Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

“But when the attack came,” de Guiral went on, “Antonio’s battery sank nine of the ten galleys. Only one managed to turn around and flee back to the opposite side of the harbor. Three of the vessels reached the base of the walls, but the battery’s guns switched to grapeshot and stones, and cut them down. Not one Turk reached the top of Senglea’s wall, and we did not lose a man.”

  Annet de Clermont raised the question. “How many Turks died in the attempt?”

  “At least 800 to 900 Janissaries,” de Guiral said, “plus another 250 crewmen from the galleys, and 500 or so slaves. Unfortunately, most of those were probably Christians. Chained as they were, they all drowned when the galleys sank.”

  The Knights were stunned. In repelling the Turks’ assault on St. Michael and the landward side of Senglea, they had killed an estimated 2,000 enemy soldiers, and lost 350 Knights and fighting men in the process. Now they heard from de Guiral that a handful of men and five guns by themselves had killed at least 1,600 men, possibly more. And almost 1,000 of them were Janissaries, the best fighters the Turks possessed.

  “Are you sure of these numbers?” Chevalier de Robles. “They seem so . . . almost impossible.”

  Sir Oliver answered that question. “Yes, just before this meeting, the Chevalier and I interviewed Antonio and some of the others. Nine galleys were sunk, and there were no survivors, not even a single prisoner or slave.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Then de Guiral offered more information. “After the guns ceased firing, I saw Antonio walk down to Dockyard Creek and kill two or three Turks with his sword. The rest of his crew joined him, and any survivors that reached St. Angelo were killed.”

  “I asked Antonio to join us,” Sir Oliver said, “but he declined, saying that he needed to inspect the damaged magazine in Senglea and begin repairs. Antonio is now the second most experienced master gunner in Malta, after Sergeant Ruvo, who also is injured. I might add that Antonio served as master gunner of St. Elmo for more than a week, until he was injured right before the fort fell.”

  Near the end of the day’s battle, a small powder magazine in Senglea exploded. Apparently a spark or burning ember from the firing guns had drifted inside. The explosion destroyed part of Senglea’s wall on the northwest side. Several gunners died, and Sergeant Pozzo, the master gunner of Senglea, had suffered serious injuries.

  “This Antonio should be summoned.” One of the older Knights raised his voice. “He should confirm what happened.”

  Chevalier de Guiral spoke even before Sir Oliver. “If Antonio says that he is needed in Senglea, then that is where he should be. After what happened today, I would accept his advice or decisions without hesitation.” He paused a moment. “Before the attack, I questioned Antonio’s courage and ability. I now admit that I was wrong to doubt him. It would never have occurred to me to construct a battery outside the walls.”

  For de Guiral to interrupt one of his senior Knights raised eyebrows around the table. “I, too, would accept Antonio’s decision,” Sir Oliver said. “He knows what is the best use of his time, and we have all we need to know from Chevalier de Guiral, who was in command and observed the entire attack.”

  None of the Knights would challenge Sir Oliver’s words, especially when he spoke so strongly.

  “Present or not,” Grand Master Valette said, “Antonio’s efforts are a sign from God. For so few to kill so many of the disbelievers and without any loss of life, is remarkable. And it seems doubtful that Senglea would have survived if even a few hundred Janissaries breached the walls.”

  Most of the Knights had the same unspoken thought. They had trained all their lives to fight on the front line, wearing armor and wielding sword and axe and lance. In today’s battle, they had proved both their talents and their courage.

  But Antonio’s use of his cannons had made their lifelong dedication and skill almost an afterthought. Truly, each one knew in his heart the age of the knight in combat was passing, overshadowed by the increasing use of gunpowder. Guns, not swords, would rule the battlefields in the future.

  “Perhaps, Grand Master,” Sir Oliver kept his voice firm to reinforce his words, “this council should consider appointing Antonio a Knight of Grace. That rank will allow him to move about Malta and give such orders as are permitted. After today’s events, this seems to me to be warranted.”

  In the hierarchy of the Knights of St. John Hospitaller, the Grand Master held the highest rank among the Fighting Knights. All in this rank were required to be of noble birth, documented for four generations, and each applicant had to be nominated and approved by the members. After the Fighting Knights were the Chaplains of Obedience, for whom there were no restrictions on birth. They labored in the hospitals and chapels of the Order, their lives dedicated to serving God.

  The Serving Brothers were third in rank, and their service was military in nature. They dedicated their lives to the order. Again, this category had no birth restrictions. The final two ranks were the Magistral Knights, and the Knights of Grace, both honorary knights who were appointed by the Grand Master and the Council for their special services to the order.

  This time Grand Master Valette turned toward Sir Oliver, who rarely spoke so forcefully at the council meetings.

  “Antonio is young. Perhaps he is not ready for such responsibility. But I will put his name before the Council. Who will speak in his favor?”

