew Mattias of old. "You have a boat?"

"Not yet. La Valette has concealed a score or more of feluccas all about the coast, for use by his messengers to Sicily. It can't be more than a day's work to find one." Mattias read his expression and stopped at the
foot of the stone stairs to the alure. "We've both better things to do than die in this manure pile. At present the country to the south is but sparsely patrolled, but when Saint Elmo falls, Mustafa will invest this city and the risks of escape will be multiplied. My notion is to sell off our opium in the bazaar-where we'll get a better price and may trade for pearls and precious stones rather than gold-and make sail for Calabria within the week."

"What if Lady Carla decides to stay?"

"I can't create her son out of clay. And love is no more worth dying for than God."

"Praises be."

"Will you leave or stay?" asked Mattias.

Bors shrugged. "I suppose the smell of glory will have to do."

"Good."

"But how will all four of us get through the Kalkara Gate?"

Mattias didn't answer.

They mounted the stair and as Bors cleared the parapet he gasped. Less than half a mile distant across the harbor the entire Turkish army surrounded the small, beleaguered outpost of Fort Saint Elmo. Monte Sciberras bulged from the water like the back of a half-submerged ox, its spine tapering down toward the fort, which was perched on the seaward tip of the rocky peninsula. The hill gave a fine advantage to the Turkish artillery but its flanks claimed not a stalk of vegetation, nor even a handful of dirt in which such might have thrived. Virgin nature offered nothing in which to entrench either guns or troops, but like a virgin the mountain had been raped by the engineers. From as far away as the Bingemma basin thousands of African blackamoors and Christian slaves had scraped hundreds of tons of earth from the island's meager topsoil and hauled it in sacks to the mountain's barren slopes. They'd woven gabions-huge wickerwork baskets-from willow branches brought in by their ships. Then they'd filled the baskets with boulders and rubble and with the corpses of those fellow laborers shot down in droves by the marksmen of the fort. These gabions were formed into a series of redoubts from which the muzzles of the Turkish siege guns pointed and roared, vomiting iron and marble at Saint Elmo's walls.

At further prodigious cost in Turkish lives, trenches had been hacked into the rock and now extended, weblike, down the slopes to wind all the
way around the fort's southern aspect. From these slits in the stony ground, janissary marksmen picked at the men on the ramparts and at anything that sailed across the water, which in daylight was nothing at all. From the shore of Marsamxett Harbor beyond the fort, where timber and brushwood screens provided concealment, more snipers fired at any Christian who showed his head on the western walls. Below the massive gun batteries, the whole steep hillside swirled with the regimental pennants of the Moslem warriors thereon massed in their thousands. Canary yellows vied with vivid scarlets and parrot greens, the silk all shiny and the sun winking silver from the hieroglyphs adorning the flags. At the center of all this pageantry and gunfire, Saint Elmo smoked like the throat of an awakened volcano.

"How they love bright colors, these Moslem swine," said Bors. "What do those banners say?" he asked.

"Verses from the Koran," said Mattias. "The
surah
of Conquest. They exhort the Faithful to slaughter and vengeance and death."

"And there you have the difference between us," said Bors, "for when did Jesus Christ ever call for such horrors?"

"Evidently, Jesus Christ knew He did not need to."

The embattled fort itself was shaped like a star with four main salients. Its landward curtain and bastions were presently obscured by smoke and dust. Its rear and eastern flanks fell sheer into the sea. After fifteen days' bombardment its original shape and design could only be guessed at. The walls that faced batteries on the hill were rent by breaches and the masonry gaped like teeth in an old crone's mouth. Masses of rubble had cascaded into the ditch beneath the wall and these hillocks were brightly carpeted with the bodies of Turkish fanatics already slaughtered. Ferocious wave attacks, lasting hours at a stretch, had alternated with bombardments, and more were expected that day.

Despite all this, the bullet-tattered standard of Saint John-a white Crusader cross on a bloodred field-still flew above the ruins, and from the crumbling battlements and improvised counter-walls came a steady crackle of muskets and the blast of cannon. So far, against every calculation of attackers and besieged alike, the massed Turkish assaults had been repulsed. As the defenders died by day, La Valette replaced them by night, with men rowed out across the harbor from Sant'Angelo's dock. There was never any shortage of volunteers and Bors did not wonder. He
clenched his fist on the hilt of his sword and wished that he were with them. A hand squeezed his arm.

"You've tears in your eyes," said Mattias. "I thought you English knew better."

Bors scowled and swatted the offending orbs with either hand. "No, all we are fit for is boasting in alehouses-of the feats of valor we saw but did not take part in."

Mattias glanced over at Starkey. "Your countryman seems a good deal more phlegmatic."

It was true: Starkey was observing the holocaust with no more emotion than a spectator at a game of bowls. "Starkey doesn't plan to steal away like a thief in the night."

Mattias ignored this and walked along the alure and Bors followed.

Starkey turned in greeting. "I hear you've turned my house into a sink of iniquity."

"As Jesus told us," Mattias replied, "man cannot live by bread alone."

"Christ spoke of spiritual matters, as even you well know." Starkey turned to Bors and spoke in English. "You're a son of the Church, I've seen you at Mass."

Bors heard his native tongue so rarely that its sound seemed peculiarly foreign, yet its music always moved him. "Yes, Your Excellency. A good son."

