Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [62]
And, ‘Is this the castle which thou toldest the Grand Seigneur might so easily be taken?’ said Sinan Pasha, white between turban and beard, to the square and silent Dragut at his side. ‘Surely,’ said Sinan Pasha bitterly, ‘the eagle could never have chosen the point of a steeper rock for her eyrie.’
Then the seamed, lashless eyes of Dragut surveyed them; surveyed Salah Rais his fellow corsair and Sinan the Jew his general, and closed as the flat, turbaned face with its grey spade-beard clenched in a smile.
‘Warriors of the Faith, why then are we here?’ said the old man agreeably. ‘The Unbelievers who harry the Edifice of God are within the Fort St Angelo, there before thee. Is thy quarrel with peasants and fishermen? God the Master of Worlds requires thee to cleanse that vile rock of its reptiles. God,’ said Dragut coldly, ‘and the shadow of Allâh on earth, the Sultan Suleiman Khan, son of the Sultan Selim Khan, son of Sultan Bayezid Khan, will meet failure with the righteous anger that slays.’
And in the council of war which followed, under the flagship’s silken canopy, Dragut the Drawn Sword of Islâm and sworn enemy of the Knights of St John, partly prevailed. Tripoli was to be their main objective. Suleiman’s order to his general had been to take Malta and Gozo if he could; but to risk nothing that would endanger the taking of Tripoli.
But first, the Emperor Charles was to be given a last chance. So, sailing beforehand to Sicily, Sinan Pasha had reminded the Viceroy of the treaties binding Charles and himself, and had asked to receive back in good faith the Sultan’s former city of Bône.
Temporizing; all too clearly temporizing until the fine sailing days should pass and the fleet be constrained to set out harmlessly for the Sublime Porte, the Viceroy replied that having no advice on that score, he must refer the case back to his Master.
It was his last chance; Malta’s last chance; Tripoli’s last chance. Silently, the envoy had bowed himself out; silently, Sinan Pasha had heard the news and, lifting anchor that night, had turned south and burned and plundered his way down the Sicilian coast. Suleiman’s orders had been to do nothing on Malta which would weaken the major onslaught on Tripoli. But they were not women, or bath attendants. To land on Malta and return empty handed would demean even these.
Dragut could not persuade them to attack Birgu and St Angelo; not even his tongue or his presence could stiffen Sinan Pasha to that. But he did convince them, at last, that they must march on Mdina, six miles to the north-west, where undefended, the Maltese nobles, their people and their riches would have recoiled in fright. And so, because of the courage of Nicholas Upton and Gimeran the Spaniard, the Chevalier George Adorne of Genoa, Commander of Mdina, with thirteen thousand refugees, three Knights of St John and almost no other soldiers at all, suffered Sinan Pasha’s attack.
*
For thirty-six hours the little capital Mdina waited, gently mannered, classical in thought and in form; and perched like a rock-dove above the baked plains of Malta, looked for help which failed to arrive.
From the first indication of danger—the distant columns of steel, the hazy columns of smoke—they had done what they could. On the second evening, as prepared as he could ever hope to be, the Governor Adorne, with residents and refugees pressed into makeshift companies under his handful of knights, stood with his men and watched the Turkish army encamp.
Behind him were eight courageous attempts at ambush. Eight times he had sent out a knight with a troop of his ablest men to fire and harry the oncoming Turks. But three leaders were not enough; and he had no more. Bleeding, fly-coated, asleep on their feet, the knights were wholly spent. Sleepless himself for two days and a night