  “I will.” Chevalier de Guiral spoke first. “Those who fight so bravely in defense of Malta should be given the recognition they merit.”

  “As will I. On the journey to Malta,” de Clermont said, “I witnessed Antonio’s maturity and judgment, and saw the way he dealt with the Venetians. If Sir Oliver says he is worthy, then that is enough for me.”

  “And I also.” Chevalier de Robles had commanded this day at Senglea, and fought in the front line throughout the entire attack. “The brave Knights and men who died today defending Senglea would want nothing less for the man who helped ensure our victory.”

  “I saw him direct the cannons in the first attack on Birgu.” Sir Otto’s deep voice carried conviction. “At first I doubted his skill, but he proved himself in that battle and with the advice he gave afterward. I approve his promotion.”

  The Grand Master waited a moment, but no one else had anything to offer. “I must mention that Commandant Broglia, in his final dispatch, included Antonio’s name on the list of those whose service had been noted. He praised both Antonio’s skill and bravery. Is there anyone who will speak against Antonio being made a Knight of Grace?”

  No one dissented. “Then, with God’s blessing, I appoint Antonio a Knight of Grace. Sir Oliver will instruct him in his duties and the requirements of his rank, and see that he remains worthy. Now you can return to your posts. The Turks may attack again tomorrow, and we all have much to do.”

  Chapter 47

  July 16

  The next morning found Antonio working to construct a temporary powder magazine for Senglea. The wall where the explosion occurred had proven too damaged to repair, so Antonio and three Maltese masons had decided to build a new storage facility. The small structure, intended as a convenient holding area, consisted of blocks of stacked stone.

  No one had the time or materials to fashion a real magazine. Until then, powder cartridges and other explosive materials would be stored behind these blocks. Its only real protection was the location – deep within the corner of Senglea’s walls. Only a very lucky or wildly errant cannonball would strike it here.

  He had assumed charge of the magazine rebuilding, and the masons and carpenters accepted his authority. The Master Gunner of Senglea, Sergeant Pozzo, had taken a head wound during yesterday’s shelling. Despite being dizzy and weak, he had returned this morning to inspect the damaged magazine and oversee its replacement. But as soon as Antonio arrived, Pozzo ordered his men to follow Antonio’s orders. A few minutes later, Pozzo collapsed and was taken to the hospital beneath Senglea, where Chaplains would see to his injuries.

&
nbsp; By midmorning Antonio had made a fair start on the magazine. Martin and Will were laboring there as well, both men stripped to the waist and covered with sweat and rock dust. Moving the heavy blocks took brute strength, and Antonio had to admire the Maltese masons who seemed to have worked as stone cutters and joiners all their lives.

  Since no one knew when the Turks might attack again, or against what part of the Knights’ defense, Antonio and his men wasted not a moment. The bombardment of the forts had resumed at dawn, but that in itself did not signal another assault. After losing nine galleys, he did not think the Turks would dare to cross the harbor again. Chevalier de Guiral had taken charge of the hidden battery, leaving the guns in place with a few boys to guard and maintain their readiness.

  When Sir Oliver arrived, Antonio used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, and nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Sir Oliver.” The older Knight’s presence usually meant some new task or problem. The men working continued at their tasks. Martin and Will could hear the Knight’s words plain enough.

  “Good morning, Antonio.” Sir Oliver spoke in English, always enjoying the chance to converse in his native tongue. “We missed you at the Council meeting last night. Chevalier de Guiral spoke highly of you. Without your battery, Senglea might now lie in enemy hands.”

  Antonio shrugged. “I did what I could. The Turks didn’t know we were there. That made it easy to sink them.”

  “Yet the Council was very impressed. The Grand Master has awarded you the rank of Knight of Grace. It is a great honor, especially for one so young.”

  As always, comments about his age tended to vex Antonio. “And what exactly does it mean, Sir Oliver?”

  “It means that you are an honorary member of the Knights of St. John Hospitaller.”

  “Sir Oliver, I have no wish to become a member of your Order. If I survive the siege, I intend to return to Venice as soon as possible. I have business there.”

  “You still seek revenge on those who left you behind? Perhaps it would be wiser to leave their punishment to God.”

  Antonio had no intention of leaving Olivio to God’s justice. Thoughts of revenge against the cowardly murderer haunted Antonio every day and night, and he planned on sending the murderer straight to hell. But Antonio had no interest in arguing with the English Knight.

  “That would probably be best, Sir Oliver,” Antonio said, but did not say that he would do so. “But what do you need from me? Sergeant Pozzo wants this magazine rebuilt as soon as possible, and then I must return to St. Angelo and help Sergeant Ruvo.”

