Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [100]
‘Because they would use fire in return, and fry us in our shells,’ de Herrera had said briefly. ‘So far they have been careful because they wish to capture the castle intact.’
‘They will. They’ve only to wait,’ Jerott had said, his face bloodless under the cracked brown skin and the dirt. ‘They’re having Tripoli handed them on a salver.’ De Herrera had pushed past; and presently the screaming began, and there was nothing Jerott and his handful of French companions could do but go from post to post round the walls and battlements and into the halls and the sick quarters exhorting, cajoling, heartening, replacing weak links with stronger, sanctioning renewal of water, matches, shot, arrows and bolts, and listening all the time to the murmur of sedition.
When, at last, the brutal heat of the sun waned, to be replaced by the treacherous shadows and night, Jerott, irritated by a delay in the supply line, went himself to the magazine to find the reason and have a trolley loaded with sacks of shot.
He was not allowed inside. Striding along the dark corridors, through uneven passages, his way barred by great oaken or iron doors that had to be unshackled and dragged ajar by the serving brother at his side, Blyth reached the open space before the big underground magazine, whose veering oil lamps were hung on Corinthian columns and whose decaying walls were blotched with terracotta and chrome and the oval eyes and tight curled hair of Roman heterae. It had been a bathing-place, someone said. It was now a guardroom.
Three Knights of the Order were there; one by the door, the other two supervising the removal by Turkish slaves of a load of corn powder. The slaves were naked to their shaved heads. The guards did not leave their flanks until the double doors, of iron and then of timber, were shut and locked behind them. One of the knights went with the supplies. The other two remained, looking at Jerott. Both were Spanish, old fighting companions of Guenara’s; both were fully armed with helm, breastplate, dagger and sword.
In the uncertain state of the garrison, it seemed a wise precaution. A pack of frightened soldiers could hold them all to ransom with a few sacks from here. It seemed a wise precaution until Jerott was informed that although his needs would be met, he might not enter.
‘Why?’ Hard, brown, his black hair in a soaking swathe across one grazed cheek, Jerott Blyth had his bare sword in his hands when he added softly, ‘And by whose orders?’
‘Control yourself, Brother. The Marshal has agreed that lest the French knights be tempted.…’
‘Tempted to do what? Start a real defence against the Turks? By God, if I’d thought of it—’
‘You are profane,’ said the older of the two knights sharply; and Jerott opened his mouth, and then discovering the sword in his hand, shot it back into the scabbard with his head bent. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Forgive me. But there is sufficient distrust in this garrison, surely, without causing more?’
‘These are the Marshal’s orders.’
‘The Marshal would never have thought of this idea unaided. Do you know that all the doors between here and the upper floors are shut and barred, and that supplies are taking twice the time they should to reach the guns?’
He could not shake them. ‘There are sufficient reserves on the surface to keep all guns fully supplied. It is your job to ensure that these reserves are maintained.’
‘Without being allowed into the magazine?’ Jerott was sarcastic.
‘The officers and soldiers at present raising the stores are under your orders. You have only to command.’
‘Oh. They will obey, will they?’
‘So long as I tell them to,’ said the senior of the two knights. What he knew of him, Jerott had liked. But religion and politics were now in opposition,