"How did you come to fall in with so godless a man?"

"On a cold night, in a damp ditch, when Mattias wasn't long for this world. With God's help, I nursed him back to life." There was no point flattering a man of Starkey's influence, but a stab at piety could do no harm. "Now, God willing, I hope to guide him toward eternal life too. That is, back into the arms of Mother Church from whence he came."

Starkey seemed to enjoy hearing the language as much as he did. "You have a mighty task on your hands."

"Mattias was taken by the Mussulmen when only a boy, and saw his family butchered in the bargain, so I beg you to forgive his blasphemies, which are indeed many. Christ still speaks to his heart, if he would but listen."

Starkey studied him and said, "I do believe you're sincere."

Bors blinked. What kind of scoundrel did Starkey take him for? "In matters of religion I am always sincere."

"No doubt you discuss things of great importance," said Mattias in Italian, "but I've matters of my own to broach."

"The subject was eternal salvation," said Starkey. "Your salvation."

"Then you can help me," said Mattias. "I've a mind to visit Mdina, but in the bazaar I learned that Marshal Copier's cavalry regard any foragers, scouts, or watering parties much as wolves regard rabbits. I'd rather not be hacked to pieces and need more protection than that afforded by my wits."

"They've served you well enough to date," replied Starkey.

"The Turks aren't so quick to indulge their bloodlust," said Mattias. "They're a civilized race. They enjoy talking. Armored knights on horseback are poor of hearing, especially when they see a man in a turban."

"Would you take Lady Carla with you?" asked Starkey.

This took Bors by surprise, and he would have stumbled, but Mattias reacted as if no question could have been more natural. "Not today, though it is her wish, as she'd like to be with her father through these dark days. But without a
passe porte
-for her and her guardians-I wouldn't be allowed to take them beyond the walls. May I take this as an offer to provide us with such a safe conduct?"

Guardians, by God, thought Bors. Just like that. With a
passe porte
through Kalkara Gate-and a boat-they'd all be gone.

"Then my lady hasn't found this boy of hers," said Starkey.

Mattias had intended the high command to remain ignorant of this matter, lest they interpret it for what it was, a motive for treachery. But again Mattias replied without a blink.

"Do you know the boy and where he might be?"

It was Starkey, rather, who blinked. He shook his head. "In the years before our Grand Master was elected, the moral conduct of the Order became degenerate. Men are only men. Young knights join the Order full of pride and chivalric dreams, and find a life of fasting and privation at the edge of the world. Holy Vows were made but not always kept. There was dicing, whoring, drunkenness, even dueling. Only the severest discipline can stop young men from doing what young men do. La Valette imposed it. As he says, 'Our vows are inhumanly hard by design. They are the hammer and the anvil by which our strength is forged.' "

"You've avoided my question," said Mattias. "Do you know the boy?"

"I've no idea who Lady Carla's son might be-nor with whom she transgressed." He looked discomfited. "Was it a member of the Order?"

"The contessa's boy was born on All Hallows' Eve," said Mattias.

He'd avoided revealing the boy's pedigree. That the Inquisitor, Ludovico, was his father was reason enough.

"I wouldn't count on the boy knowing that," said Starkey. "The Maltese are a primitive, insular breed and very pious. What will you do if you find him?"

"I shall reunite him with his mother."

"She may be unpleasantly surprised. The life of a swineherd can eradicate every vestige of noble blood."

"The contessa has a tender heart."

"And after that? Can we continue to rely on your allegiance?"

"I've proved my fidelity to the Religion."

"A careful answer," said Starkey.

"To a question some would take as a mortal insult," Mattias replied.

Starkey retreated with good grace. "No man stands higher in the Grand Master's esteem."

"Then I'll give you reason to raise it even further-and to send me to Mdina as well."

Mattias pointed over Starkey's shoulder. Starkey turned. They all looked toward Gallows Point, the spit of land that, with Fort Saint Elmo, formed the jaws of the entrance to Grand Harbor from the open sea. True to Mattias's predictions, Torghoud Rais had arrived with his fleet on May 30. He'd installed his siege guns on Gallows Point and these now battered Saint Elmo from the east. Even as they watched, these batteries fired a cannonade at the smoking fort.

"The Turks are pouring three hundred rounds an hour into the fort," said Tannhauser. He indicated the channel across Grand Harbor. "And Torghoud's guns menace your resupply boats. Instead of killing water boys and camel drovers, let Copier's cavalry do some man's work. Send me to Mdina and I'll guide a company of his horse to Gallows Point."

"As always," said Starkey, "your boldness shames me."

"And the
passe portes
?" said Mattias.

A sixteen-pounder roared from the cavalier and Bors watched the ball in its flight across the bay. It landed amid a covey of blackamoors extending a Turkish trench and left a tangle of yowling human wreckage as it bounced on down the slit.

"Come with me," said Starkey, "and I'll draw up the necessary papers. I can also tell you where to find Lady Carla's father, Don Ignacio. He's in
ill health, and may not be sympathetic, but if anyone knows something of the boy, it will be him."

Starkey made for the steps. Mattias followed. Bors felt a pang at losing this Olympian vista. "Your Excellency," he said. Starkey stopped. "With your permission, I'll stay and spot for the gunners. I see a good number of their shots going to waste."