  “I would like you to accept the Council’s offer. As a Knight of Grace, you would be able to move freely about the forts, offer suggestions to help the defense of Malta, present your ideas and needs to the command post, and deal directly with the Knights. You would be a member of the Order.”

  Sir Oliver obviously felt sincere about the special honor being extended. Nevertheless, Antonio was about to refuse the offer when he remembered his companions. He had asked for them to help establish the battery, but as able-bodied fighting men, they could easily be sent to defend the ramparts. No place was safe in Malta, but almost everyone had to man the walls, ready to repel the Turks. Working in the magazine carried its own risks, but remained safer than most assignments.

  “If I accept the honor, does that mean that my companions can remain with me, working in the magazines? Of course, we would all rush to the walls in the event of an attack.”

  This time it was Sir Oliver’s turn to hesitate. Every man able to fight should be assigned to defend the forts, but there were exceptions, and perhaps the two Englishmen who had risked much to journey to Malta might be of more value to Antonio.

  “Yes, I think that might be allowed. They have experience working in the magazine and with cannons, and that is where your principal duties would be.”

  “Then I will gladly accept the honor you give me,” Antonio said. “Provided, of course, that if the siege ends, I can leave the Order to return to Venice.”

  “We could discuss that at some future time, Antonio. But only the fighting Knights are bound by their vows to serve the Grand Master and the Order for their lifetimes. However, in the years I have served the Order, only a handful of men have chosen to leave voluntarily.”

  Good enough, Antonio decided. “Then please tell me what I must do, Sir Oliver.”

  When Sir Oliver left, Antonio had a better understanding of the organization of the Knights, and his new role in that Order. He had raised his hand to God and sworn an oath to remain chaste and to obey the lawful orders of his superiors. Regarding the vow of chastity, Antonio decided he would be as dutiful as any of the Knights, most of whom ignored the provision. If he could entice Rusana back to his bed, he would certainly do so.

  As for obedience, merely by being on Malta, Antonio was subject to the orders of almost everyone. But with his new title he now possessed a red armband, with the eight-pointed white cross stitched on it. The color identified the wearer as a Knight of Grace and provided the authority to issue orders.

  “A Knight of St. John!” Martin could not keep the surprise from his voice. “That is quite an honor, Sir Antonio.”

  “I suppose. We did stop the Janissaries from capturing Senglea. Though a bag of gold might be more useful.”

  Martin shook his head. “Gold is of little value here, but this promotion may do much for you.”

  “At least the Knights won’t be threatening to kill me every other day. Though I am surprised that de Guiral spoke in my favor.”

  “More than anyone, he knows what you did yesterday. He and everyone on that wall would be dead if your guns hadn’t stopped the Turks.”

  “Do we have to call you ‘Sir Antonio’ from now on?” Will sounded as proud as Martin.

  “No, I think that title is reserved for the Fighting Knights, the true Knights of Christendom.” He sighed. ”Perhaps it may get us a bit more food from the bread line.”

  July 17

  The Turks did not attack that day or the next. As Antonio learned, the enemy had suffered badly in the attack, losing 3,500 men to the defenders 350. No doubt the infidels needed time to lick their wounds. Meanwhile, Mustapha Pasha would be in a rage knowing that so many of his prized Janissaries had died without striking a blow.

  Even so, the forts and villages had been heavily damaged, and the people of Malta, exhausted though they were, had to work all day and well into the night, rebuilding. Men went to sleep only when they could no longer work, collapsing in exhaustion more often than not. Nor did they get much real rest, with the occasional cannonball striking somewhere all through the night.

  The strenuous activity was not the only difficulty. July 17 turned out to be the hottest day of summer so far. The blazing sun sapped the energy of the defenders, and the women moved constantly throughout the forts, providing water for the thirsty laborers. As Antonio discovered, the island of Malta was actually closer to the equator than Algeria and Tunisia.

  Fortunately, Grand Master Valette had prepared for a long siege. Water in underground cisterns remained plentiful, and a small spring inside Birgu provided another source. Before the Turks surrounded the forts, every herd animal was brought into the villages, slaughtered, and then smoked. Bread and dried meat were in good supply as well.

  As for the Turks, they had their own suffering to deal with. Before they landed their troops, the few wells on the island had been poisoned with dead animals and birds, cattle and horse dung, and anything else that would rot and fester. For the invaders, water remained their highest priority, and by now many of the Turks had to be suffering from dysentery and the other maladies brought on by the lack of clean water and poor sanitation.

  To supply Mustapha’s soldiers, all food and fresh water had to be brought onto the island by ship, and galleys arrived almost every day, bringing food and arms. On the days when the supply galleys failed to arrive, some of the Sultan’s soldiers went to sleep hungry and thirsty. And un
beknownst to the defenders, two galleys of the Order of St. John that had not been able to return to Malta still roamed the sea, picking off the occasional supply vessel.