Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  At home in England, Antonio had grown up luckier than most apprentices, who often endured hardship and even abuse while they spent years doing menial labor. As Nicolo’s son, Antonio had avoided such indignities while he learned his trade, and his quick wits had soon silenced anyone who might have carped at the owner’s son being favored.

  If Master Silvestri can’t control Olivio, Antonio would still impart his knowledge to Donato and Palino. That would satisfy part of Nicolo’s family debt. If Uncle Marco decided to reveal his latest techniques, he could do so at his home. Antonio wanted nothing more to do with these foolish and pompous Italians. A man like Olivio could strut before his helpless students all he wanted.

  By the time he reached Marco’s door, Antonio’s anger had diminished. He’d faced down a bully without losing his temper. He knocked three times, the sign for a family member requesting entry. “Bruno, it’s Antonio.”

  In a few moments, the steward opened the door. “Your friends are in the garden,” he said, shutting the door after Antonio.

  He walked through the house and stepped out into the garden. Martin and Will were there, along with Gianetta. They were all speaking in English.

  “Ah, welcome home,” Martin said.

  “Welcome home,” Gianetta repeated, trying to match Martin’s accent and intonation. “Did you have a good day at the foundry?”

  Antonio smiled. Her accent was a little off, but the words were clearly spoken. “Yes, milady,” he said, staying in English. “And how is the mistress of the house?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Gianetta replied, this time with a quick glance at Martin, who nodded approval. “Your servant has been helping me with the English.”

  “Then you will soon speak our language better than any of us,” Antonio said, giving her a little bow that brought a flush to her face.

  “I have . . .” she found herself at a loss for words and switched back to Italian, “a surprise for you. Come with me.” She led the way back into the house, through the empty dining room, and opened a narrow door. He followed her through a brief passage and found himself in the house next door.

  “This is yours for as long as you are here,” Gianetta said. “It’s much smaller, of course, but you should find it comfortable.”

  “It’s not that much smaller,” Martin said. He and Will had followed the two. “Room enough for two or three servants’ rooms on this floor, and three rooms above. Kitchen and dining room on the third.”

  Gianetta guided Antonio through the house, pointing out the features and advantages and relishing her role as hostess. “This is your bedroom,” she said, indicating a good-sized chamber on the second floor. The walk up the stairs had left her face flushed, and the color made her appear even more attractive. “There is no garden, but you can see the mainland.” The room’s only window brought a breeze from the inner harbor.

  A large bed and a tall chest occupied most of the room. Antonio’s pack and clothing lay on the bed.

  “We’ve already moved our things into the smaller bedroom,” Martin said.

  “Bruno has a cousin who can cook and clean for you,” Gianetta said. “He and his wife will be here in the morning.”

  By morning Antonio might be planning his return to England, but he saw no reason to spoil the excited girl’s surprise. “Thank you very much, Gianetta,” he said. “When Uncle Marco returns, could you please tell him I must see him as soon as possible? Now I must speak with my friends.”

  The girl’s smile vanished at the abrupt dismissal. “Of course,” she said, returning to her role as mistress of the house.

  When she left the room, Antonio slumped on the bed, and let loose a long sigh.

  “What happened?” Martin’s probing eyes had already noticed something amiss in Antonio’s demeanor.

  “There was . . . I had a quarrel with the Apprentice Master. He’s the most senior of the Arsenal’s apprentices. We nearly came to blows, and I walked out.”

  Antonio related the incident to Martin and Will, holding back nothing.

  “So what do you think will happen?” Martin sat on the end of the bed.

  “I don’t know. The other two masters, Palino and Donato, were treating me as an equal by the time we finished for the day.”

  “Is this Olivio as big a fool as you say?” Will asked.

  “Yes, what my father would call a strutting peacock. And much older than usual for the position of Apprentice Master.”

  “Such braggarts think they’re all-powerful,” Will said. “Regardless, you challenged his authority in front of others. He may not want to let that pass.”

