“Well, you have proved indeed,” Caretto said, when Gervaise finished his
story, “that you are worthy of the bestowal of a gage by a fair damsel.
I do not think that many knights, however true they might be to the
donor, would have suffered months of slavery in order to regain a token,
lost by no fault or carelessness of their own; and no lady could have
blamed or held them in any way dishonoured by the loss.”
“I had a message by the Viscount De Monteuil from Lady Claudia the other
day, saying that she trusted I had kept her gage. I can assure you that
the six months of slavery were cheaply purchased by the pleasure I felt
that I still possessed it; and I was glad, too, to learn that I had not
been forgotten by her.”
“Of that you may well assure yourself, Tresham; my commandery is not far
from Genoa, and I was frequently with her, but never without her drawing
me aside and asking me if I had heard any news of you, and talking over
with me the chances there might be of your escape. I can tell you that
there are not a few young nobles of Genoa who would give much to be
allowed as you are to carry her gage, or wear her colours. You should
see her now; you would scarce know her again, so altered and improved is
she; there is no fairer face in all Italy.”
“I hope some day to meet her again,” Gervaise replied; “although I own
to knowing it were better that I should not do so. Until she gave me her
gage I had scarcely noticed her. I have, as you know, no experience of
women, and had so much on my mind at the time, what with the fuss they
were making about us, and the question of getting the prizes here, that
in truth I paid but slight attention to the fair faces of the dames of
Genoa. But the gracious and earnest way in which, though scarce more
than a child, she gave me her gage, and vowed that no other knight
should possess one so long as I lived, struck me so greatly that I own
I gave the matter much more thought than was right or becoming in one
of our Order. The incident was much more gratifying to me than all
the honour paid me by the Republic, and during the long months of
my captivity it has recurred to me so frequently that I have in vain
endeavoured to chase it from my thoughts, as sinful thus to allow myself
constantly to think of any woman. Do not mistake me, Sir Fabricius. I
am speaking to you as to a confessor, and just as I have kept her amulet
hidden from all, so is the thought of her a secret I would not part with
for my life. I do not for a moment deceive myself with the thought that,
beyond the fact that her gift has made her feel an interest in me and my
fate, she has any sentiment in the matter: probably, indeed, she looks
back upon the gift as a foolish act of girlish enthusiasm that led her
into making a promise that she now cannot but find unpleasantly binding;
for it is but natural that among the young nobles of her own rank and
country there must be some whom she would see with pleasure wearing her
colours.”
Caretto looked at him with some amusement.
“Were you not bound by your vows as a knight of the Order, how would you
feel in the matter?”
“I should feel worse,” Gervaise said, without hesitation. “I have
oftentimes thought that over, and I see that it is good for me I am so
bound. It does not decrease my chances, for, as I know, there are no
chances; but it renders it more easy for me to know that it is so.”
“But why should you say that you have no chances, Tresham?”
“Because it is easy to see that it is so. I am, save for my commandery
and prospects in the Order, a penniless young knight, without home or
estate, without even a place in my country, and that country not hers. I
know that it is not only sinful, but mad, for me to think so frequently
of her, but at least I am not mad enough to think that I can either win
the heart or aspire to the hand of one who is, you say, so beautiful,
and who is, moreover, as I know, the heiress to wide estates.”
“'There was a squire of low degree, Loved the king's daughter of
Hungarie,'” Caretto sang, with a laugh. “You are not of low degree,
but of noble family, Gervaise. You are not a squire, but a knight, and
already a very distinguished one; nor is the young lady, though she be a
rich heiress, a king's daughter.”
“At any rate, the squire was not vowed to celibacy. No, no, Sir
Fabricius, it is a dream, and a pleasant one; but I know perfectly well
that it is but a dream, and one that will do me no harm so long as I
ever bear in mind that it is so. Many a knight of the Order before me
has borne a lady's gage, and carried it valiantly in many a fight, and
has been no less true to his vows for doing so.”
