World?’
‘If Spain lay in smoking ruins . . . what would stop them?’
Nicholas felt as if he were looking into an abyss. And he remembered something Stanley had once said. This was not just a war of the Mediterranean. It was a war for the world.
‘Spain is financed by the silver of Peru,’ said Giustiniani. ‘Portuguese ships exchange cannon fire with Turkish off Goa, in the Indian Ocean. The whole world is implicated. And then closer to home, there is still a little island called Malta.’
Nicholas looked at him sharply. ‘The Turks would sail against Malta again?’
‘The Armies of Islam will always come again.’
He felt sickened at the thought. ‘It cannot have all been for nothing.’
‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ said Mazzinghi gently. ‘That summer, six years ago. It was one of the noblest stands against Islam in a thousand years. All Europe was saved by it. Would to God I had been there.’
‘You were still suckling at the teat,’ said Giustiniani. ‘But as you must understand, English comrade – even Malta was but a battle in a far greater war.’ Giustiniani looked out to sea, and even this warrior monk of St John, his austere life dedicated to never-ending crusade for the faith, showed an expression like regret. ‘Cyprus is under siege again. And there is a great sea battle coming soon. I think it is a war that will never be done.’
They sailed into Cadiz harbour as dusk was falling, the whitewashed houses glowing warm in the last rays of the sun. There were fine churches, warehouses, mules and muleteers, a babel of seamen’s voices, wheeling seabirds, huge catches of fish being offloaded on the quayside.
‘It is against the words of the Scripture,’ said Gil de Andrada, smiling broadly and holding a purse out. ‘But here, my sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. This is for your services, to go and get drunk in a tavern. But try to stay out of trouble.’
‘Our services?’ said Nicholas.
‘Your tales of Malta. They were worth a few ducats.’
Still he hesitated. He hated taking money like this, but then again, stepping ashore on Spanish soil with not a penny to their name might have caused problems, until they found a Jewish dealer in diamonds.
The pragmatic Hodge took the purse anyway. ‘Much obliged, sir. I’m looking forward to a good hot meal myself.’
Gil de Andrada raised a hand, and behind him, Mazzinghi and Giustiniani and Fra Bernardo and the rest. ‘We bid you farewell. Perhaps you will make it back to England, and somehow keep your heads there. Play the scurvy politician and turn Protestant, for comfort’s sake.’
‘Never,’ said Nicholas. ‘My parents were Catholics. Their parents, and theirs. I am a Catholic.’
‘Well, said De Andrada. ‘Just supposing. Then write a letter to the Grand Master in Malta. Though I don’t suppose it will ever get past your English spymaster Cecil, the most cunning in Christendom, they say.’
‘Our thanks again,’ said Nicholas. ‘And fair sailing to Malta.’
They climbed down the ladder.
It was only when their feet touched dry land that they felt truly free again. Back on Christian soil, free men, and with a dozen ducats in their purse. The surge of joy and animal spirits, the warm Spanish night, were almost overwhelming.
‘By God, Hodge, we’ve made it. We’ve actually made it!’
They embraced and danced like madmen on the quayside. Fishermen stared.
‘Food,’ said Hodge.
‘Wine,’ said Nicholas.
They went to a quayside tavern and sat down on a bench in the gathering dusk and wiped their sweating brows. ‘Wine. And fresh water.’
‘Lemons,’ said Hodge, ‘or oranges. Bread. Shrimps, mussels, anchovies, sardines, olives. Those little sausages, how d’ye call ’em, churiscos —’
‘There’s bread and stew,’ said the girl. ‘So bread and stew you’ll get.’
She brought them a loaf and two platefuls of steaming stew, and two jugs and cups. They drank. Nicholas raised his
‘If Spain lay in smoking ruins . . . what would stop them?’
Nicholas felt as if he were looking into an abyss. And he remembered something Stanley had once said. This was not just a war of the Mediterranean. It was a war for the world.
‘Spain is financed by the silver of Peru,’ said Giustiniani. ‘Portuguese ships exchange cannon fire with Turkish off Goa, in the Indian Ocean. The whole world is implicated. And then closer to home, there is still a little island called Malta.’
Nicholas looked at him sharply. ‘The Turks would sail against Malta again?’
‘The Armies of Islam will always come again.’
He felt sickened at the thought. ‘It cannot have all been for nothing.’
‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ said Mazzinghi gently. ‘That summer, six years ago. It was one of the noblest stands against Islam in a thousand years. All Europe was saved by it. Would to God I had been there.’
‘You were still suckling at the teat,’ said Giustiniani. ‘But as you must understand, English comrade – even Malta was but a battle in a far greater war.’ Giustiniani looked out to sea, and even this warrior monk of St John, his austere life dedicated to never-ending crusade for the faith, showed an expression like regret. ‘Cyprus is under siege again. And there is a great sea battle coming soon. I think it is a war that will never be done.’
They sailed into Cadiz harbour as dusk was falling, the whitewashed houses glowing warm in the last rays of the sun. There were fine churches, warehouses, mules and muleteers, a babel of seamen’s voices, wheeling seabirds, huge catches of fish being offloaded on the quayside.
‘It is against the words of the Scripture,’ said Gil de Andrada, smiling broadly and holding a purse out. ‘But here, my sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. This is for your services, to go and get drunk in a tavern. But try to stay out of trouble.’
‘Our services?’ said Nicholas.
‘Your tales of Malta. They were worth a few ducats.’
Still he hesitated. He hated taking money like this, but then again, stepping ashore on Spanish soil with not a penny to their name might have caused problems, until they found a Jewish dealer in diamonds.
The pragmatic Hodge took the purse anyway. ‘Much obliged, sir. I’m looking forward to a good hot meal myself.’
Gil de Andrada raised a hand, and behind him, Mazzinghi and Giustiniani and Fra Bernardo and the rest. ‘We bid you farewell. Perhaps you will make it back to England, and somehow keep your heads there. Play the scurvy politician and turn Protestant, for comfort’s sake.’
‘Never,’ said Nicholas. ‘My parents were Catholics. Their parents, and theirs. I am a Catholic.’
‘Well, said De Andrada. ‘Just supposing. Then write a letter to the Grand Master in Malta. Though I don’t suppose it will ever get past your English spymaster Cecil, the most cunning in Christendom, they say.’
‘Our thanks again,’ said Nicholas. ‘And fair sailing to Malta.’
They climbed down the ladder.
It was only when their feet touched dry land that they felt truly free again. Back on Christian soil, free men, and with a dozen ducats in their purse. The surge of joy and animal spirits, the warm Spanish night, were almost overwhelming.
‘By God, Hodge, we’ve made it. We’ve actually made it!’
They embraced and danced like madmen on the quayside. Fishermen stared.
‘Food,’ said Hodge.
‘Wine,’ said Nicholas.
They went to a quayside tavern and sat down on a bench in the gathering dusk and wiped their sweating brows. ‘Wine. And fresh water.’
‘Lemons,’ said Hodge, ‘or oranges. Bread. Shrimps, mussels, anchovies, sardines, olives. Those little sausages, how d’ye call ’em, churiscos —’
‘There’s bread and stew,’ said the girl. ‘So bread and stew you’ll get.’
She brought them a loaf and two platefuls of steaming stew, and two jugs and cups. They drank. Nicholas raised his
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