  “If Uncle Marco takes my side . . .”

  “If your uncle takes your side,” Martin said, “Olivio’s embarrassment will be even worse. Will is right. You’ve made an enemy. If he’s put down before his peers . . . these Venetians tend to reach for their knives. Better hope your uncle tells you to go home.”

  “Is this Olivio a fighter?” Will fingered the knife at his belt.

  “Not with a sword. Olivio’s too big and clumsy. He looks like a man who likes to use his fists. But he did carry a knife on his belt.”

  Martin frowned. “Bruno told us that Venetians have organized street brawls as a sport. Each district raises a mob and challenges another. They fight it out with fists on some bridge. Sometimes people are maimed or killed. The side that is forced off loses and has to pay the winners.”

  Antonio hadn’t heard of that aspect of Venetian city life. Olivio would be perfect in such a fight, big, brawny, and hard of head.

  “We’ve neglected your training the last few days,” Martin said. “We’ll start again tonight.” He glanced out the window. “We’ve still an hour or so of daylight, and the hall downstairs is big enough. Let’s get started. Fists and knives.”

  Feeling like a fool, Antonio followed the two down the steps. Will had fought with his hands before, and he led the training. They dodged and weaved, throwing punches. Again and again Will would move in, pulling his punch at the last moment. Or he’d catch Antonio’s arm and fling him down.

  When Antonio’s arms ached, Martin took over. They used their knives, still in their sheaths, and practiced thrusting and jabbing.

  “Use your feet,” Martin ordered over and over. “If you stand still, you’re a target, not to mention that it takes too long to get moving again.”

  When Antonio had to stop to catch his breath, he saw Gianetta watching him from the passage. He had no idea how long she’d been there.

  “Why are you fighting?” Her smile had vanished and once again the mistress of the house stood before him.

  “Not fighting,” Antonio explained, “only practicing. Martin and Will are teaching me to fight.”

  She nodded. “Uncle Marco has returned and wishes to see you.” She turned and started back into the passage, then stopped and faced Martin. “Teach him well. Venice is a dangerous place.”

  As soon as Antonio had washed up and changed his clothes, he entered Marco’s study. “Yes, Uncle?”

  “You had to make trouble on your first day.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Marco.” Antonio had decided to make no excuses. “I’ll understand if you wish me to leave.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Marco answered. “Olivio is an arrogant ass who scarcely knows which end of a cannon is which. He’s already been Apprentice Master longer than anyone else, because no Master wants to give him a position of responsibility, let alone have Olivio working in his department. Unfortunately, he is well-connected, and dangerous. He’s killed two men in duels, and there are rumors of others that have died at his hand.”

  “I will not clean floors as a junior apprentice, Uncle. Not for you, not for Venice. Not even my father would ask such a thing.”

  “Is that what he wanted you to do? He never said that, only that you were insolent and insulting.” Marco lifted his hands and let them drop onto his desk. “It doesn’t matter now. Olivio was in my office demanding you be thrown o
ut of Venice. Just then, Master Palino and Donato came to speak with me. Apparently you impressed them with your skills. They refused to consider that you be treated as an apprentice. They want to work with you. Evidently Nicolo has progressed much further with his drilling techniques than I realized.”

  Antonio bit his lip but said nothing. Since Marco didn’t think much of his younger brother’s ideas, it didn’t matter if Marco thought none of Antonio’s ideas were his own.

  “What should I do, Uncle?”

  “As Guild rules state, and Olivio reminded me, I cannot rate you as a master. But I can accord you temporary journeyman status, based on Master Palino and Donato’s assessment of your qualifications. That will grant you access to the Arsenal, and you won’t have to deal with Olivio’s pettiness.”

  “Then I report to Master Donato tomorrow?”

  “Yes. You will have to apologize to Olivio, of course, and in front of the apprentices. Meanwhile, I will see to it that you learn whatever you need. I want you out of Venice as soon as possible.”