“Upon the contrary, he has been all the better a knight, Gervaise; it
is always good for a knight, whether he belongs to the Order or not, to
prize one woman above all others, and to try to make himself worthy of
his ideal. As to the vow of celibacy, you know that ere now knights have
been absolved from their vows, and methinks that, after the service
you have rendered to Italy by ridding the sea of those corsairs, his
Holiness would make no difficulty in granting any request that you might
make him in that or any other direction. I don't know whether you are
aware that, after you sailed from here, letters came from Rome as well
as from Pisa, Florence, and Naples, expressive of the gratitude felt
for the services that you had rendered, and of their admiration for the
splendid exploit that you had performed.”
“No; the grand master has had his hands so full of other matters that
doubtless an affair so old escaped his memory. Indeed, he may have
forgotten that I sailed before the letters arrived.”
“Do not forget to jog his memory on the subject, for I can tell you that
the letters did not come alone, but were each accompanied by presents
worthy of the service you rendered. But as to the vows?”
“As to the vows, I feel as I said just now, that I would not free myself
of them if I could, for, being bound by them, I can the more easily and
pleasantly enjoy my dream. Besides, what should I do if I left the Order
without home, country, or means, and with naught to do but to sell my
sword to some warlike monarch? Besides, Caretto, I love the Order,
and deem it the highest privilege to fight against the Moslems, and to
uphold the banner of the Cross.”
“As to that, you could, like De Monteuil and many other knights here,
always come out to aid the Order in time of need. As to the vows, I am
not foolish enough to suppose that you would ask to be relieved from
them, until you had assured yourself that Claudia was also desirous that
you should be free.”
“It is absurd,” Gervaise said, almost impatiently. “Do not let us talk
any more about it, Caretto, or it will end by turning my head and making
me presumptuous enough to imagine that the Lady Claudia, who only saw
me for three or four days, and that while she was still but a girl, has
been thinking of me seriously since.”
“I do not know Claudia's thoughts,” Caretto remarked drily, “but I
do know that last year she refused to listen to at least a score of
excellent offers for her hand, including one from a son of the doge
himself, and that without any reasonable cause assigned by her, to the
great wonderment of all, seeing that she does not appear to have any
leaning whatever towards a life in a nunnery. At any rate, if at some
future time you should pluck up heart of grace to tell her you love her,
and she refuses you, you will at least have the consolation of knowing
that you are not the only one, by a long way, whose suit has been
rejected. And now as to our affairs here. Methinks that tomorrow that
battery will open fire upon us. It seems completed.”
“Yes, I think they are nearly ready,” Gervaise said, turning his mind
resolutely from the subject they had been discussing. “From the palace
wall I saw, before I came down here, large numbers of men rolling huge
stones down towards the church. Our guns were firing steadily; but could
they load them ten times as fast as they do, they would hardly be able
to stop the work, so numerous are those engaged upon it.”
“Yes we shall soon learn something of the quality of their artillery.
The tower is strong enough to resist ordinary guns, but it will soon
crumble under the blows of such enormous missiles. Never have I seen or
heard in Europe of cannon of such size; but indeed, in this matter the
Turks are far ahead of us, and have, ever since cannon were first cast,
made them of much larger size than we in Europe have done. However,
there is one comfort; they may destroy this fort, but they have still
to cross the water, and this under the fire of the guns on the palace
walls; when they once land, their great battery must cease firing, and
we shall be able to meet them on equal terms in the breach. Fight
as hard as they may, I think we can hold our own, especially as
reinforcements can come down to us more quickly than they can be brought
across the water.”
The next morning, at daybreak, the deep boom of a gun announced to the
city that the great battering cannon had begun their work. In the fort
the sleeping knights sprang to their feet at the concussion that seemed
to shake it to its centre. They would have rushed to the walls, but
Caretto at once issued orders that no one should show himself on the
battlements unless under special orders.
“There is nothing whatever to be done until the Turks have breached the
wall, and are ready to advance to attack us. Every sword will be needed
when that hour comes, and each man owes it to the Order to run no
useless risk, until the hour when he is required to do his share of the
fighting.”
