Ash Fall by Marthese Fenech

Author:Marthese Fenech
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BDL

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The newly risen sun pierces the clouds that have settled on the horizon and imbues them with coral, their billowing edges fringed with gold. Sir Oliver Starkey takes it all in, every shade, every nuance.

Tomorrow’s sunrise is not promised.

This morning’s, however, is particularly sublime. Not a half-hour earlier, Grand Master Valette received the Viceroy’s Piccolo Soccorso at the rocky foreshore of Birgu’s sally port.

The Christians do not attempt to hide their elation. Chevalier de Robles and his men take tremendous pleasure in hoisting their banners from the walls of the fortress. Resounding cheers roll over the battlements and beyond. From his position on the wall, Sir Oliver lends his voice to the celebration, tunnelling his mouth, throwing back his head, and howling like some feral beast.

A squire approaches, his once pristine livery scorched and torn, much like his young face.

“Sir Oliver,” he begins, seemingly reluctant to interrupt the Englishman’s fun. “Forgive me, my lord, but you are needed at the main gate.”

There, an envoy presents himself, dispatched under an Ottoman flag of truce.

Oliver feels a twinge of amusement—without a doubt, the boisterous ovation swept behind the battlefront and roiled General Mustafa Pasha.

Guards blindfold the man, an old Greek slave, likely chosen by the Turks because a fellow Christian might gain the sympathy of the knights. A rather droll coincidence for Sir Oliver, a Briton conversant in Greek, whom the Grand Master has placed in charge of a composite of Greeks and Maltese.

Accompanied by the English knight, the guards steer the messenger to the Council chamber where Valette reviews plans and maps, spread across the table.

“Commander Mustafa Pasha sends terms, my lord,” the envoy says, swivelling his head as though unsure where to aim his voice because of the blindfold.

“I will have them,” Valette replies.

The slave leans towards the voice. “The same as Grand Master Villiers de l’Isle Adam accepted forty-three years earlier at Rhodos—safe conduct for you, my lord, and your men, conditional on surrender of the island. You may retire to Sicily with the customary honours of war.”

Valette crosses his arms over his chest, which relaxes with a lengthy exhalation. “Take this idiot away and hang him.”

The messenger drops to his knees. “Please, my lord! Mercy! I did not ask to be taken as a boy and enslaved. No more than I asked to be the Pasha’s herald now!”

Sir Oliver raises an eyebrow. Valette winks—rather uncharacteristic of the man. Perhaps the arrival of the relief coupled with Mustafa’s second attempt at negotiating has given Valette enough latitude to have some fun at the messenger’s expense. More like as not, the Grand Master wants the Turkish commander to understand beyond any doubt that the defenders will never surrender.

“Take him,” Valette repeats, a hard voice conveying none of the mirth in his eyes.

The guards haul the trembling slave to his feet and escort him from the chamber. Sir Oliver follows as the Grand Master leads them to a point between the bastions of Provence and Auvergne. Only now does Valette give the signal to remove the envoy’s blindfold.

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