  Which couldn’t be fast enough for Antonio. “Yes, Uncle. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Despite any apology, Olivio will take your temporary status as another insult. I warned you he had friends. Do you know who they are?”

  “I don’t know anyone in Venice, Uncle.”

  “Olivio is a second cousin of Dom Francesco Falieri. His wife is Lady Masina Falieri.”

  One of the most powerful men in the Signoria, and the man who married Lady Masina less than three months after the death of Antonio’s father.

  “I see you recognize the name.” Marco took a deep breath. “Venice, for your information, is a small city, and nearly everyone is related to some degree. Fortunately, Olivio is only a distant and poor relation. Hopefully nothing will come of this, if you apologize humbly enough.”

  “I will, Uncle.”

  “Good. Then everything is settled. Now it’s past time to dine.” He stood. “But I warn you, Antonio. Don’t let anything like this happen again. I cannot put my position in jeopardy for you, even for Nicolo’s sake.”

  “I’ll grovel properly,” Antonio said. “And after we eat, perhaps you can tell me everything you told Master Donato.”

  Antonio followed his uncle out of his office and into the dining chamber. Marco had chosen his words carefully, reminding Antonio that he wasn’t really kin, that Nicolo wasn’t his real father, and that Antonio was nothing more than another bastard Venetian.

  But that, Antonio decided, worked both ways. You are not my kin, either, Uncle Marco. And if it gets me back to England sooner, I’ll be only too glad to leave you to your petty feuds, and you can deal with the Falieris and their influence.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning Marco escorted Antonio to the same factory where he’d faced Olivio. Surrounded by a crowd of what seemed like half a hundred junior apprentices, the Apprentice Master listened smugly as Antonio stood there and apologized for his words. In a three-sentence request for forgiveness, written by Silvestri, Antonio pleaded ignorance of Venetian customs and Guild rules. Head bowed, he begged forgiveness for any offense.

  The crowd of onlookers kept their broad smiles, but there was no laughter, not in the presence of Master Marco Silvestri. That completed, Marco informed them of Antonio’s temporary designation as a journeyman, with heavy emphasis on the word temporary. Even so, the smiles vanished at Antonio’s new status.

  Afterward, Olivio and Antonio shook hands before Marco led Antonio away. Both of them ignored the giggles that sounded behind them.

  “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  “No, Uncle, though I think Olivio stayed up late drinking. I could smell the wine on his breath.”

  “He does his work well enough,” Silvestri said. “Just make sure you stay out of his way.”

  Master Donato was waiting for them, with four journeymen, two of them carpenters. Three apprentices arrived within moments, fresh from having witnessed the apology.

  If Donato had heard about Antonio’s incident of yesterday and this morning’s apology, he showed no concern. Instead he waited with his sketch pad ready, and with Antonio’s help they began designing a new drill apparatus. The little group crowded around and soon the questions began. Antonio answered as best he could, several times referring to his own journal.

  In a few hours the design was complete. “That drill, when properly anchored, will hold the pressure steady against the bronze,” Antonio declared.

  Murmurs and shifting of feet came from the journeymen peering over Antonio’s shoulders, and he sensed their doubts about the apparatus’s design and capabilities.

  “It’s very large,” Donato said. “We’ll have to move things about to make room.” He turned to the carpenters. “How long to build it?”

  After a brief conference, they announced that it would be ready by tomorrow morning. Antonio concealed his surprise. He’d expected them to say three or four days.

  “Good, then my apprentices can begin on the drill bits,” Donato said. He turned to Antonio. “And since we will have a few hours, I will guide you through the wonders of our Arsenal. Master Silvestri asked that I show you everything.”

  The tour lasted over three hours. By then Antonio had been introduced to so many men that he lost count and forgot their names as soon as he heard them. Not that he cared about their names. His memory focused on the treasure trove of information that he saw. The Arsenal was a veritable vault of knowledge filled with more valuable commodities than anything gold could buy.