The time required to reload the great cannon was considerable, but at
regular intervals they hurled their heavy missiles against the wall,
the distance being so short that every ball struck it. After some twenty
shots had been fired, Caretto, accompanied by Gervaise, went out by a
small gate on the eastern side of the tower, and made their way round
by the foot of the wall to see what effect the shots had produced on the
solid masonry.
Caretto shook his head.
“It is as I feared,” he said. “No stones ever quarried by man could long
resist such tremendous blows. In some places, you see, the stones are
starred and cracked, in others the shock seems to have pulverised the
spot where it struck; but, worse, still, the whole face of the wall
is shaken. There are cracks between the stones, and some of these are
partly bulged out and partly driven in. It may take some time before
a breach is effected, but sooner or later the wall will surely be
demolished.”
“I will go up and make my report to the grand master.”
“Do so, Gervaise. I almost wonder that he has not himself come down to
see how the wall is resisting.”
Gervaise, on reaching the palace, heard that D'Aubusson was at present
engaged in examining no less a person than Maitre Georges, the right
hand of Paleologus, who had soon after daybreak presented himself before
the wall on the other side of the town, declaring that he had left the
Turkish service, and craving to be admitted. News had been sent at once
to D'Aubusson, who despatched two of the senior knights, with orders to
admit him and receive him with all honour. This had been done, and
the grand master, with some of his council, were now closeted with
the newcomer. Several of the knights were gathered in the courtyard,
discussing the event. There was no question that if the renegade came in
good faith, his defection would be a serious blow to the assailants,
and that his well known skill and experience would greatly benefit the
defenders.
“For my part,” Sir John Boswell, who formed one of the detachment which
the English langue, as well as all the others, contributed to form the
garrison of the palace said, “I would have hung the fellow up by the
neck over the gateway, and he should never have set foot within the
walls. Think you that a man who has denied his faith and taken service
with his enemies is to be trusted, whatever oaths he may take?”
“You must remember, Boswell,” another said, “that hitherto Georges has
not fought against Christians, but has served Mahomet in his wars with
other infidels. I am not saying a word in defence of his having become a
renegade; yet even a renegade may have some sort of heart, and now that
he has been called upon to fight against Christians he may well have
repented of his faults, and determined to sacrifice his position and
prospects rather than aid in the attack on the city.”
“We shall see. As for me, I regard a renegade as the most contemptible
of wretches, and have no belief that they have either a heart or
conscience.”
When Maitre Georges came out from the palace, laughing and talking with
the two knights who had entered with him, it was evident that he was
well pleased with his reception by the grand master, who had assigned
to him a suite of apartments in the guest house. In reality, however,
D'Aubusson had no doubt that his object was a treacherous one, and that,
like Demetrius, who had come under the pretence of bringing about a
truce, his object was to find out the weak points and to supply the
Turks with information. Georges had, in his conversation with him, laid
great stress on the strength of the Turkish army, the excellent quality
of the troops, and the enormous battering train that had been prepared.
But every word he spoke but added to the grand master's suspicions; for
if the man considered that the capture of the city was morally certain,
it would be simply throwing away his life to enter it as a deserter.
The grand master was, however, too politic to betray any doubt of
Georges' sincerity. Were he treated as a traitor, Paleologus might
find another agent to do the work. It was, therefore, better to feign
a belief in his story, to obtain all the information possible from him,
and at the same time to prevent his gaining any knowledge of affairs
that would be of the slightest use to the Turks. Instructions were
therefore given to the two knights that, while Georges was to be treated
with all courtesy, he was to be strictly watched, though in such a
manner that he should be in ignorance of it, and that, whenever he
turned his steps in the direction of those parts of the defences where
fresh works had been recently added and preparations made of which it
was desirable the Turks should be kept in ignorance, he was to be met,
as if by accident, by one of the knights told off for the purpose, and
his steps diverted in another direction.
