Sword and Scimitar - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн бесплатно серию книг txt) 📗
As the exchange of fire continued, Thomas saw that the Turkish line had edged forward in front of the bastions of Castille and Auvergne and around him the defenders made ready for action. Scores of arquebuses, already loaded, were leaning against the inside of the battlements ready to be taken up and fired. Young Maltese boys who had been trained to reload the weapons stood ready to do their duty. Below, in the body of the bastion, Thomas could hear the ramble of cannon as they were run up to the narrow firing ports in their casemates. More men stood by armed with pikes, ready to rush forward and throw back any attempt to escalade the walls of the bastions, or the curtain wall that linked them.
Looking round, Thomas saw that the Grand Master was watching the enemy’s preparations for the attack with grim satisfaction.
Shrill blasts from brass trumpets gave the signal and with a deep roar the Turks swept forward across the open ground towards the bastions. Thomas saw that there were none of the headdresses of the Janissaries in the ranks of those charging towards him. Clearly the enemy commander had decided to spare his crack troops and entrust this first assault to the more expendable Spahis and the religious fanatics dressed in white robes. As they poured forward, the exchange of fire in front of the main gate continued uninterrupted, as if it was a separate battle. Colonel Mas spared the horde one brief look before turning his concentration back to the fight to his front.
On the bastion La Valette watched the oncoming enemy with cool detachment and his closest officers affected the same calm. Ranging posts had been set up a few days earlier and as the Turks reached those furthest from the defences the guns in the casemates opened fire with a deafening explosion that seemed to rip the air apart. Thomas felt the stone shake beneath his boots and his ears filled with the roar of the guns. Smoke billowed up and over the battlements and caught in the throats of the men there, making them choke. As the smoke cleared, Thomas saw that the grapeshot that had been tightly packed into the muzzles of the cannon had torn great lanes through the ranks of the enemy, scything down ten or more men at a time, mangling their bodies into bloody heaps.
The Turks did not waver for an instant but charged on, sweeping over their fallen comrades as they raced towards the counterscarp of the ditch a short distance from the bastions and the wall extending between them. As they passed the second line of marker stakes, the arquebusiers opened fire, adding their weight to the cones of grapeshot blasting out of the casemates. As flame and smoke rippled out from the defences, the Turkish ranks withered before the impact of the defenders’ fire. And still they came on, leaping over the bodies of the fallen and screaming their war cries, their robes flying.
‘Good God,’ Thomas said in disbelief, ‘they know no fear.’
The first men reached the counterscarp and slid or scrambled down the steep angle into the ditch in front of the wall. More cannon opened fire from each of the bastions, sited to enfilade the ditch, and heavy shot scourged the Turks as they struggled to clamber up the scarp towards the foot of the wall. Thomas could see only a handful of scaling ladders and shook his head at the foolishness of launching such an assault before more had been constructed. The angle of fire was now so acute that some of the defenders stood on the wall to fire down at the enemy below.
‘Order those fools to get down before they are shot!’ La Valette snapped.
Stokely ran to the side of the bastion and shouted the order. Only a handful of the nearest men had retained their wits enough to obey. The blood of the others was up and they were shooting down and handing back their weapons for a replacement as fast as they could. Then one of them spun round as he was struck by a bullet fired from the open ground. He tottered on the edge, then lost his balance and pitched over the wall into the ditch. Another man fell before the other soldiers realised the danger and hurriedly ducked back behind cover. Now they began to hurl large rocks over the walls, and the boys who had been loading the guns joined in. The deluge of missiles split open skulls and crushed bones as they crashed on to the Turks.
Only one ladder was raised against the wall and as the Turks began to climb towards the battlements, Thomas saw the barrel of a cannon in the other bastion edge round, and then the muzzle disappeared behind a jet of flame and cloud of smoke and the ladder, and those on it, were obliterated into fragments of wood and flesh.
That was the turning point. For a moment the men in the ditch hesitated, and then the first of them turned away, and then more, and the urge to get clear of the slaughter in the ditch spread like a fierce contagion. Moments later the assault was broken as the Turks turned to stream back across the open ground towards the safety of their original positions. The defenders shouted with excitement, triumph and derision as they watched, while some kept firing until the last of the enemy was out of range. As the main assault fell back, so did the Janissaries engaged with Colonel Mas and his men. They pulled up the supports for their weapons and shouldering both they turned and hurriedly joined the retreat. A handful of Mas’s men threw down their arquebuses and drew their knives as they set off after the Janissaries. The colonel bellowed and they stopped and reluctantly returned to their line. The arquebusiers closed up and marched back towards the main gate and across the drawbridge into the shelter of Birgu’s defences.
Thomas stared out across the open ground, littered with the enemy’s dead and wounded, hundreds of them. In return only a few men had been lost along the wall and perhaps as many as thirty of the men Mas had led out to confront the Janissaries.
‘Very good.’ La Valette nodded. ‘The first round to us, gentlemen. Mustafa Pasha will think twice before he tries anything so rash again. ’
He turned to survey the men who were still cheering along the wall. The shouts of triumph were taken up by the civilians in the streets immediately behind the wall, and to the far end of the defences in front of Birgu. And shortly afterwards by the defenders of St Michael who had followed the action from their walls. The bells of the cathedral began to toll and flags were waving above the walls of St Elmo as all savoured the first, small victory over the invaders.
‘Let them cheer.’ La Valette smiled. ‘Indulge them. We will be sorely tested before long, so enjoy this moment. Then, while the Turks make their preparations for the siege, we can complete our defences. Come, we can return to St Angelo now.’ He was about to turn and leave the bastion when he stopped and pointed. ‘What’s happening there?’
Thomas saw that a group of Janissaries had stepped out in front of the shaken ranks of their comrades. They carried a stake with them and pounded it into the ground. When it was in position, two more men came out, dragging La Riviere between them. They tied his hands to an iron ring at the top of the post and then tore the ragged surcoat from his back so that he stood naked. Thomas and the others looked on helplessly.
‘What are they going to do to him?’ Stokely asked quietly.
The two men who had tied him to the stake took out slender canes tucked into their belts and slashed them through the air a few times before they approached the French knight.
‘Bastinado,’ said Thomas. ‘They’re going to beat him to death.’
‘With those sticks?’ Stokely scoffed.
‘Yes, with those sticks,’ Thomas replied flatly. ‘I’ve seen them used in the Balkans. A man can take several hours to die, his agony increasing with each stroke.’
The two Janissaries took up positions either side of La Riviere and began to take turns to lash him with their slender sticks. The knight lurched under the first blows and then hunched against the post and arched his back and endeavoured to keep still and endure his punishment stoically. The Turks sat down to watch the entertainment while those in Birgu looked on in despair and horror. After an hour, La Riviere’s knees buckled and he hung limply from the rope, his head lolled back, mouth open in a silent scream of torment.