  Donato started with gunpowder facilities, vast underground storerooms filled with kegs of gunpowder of every size and grade. Then they visited the site where the ingredients were collected, sifted, examined, graded, and then combined. The large warehouse, open at both ends and with outsized openings in the long walls, was designed to allow the force of any explosion to escape. No one wore hobnail boots. The laborers either went barefoot or wore stockings, to reduce the chance of sparking an explosion. Charts covered the walls, along with samples of the various ores set out in a lattice work of bins. Both helped workers evaluate and categorize raw materials.

  His guide had to drag Antonio away. “Come, there’s more to see. I want you to observe the shipyard and the assembly area.”

  Antonio discovered a good-sized harbor filled the center of the Arsenal’s grounds. Galleys in various stages of repair or construction lined the docks, and he saw almost as many ships there as in London harbor.

  “We have all the materials stored here to build over 50 galleys and equip them with all the cannons and other equipment they need,” Donato said. “We can assemble a galley in less than a day. When the King of Spain visited, we built, armed, and floated a galley in under four hours as a demonstration. Of course, we prepared everything in advance and used plenty of laborers.”

  Whatever the preparation or number of workers, such construction defied anything that Antonio had ever heard of. Not even the Romans of old had such capability. He peered inside the dozens of storage buildings to see hulls, decks, masts, rowers’ benches, and thousands of oars, all ready. “I’ve never seen such a sight,” he marveled.

  “The Arsenal gives Venice its sea power. All the Mediterranean kingdoms know we can assemble a fleet in a few weeks. We don’t need to keep a large number of boats in the water, costing money and subject to weather with idle crews wasting away. That’s why even the Turks are cautious dealing with us.”

  “But the men, the rowers, where could you find so many slaves?”

  “Ah, rowers are always the problem. Especially since the Republic’s ships are rowed mostly by free men, not slaves. There are always some slaves and convicts serving out their sentences, but most oarsmen are recruited and paid by the state. When Venice goes to war, we send word to the mainland, and gather plenty of men willing to row and fight. That’s another reason why our galleys are so feared. When ships meet in combat, most of our rowers can take up arms and become fighter
s.”

  Even as Antonio watched, a call went out, and soon more than 50 workers were pushing a galley down the ramp from the assembly area into the water. Everyone cheered when the prow splashed into the harbor, and the rest of the long craft smoothly followed.

  “Is it always like this, so busy?”

  “No. These are uncertain times. Venice is shipping weapons, gunpowder, and shot to Malta, Brindisi, and other kingdoms as fast as possible,” Donato said. “Well, at least, as fast as the Knights of Saint John can pay. Boats are pushing off for Malta every week or so. That’s one problem with galleys – they can’t carry much cargo, but we don’t dare risk a slow carrack, despite the greater cargo capacity. If one of those encounters the Turks or any other pirates, they’ll never be able to fight or run.”

  A carrack usually had two or three masts, and could navigate over large stretches of water. Capable of carrying plenty of cargo, it depended on the wind to power it. Antonio knew that in the eastern Mediterranean, a carrack might be becalmed for days at a time, helpless against any galley. Galleons, which could carry even more cargo, had begun replacing carracks in the Atlantic.

  “Aren’t you worried you might exhaust your own supplies?”

  Donato laughed. “The Arsenal could supply two or three places like Malta and still have more than enough for our own needs.”

  “You have cannons for so many ships?”

  “Let me show you.” They crossed behind the busy docks and entered another of the seemingly endless warehouses. This one, filled to capacity, stored cannons of all sizes, lacking only the mounts. “We keep the cannons this way until we know each weapon’s use, whether for defense of a fortress, use at sea or on land, for sieges or battle. There’s another storage room with nothing but gun mounts.”

  Again Donato had to take Antonio’s arm and pull him along. The next warehouse held smaller weapons. “These robinets and even smaller guns are used on galleys or to defend the harbor. We’ve standardized the sizes, amounts of gunpowder, and types of shot for these, so that every gunner can operate any of them without having to worry about differences in bore or charge.”