Georges soon made himself popular among many of the knights, who had no
suspicions of his real character. He was a man of exceptional figure,
tall, strong, splendidly proportioned, with a handsome face and gallant
bearing. He was extremely well informed on all subjects, had travelled
widely, had seen many adventures, was full of anecdote, and among
the younger knights, therefore, he was soon regarded as a charming
companion. His very popularity among them aided D'Aubusson's plans, as
Georges was generally the centre of a group of listeners, and so had but
few opportunities of getting away quietly to obtain the information he
sought. Gervaise delivered his report to the grand master.
“I am free now,” D'Aubusson said, “and will accompany you to St.
Nicholas. I have been detained by the coming of this man Georges. He
is a clever knave, and, I doubt not, has come as a spy. However, I have
taken measures that he shall learn nothing that can harm us. No lives
have been lost at the tower, I hope?”
“No, sir; Caretto has forbidden any to show themselves on the walls.”
“He has done well. This is no time for rash exposure, and where there is
naught to be gained, it is a grave fault to run risks.”
On arriving at the end of the mole, D'Aubusson, accompanied by Caretto,
made an investigation of the effect of the Turks' fire.
“'Tis worse than I expected,” he said. “When we laid out our
fortifications the thought that such guns as these would be used against
them never entered our minds. Against ordinary artillery the walls would
stand a long battering; but it is clear that we shall have to depend
more upon our swords than upon our walls for our defence. Fortunately,
although the Turks have indeed chosen the spot where our walls are most
open to the assaults of their battery, they have to cross the water to
attack the breach when it is made, and will have to fight under heavy
disadvantage.”
“Tresham was last night saying to me, that it seemed to him it would not
be a difficult matter for one who spoke Turkish well, to issue at night
on the other side of the town, and to make his way round to the battery,
disguised of course as a Turkish soldier, and then, mixing with the
artillery men, to drive a spike into one of the touch holes. He said
that he would gladly volunteer for the task.”
D'Aubusson shook his head decidedly. “It would be too dangerous; and
even were a spike driven in, the Turks would have no great difficulty
in extracting it, for the tubes are so big that a man might crawl in and
drive the spike up from the inside. Moreover, could one or more of the
guns be disabled permanently, others would be brought down and set in
their place, so that nothing would be gained but a very short delay,
which would be of no advantage to us, and certainly would in no way
justify the risking of the life of so distinguished a young knight.”
The bombardment of St. Nicholas continued for some days. A breach was
fast forming in the wall, and a slope composed of the fallen rubbish
extended from the front of the breach to the water's edge. The grand
master was frequently on the spot, and as this was at present the sole
object of attack, the garrison was strengthened by as many knights as
could be sheltered within its walls. At night the shattered masonry
that had fallen inside was carried out, and with it a new work thrown
up across the mole, to strengthen the defence on that side, should the
enemy land between the town and the fort. Small batteries were planted
wherever they could sweep the approaches to the breach, and planks
studded with nails were sunk in the shallow water of the harbour, to
impede the progress of those who might attempt to swim or wade across.
For the time, therefore, the functions of Gervaise were in abeyance, and
he laboured with the rest of the garrison at the defences.
At daybreak on the 9th of June, a great number of vessels and boats,
crowded with soldiers, bore down on St. Nicholas. As they approached,
every gun on the fortifications that could be brought to bear upon them
opened fire; but in a dense mass they advanced. Some made their way to
the rocks and landed the soldiers there; others got alongside the mole;
but the majority grounded in the shallow water of the harbour, and
the troops, leaping out, waded to the foot of the breach. On its crest
D'Aubusson himself had taken up his station. Beside him stood Caretto,
and around them the most distinguished knights of the Order. With wild
shouts the Turks rushed up the breach, and swarmed thickly up the ruined
masonry until, at its summit, they encountered the steel clad line of
the defenders. For hours the terrible struggle continued. As fast as the
head of the Turkish column broke and melted away against the obstacle
they tried in vain to penetrate, fresh reinforcements took the place
of those who had fallen, and in point of valour and devotion the Moslem
showed himself a worthy antagonist of the Christian. It was not only
at the breach that the conflict raged. At other points the Turks, well
provided with ladders, fixed them against the walls, and desperately
strove to obtain a footing there. From the breach clouds of dust rose
from under the feet of the combatants, mingling with the smoke of
the cannon on the ramparts, the fort, and Turkish ships, and at times
entirely hid from the sight of the anxious spectators on the walls of
the town and fortress, and of the still more numerous throng of Turks
on St. Stephen's Hill, the terrible struggle that continued without a
moment's intermission.
