‘He has not served the Order for twenty years and he is not a subject of the King of Spain. His views are those of an outsider. Well, Sir Thomas, what say you?’
Thomas’s mind raced as he considered his reply. Don Garcia’s request made sense, given the immediate threat, but he knew how the Order prized its galleys. If he supported the Spaniard then he risked the enmity of the Grand Master and most of the other knights. It would only result in bitterness and division. Besides, this was a fine chance to win La Valette’s approval. Without that he could not hope to further Richard’s mission or discover more about the fate of Maria. He cleared his throat.
‘Without the galleys the knights cannot take the war to the enemy. The warriors of the Order would be stranded on this rock. Once the siege is lifted, they will continue to wage war against the Turks and their corsair allies. For that the knights must have the galleys. If you take them, what guarantee can you give the Grand Master that they will be returned to us? In any case, what difference will seven galleys make, given the odds? Sir, you are under orders not to risk your ships or your men unnecessarily. In which case, it does not matter if the galleys join your fleet or stay here.’
Don Garcia glared at the Englishman. ‘Is this how you repay my confidences?’
‘I did not know that you spoke in confidence at the time, sir.’ The Spaniard turned his gaze to the Grand Master. ‘So much for detached opinion. Very well, keep your damned galleys. Just promise one thing. If there is any danger that they might fall into enemy hands, you will destroy them. ’
‘I guarantee it. I will burn them down to the keel with my own hand rather than see them taken by the Turks or, worse, those corsair devils.’
‘Then the matter is settled, though I think you have ill served our cause. As for the defences, you have my opinions and I pray that you act on them while there is still time. Now I must return to my command on Sicily. I bid you farewell, and good fortune. Come, gentlemen!’ Don Garcia gestured to his officers to follow him.
As the Spaniards descended the staircase into the tower, La Valette watched until the last had disappeared from sight before he approached Thomas and smiled warmly.
‘I hoped that I could count on you. Only a knight could understand what the galleys mean to the Order.’
Thomas bowed his head. ‘I am your servant, sir, and my loyalty is to the Order, but I pray that my words were wise. Don Garcia may turn out to be right after all and those galleys could tip the balance against the enemy.’
‘Now the decision is made we shall never know, Thomas. Put the matter aside and do not let it burden your thoughts.’ He patted him on the shoulder and then turned to descend the staircase.
Thomas lingered behind for a moment and Richard leaned towards him and muttered, ‘Good work, Sir Thomas. You have La Valette’s trust. We can make good use of that.’
‘If you say so.’ Thomas rested his elbows on the parapet of the tower and stared across the Grand Harbour towards Birgu. All morning he had been trying to avoid thinking about the brief encounter with Sir Oliver the previous evening. Sleep had not come to his troubled mind and for the moment he wanted to thrust aside all thought of the secret purpose behind his presence here. There was a more urgent, more personal, purpose that needed satisfying. Only then could he face the enemy with an untroubled mind.
That night, after the two knights had taken their supper, Jenkins and Richard were tasked with cleaning Thomas’s armour. They carried it through to the hall along with a box containing rags and stoppered pots of polish and wax. Settling on stools by the hearth, they set to work. Jenkins quietly instructed the squire to work the polish on to the surface of the armour then rub it in with a fresh cloth until there was only a faint smear on the metal, after which he used a clean rag to buff it to a shine. Richard worked in silence for a while before he cleared his throat. ‘Jenkins, do you recall a knight by the name of Sir Peter de Launcey?’
‘Of course, sir,’ Jenkins replied as he dabbed some more polish on to the rag that covered his finger, and then rubbed it into the crest of the helmet. ‘It’s not as if there have been many knights joining the Order from England since King Henry took on the Pope. I remember Sir Peter, though he was not with us for long. He joined two years before the King died. Quiet man, and very devout. More so than most of the others. He took his vows seriously. It was a sad day when I heard he had lost his life. He’d only just come back from a voyage to England. Called back for some family affair, as I recall.’ Jenkins shook his head sadly. ‘To have travelled all that way, only to drown here in the harbour. Tragic accident.’
‘Yes. More than you know,’ said Richard. ‘Sir Peter was a cousin of mine.’
Jenkins paused in his polishing and looked up. ‘Really, sir? I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Oh, we weren’t close. But he was family.’ Richard paused for a moment as he put down the breastplate and reached for the gorget. ‘I met his brother before we left London.’
‘Brother? I didn’t know he had a brother.’
‘Well, a half-brother in fact. He was an infant when Peter left England. I doubt he would have mentioned him. Anyway, when I told him where I was bound he asked me if I might look into a small matter for him.’
Jenkins kept his attention on his work. ‘Mmm?’
‘Sir Peter’s personal effects were never returned to the family. They’d written to Sir Oliver Stokely but received no reply.’
‘He’s a busy man. I’m not surprised.’
‘Still, it would have been a small kindness to at least have answered the letter and arrange for the return of his property, such as it was.’
‘Well, he didn’t leave much behind.’ Jenkins hawked up some phlegm and spat on to the crest of the helmet and rubbed furiously. ‘A small wardrobe of clothes, a Bible, a writing case and a few other oddments. Just enough to fill a small chest. His armour was added to the Order’s stores.’
‘I see ... I don’t suppose you could show me his chest? There might be time to arrange for it to be sent back to his family before the Turks arrive. I know they’d appreciate it. They took the news of his death badly.’
Jenkins lowered the helmet and flexed his gnarled fingers. ‘The chest isn’t here any longer.’
‘It isn’t?’
Jenkins shook his head. ‘We had it in the cellar for a while. Then a cistern in the next building started leaking so we had to move the lot out. As far as I recall, anything of value was removed to St Angelo. That’s the last time I saw it. The chest was taken up to the fort in a cart with some other boxes and caskets. I remember it well enough as it was a handsome lacquered piece. Anyway, the chest is still up there as far as I know.’
‘Good.’ Richard smiled. ‘Lacquered, you say? Black, I assume.’
‘Black as coal. With brass strappings. And his coat of arms set in a crest on the lid.’
‘Coat of arms? What device would that be?’
Jenkins looked up at the crests fixed along the beams above. ‘There. That one. The field of red with the boar’s head beneath a gold chevron. See?’
Richard tilted his head back, stared a moment and nodded. ‘It should be easy enough to find if I go and look for it.’
Jenkins chuckled. ‘Not so easy as that, Master Richard. They put it in the dungeon beneath the keep, where they store the archive and treasury of the Order. You don’t just walk in. You have to get written permission from the Grand Master himself to enter the dungeon. There’s a fortune in gold, silver, gemstones and silks in there. The proceeds from the galleys’ raids on enemy ships and ports.’
‘No wonder he keeps it under lock and key.’ Richard laughed. ‘Out of temptation’s way. And under heavy guard, I’ll warrant.’