The combatants now fought in comparative silence. The knights, exhausted
and worn out by their long efforts beneath the blazing sun, still showed
an unbroken front; but it was only occasionally that the battle cry of
the Order rose in the air, as a fresh body of assailants climbed up the
corpse strewn breach. The yell of the Moslems rose less frequently;
they sacrificed their lives as freely and devotedly as those who led the
first onset had done; but as the hours wore on, the assurance of victory
died out, and a doubt as to whether it was possible to break through the
line of their terrible foes gained ground. D'Aubusson himself, although,
in spite of the remonstrances of the knights, always in the thickest
of the fray, was yet ever watchful, and quickly perceived where the
defenders were hotly pressed, and where support was most needed.
Gervaise fought by his side, so that, when necessary, he could carry his
orders to a little body of knights, drawn up in reserve, and despatch
them to any point where aid was needed. The cannon still continued their
fire on both sides. A fragment of one of the stone balls from a basilisk
struck off D'Aubusson's helmet. He selected another from among the
fallen knights, and resumed his place in the line. Still the contest
showed no signs of terminating. The Turkish galleys ever brought up
reinforcements, while the defenders grew fewer, and more exhausted.
During a momentary pause, while a fresh body of Turks were landing,
Gervaise said to the grand master,
“If you will give me leave, sir, I will go out at the watergate, swim
up the inner harbour, and in a very short time turn a few of the craft
lying there into fire ships, and tow them out with a couple of galleys.
At any rate, we can fire all these craft that have grounded, and create
a panic among the others.”
“Well thought of, Gervaise! I will write an order on one of my tablets.
Do you take my place for a minute.” Withdrawing behind the line, the
grand master sat down on a fragment of stone, and, drawing a tablet
from a pouch in his girdle, he wrote on it, “In all things carry out
the instructions of Sir Gervaise Tresham: he is acting by my orders and
authority, and has full power in all respects.”
He handed the slip of parchment to Gervaise, who hurried to the water
gate in the inner harbour, threw off his helmet and armour, issued out
at the gate, and plunged into the sea. He swam out some distance, in
order to avoid the missiles of the Turks, who were trying to scale the
wall from the mole, and then directed his course to St. Michael's, which
guarded the inner entrance to the fort. He had fastened the parchment
in his hair, and as some of the garrison of the tower, noticing his
approach, came down to assist him, he handed it to them and was at once
taken to the commander of St. Michael, answering as he went the anxious
questions as to how matters stood at the breach.
“Aid is sorely needed. The Turks have gained no foot of ground as
yet, but many of the knights are killed and most of the others utterly
exhausted with heat and labour. Unless aid reaches them speedily, the
tower, with all its defenders, will be lost.”
The instant the commander knew what was required, he bade six of the
knights embark with Gervaise in a boat moored behind the tower, and row
up the harbour to the spot where the shipping was all massed together,
protected by the high ground of the fortress from the Turkish fire.
Gervaise waved his hand, as he neared the end of the harbour, to the
officer on the walls, and while the six knights who were with him ran
off to tell the master of the galleys to prepare two of them to leave
the port instantly, Gervaise explained to the officer in charge of the
wall at that point the plan that he was charged to carry out, and asked
for twenty knights to assist him.
“It will leave us very weak along here,” the officer said. “Then let me
have ten, and send for another ten from other parts of the wall. Here is
the grand master's order, giving me full power and authority, and it is
all important that no single moment shall be wasted.”
“You shall have twenty of mine,” the officer said, “and I will draw ten
from the langue next to us to fill their places.”
In a few minutes the quay was a scene of bustle and activity. Gervaise
picked out ten of the smallest vessels; the knights went among the other
ships, seized all goods and stores that would be useful as combustibles,
and compelled the crews to carry them on board the craft chosen as fire
ships. Then barrels were broken open, old sails and faggots saturated
with oil and pitch, and in little more than a quarter of an hour after
his arrival, Gervaise had the satisfaction of seeing that the ten boats
were all filled with combustibles, and ready to be set on fire. He now
called for volunteers from the sailors, and a number of them at once
came forward, including many of the captains. He placed one of these in
command of each fire ship, and gave him four of the sailors.
“The galleys will tow you out,” he said, “and take you close to the
enemy's ships. We shall range you five abreast, and when I give the
word, the one at the end of the line will steer for the nearest Turk,
and, with oars and poles, get alongside. The captain will then light the
train of powder in the hold, throw the torch among the straw, and see
that, if possible, the men fasten her to the Turk; but if this cannot
be done, it is not essential, for in the confusion the enemy will not
be able to get out of the way of the fire ship as it drives down against
her. At the last moment you will take to your boats and row back here.
We will protect you from the assaults of any of the Turkish ships.”
Having made sure that all the captains understood the orders, Gervaise
took command of one of the galleys, the senior knight going on board
the other. The ten fire ships were now poled out until five were ranged
abreast behind each craft; Gervaise requested the commander of the other
galley to lie off the point of St. Nicholas until he had got rid of his
five fire ships, then to advance and launch his craft against the Turks.
The smoke of the guns lay so heavy on the water, and the combatants were
so intent upon the struggle at the breach, that Gervaise steered his
galley into the midst of the Turkish vessels laden with troops ready
to disembark, without attracting any notice; then, standing upon the
taffrail, he signalled to the two outside boats to throw off their ropes
and make for the Turkish ship nearest to them. This they did, and it was
not until a sheet of flame rose alongside, that the enemy awoke to the
sense of danger.
The other three fire ships were almost immediately cast off. Two of them
were equally successful, but the Turks managed to thrust off the third.
She drifted, however, through the shipping, and presently brought
up alongside one of the vessels fast aground. With but ten knights,
Gervaise could not attack one of the larger vessels, crowded with
troops; but there were many fishing boats that had been pressed into the
service, and against one of these Gervaise ordered the men to steer the
galley. A shout to the rowers made them redouble their efforts. A yell
of dismay arose from the Turkish troops as they saw the galley bearing
down upon them, and frantic efforts were made to row out of her way.
These were in vain, for her sharp prow struck them amidships, cutting
the boat almost in two, and she sank like a stone, the galley, without a
pause, making for another boat.
Looking back, Gervaise saw that his consort was already in the midst of
the Turks, among whom the wildest confusion prevailed, each ship trying
to extricate herself from the mass, upon which the batteries of the
fortress now concentrated their efforts. Two fresh columns of flame
had already shot up, and satisfied that all was going well, Gervaise
continued his attack upon the smaller craft, six of whom were overtaken
and sunk. Three or four of the larger vessels endeavoured to lay
themselves alongside the galley, but her speed was so superior to theirs
that she easily evaded the attempts, and, sweeping round, rejoined
the other galley which had just issued from among the Turks, who were
already in full retreat. The defenders of St. Nicholas, reanimated by
the sight of the discomfiture of the Turkish fleet, with a loud shout
rushed down from the spot which they had held for so many hours, drove
their assailants before them, and flung themselves upon the crowd
assembled at the foot of the breach.
These had already suffered terribly from the fire of the batteries.
Again and again they had striven to storm the mound of rubbish, and had
each time been repulsed, with the loss of their bravest leaders. Seeing
themselves abandoned by the ships, a panic seized them, and as the
knights rushed down upon them they relinquished all thoughts of
resistance, and dashed into the shallow water. Many were drowned in the
attempt to swim across the deep channel in the middle, some succeeded,
while others made their escape in the boats in which they had been
brought ashore from the ships.
The struggle was over. The two galleys made for the breach, and the
knights leapt out as soon as the boats grounded, and, wading ashore,
joined the group that had so long and gallantly sustained the unequal
fight. Fatigue, exhaustion, and wounds, were forgotten in the triumph
of the moment, and they crowded round the grand master and Caretto, to
whose joint exertions the success of the defence was so largely due.
“Do not thank me, comrades,” D'Aubusson said. “No man has today fought
better than the rest. Every knight has shown himself worthy of the fame
of our Order. The meed of praise for our success is first due to Sir
Gervaise Tresham. At the moment when I began to doubt whether we could
much longer withstand the swarms of fresh foes who continued to pour
against us, while we were overcome by heat and labour, Sir Gervaise, who
had throughout been fighting at my side, offered to swim into the port,
to fit out a dozen of the merchant craft there as fire ships, and to tow
them round into the midst of the Turkish vessels behind the two galleys
that were lying ready for service. I remembered how he had before
destroyed the corsair fleet at Sardinia with fire ships, and the
proposal seemed to me as an inspiration sent from Heaven, at this moment
of our great peril. I wrote him an order, giving him full authority to
act in my name, and in a time that seemed to me incredibly short I saw
him round the point with the fire ships in tow. You saw, as well as
I did, how completely the plan was carried out. Ten or twelve of the
Turkish ships are a mass of flames, and besides these I noted that
the galley ran down and destroyed several smaller craft filled with
soldiers. The panic in the ships spread to the troops on shore, and
rendered the last part of our task an easy one. I say it from my heart
that I consider it is to Sir Gervaise Tresham that we owe our success,
and that, had it not been for his happy thought, the sun would have gone
down on our dead bodies lying on the summit of the breach, and on the
Turkish flag waving over the fort of St. Nicholas.”
Until now none of the defenders of the breach had known how what seemed
to them an almost miraculous change in the fortune of the fight had come
about, and they thronged round Gervaise, shaking his hand, and many of
them warmly embracing him, according to the custom of the time.
“It was but natural that the idea should occur to me,” he said, “having
before successfully encountered them with fire ships; and as all on
shore, and especially these knights, aided me with all their power, it
took but a brief time to get the boats in readiness for burning. Much
credit, too, is due to the merchant captains and sailors who volunteered
to take charge of the fire ships and to manoeuver them alongside the
Turks.”
The grand master and the knights who had borne the brunt of the battle
now retired along the mole to the town, bearing with them their most
seriously wounded comrades, and assisting those whose wounds were less
severe. The twenty knights who had manned the two galleys remained in
the fort. Caretto continued in command, as, although he had suffered
several wounds, he refused to relinquish his post. Gervaise, who
had,--thanks partly to his skill with his weapons, but still more to
the temper of the splendid suit of armour presented to him by
Genoa,--escaped without a scratch, volunteered to remain with him until
next morning, his principal motive for making the request being his
desire to escape from further congratulations and praise for the success
of his plan. After Caretto's wounds had been dressed by the knights, and
he and Gervaise had partaken of some food and wine, which they greatly
needed, Caretto was persuaded to lie down for a time, the knights
promising to bring him word at once if they perceived any movement
whatever on the part of the enemy. Gervaise remained with him, feeling,
now the excitement was over, that he sorely needed rest after his
exertions in the full heat of the summer sun.
“It has been a great day, Gervaise,” Caretto said, “and I only hope that
when again I go into battle with the infidel, I shall have you at hand
to come forward at the critical moment with some master stroke to secure
victory. Claudia will be pleased indeed when she hears how the knight
who bears her gage has again distinguished himself. She will look on the
gay and idle young fops of Genoa with greater disdain than ever. Now you
need not say anything in protest, the more so as I feel grievously weak,
and disposed for sleep.”