Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  “No, he didn’t,” Antonio agreed, “but some of the members of the Signoria are more openminded. More than a few don’t like paying the Sultan tribute. According to my uncle, right now only Falieri and Moro really matter, at least for something like this. And if the Doge contributes to Malta, the Sultan will learn of it and be even harder to deal with.”

  “Venice will have to choose sides this time. Either they are with us or they will be on their own.”

  “Then Malta will refuse to deal with the Republic?” Antonio worried about that option. Only the Arsenal had everything they needed with the capability of quick delivery.

  “Yes. As you said, we can buy guns anywhere. As long as we can get sufficient gunpowder and muskets now, we can wait for the guns. If they refuse to join the alliance, we’ll buy what we can and return home. But we won’t tell the Doge that.”

  “Tomorrow will be interesting,” Antonio said.

  Sir Annet dismissed talk of the negotiations with a shake of his head. “Now, tell me everything about this Olivio and Lady Masina, Falieri’s wife. Every detail.”

  Antonio decided to tell de Clermont the truth, all of it. The Knight would keep it to himself, since it would gain him nothing to repeat it.

  “It all started here in Venice. Lady Masina was the young wife of my father, Dom Pietro Contarini, a member of the Signoria. He grew tired of Masina’s plotting and took a mistress. She soon gave birth to an infant, me. My father acknowledged me as his heir. But a few weeks after I was born, Masina poisoned my father and when he was dead, gave orders to have my mother and me killed as well. But my cousin, Marco’s brother, was on his way to England to accept a commission and open a foundry. He brought us with him.”

  He told the Knight everything, starting with his 17th birthday and ending with the journey to Malta aboard Bredani’s galley. When he finished, Sir Annet sat there a moment, deep in thought.

  “I expected it to be something like this, Antonio. But you were raised well in England, where you learned both your skills and your honor. In France there is a saying – you can choose your friends, but not your parents. Your ignoble birth means little, especially since your father recognized you as his son. There are many of noble blood who have no honor. Count yourself fortunate for what you have, a good family and friends. And remember, you are a Knight of Grace in the Order of St. John, something that few men in Europe can claim.”

  “Thank you, Sir Annet. Your words mean a great deal to me.”

  “Good. Then I give you the same advice your father did – seek no revenge against Lady Masina. It is unlikely that she will attempt something against you, not after you have been received by the Doge as my deputy.”

  “I have no intention of seeking vengeance, Sir Annet. I wish only to be left alone.”

  “You are wise. But nevertheless, I will speak to Falieri in private and mention to him that it would not be . . . in his interest to confront a member of the Order. Those who have done so have paid a heavy price.”

  Antonio could believe that. In Malta, he’d heard a story about a Knight who was murdered in Rome. Before the Knights finished taking their revenge, eight members of the man’s family and retinue were dead, including the nobleman who ordered the killing and his first-born son.

  “Thank you, Sir Annet. All I ask is to be left in peace and for my Uncle Marco and his family to be left alone as well.”

  Sir Annet stood, ending the talk. “I will make certain Falieri and the Doge understand.”

  “Again, my thanks for saving me from La Forsa. I am sorry you had to kill the clerk.”

  The Knight shook his head. “In fact, it was an opportunity. The Venetians need to be reminded of our power and our will. His death will smooth our path.”

  “Till the morning, then.” Antonio rose, and bowed. But as he left the balcony and returned to his quarters next door, Antonio wasn’t so sure Lady Masina would be as easy to convince. He wondered what her reaction would be when her husband spoke to her.

  Antonio descended the stairs and went into the connecting hall that led to Marco’s residence. A soldier stood guard duty there, and another man, about 10 feet away, protected the street entrance. The rear entrance, Antonio knew, had already been locked and sealed, along with the two windows in the back that faced out toward the canal. The windows were bolted, and even the balcony had a guard assigned to it. The house was as secure as the Knights could make it.

  But the guard waved Antonio through without a word and he found himself back in Marco’s house. Bruno was there and greeted him, bowing in accordance with Antonio’s new title and position.

  “We will be dining in about two hours, Sir Antonio,” he said. “But if you wish something from the kitchen, Maria will make up a plate for you. And Gianetta is in the garden, if you wish to see her. I can bring out a pitcher of wine.”

  After today’s events, wine sounded good to Antonio. “Yes, that would be nice, but with a pitcher of water.” Anything more than a single cup made him feel lightheaded and he disliked the sensation. London’s streets and lanes had their share of drunks, and both his father and Maffeo had warned him about the dangers of too much wine.

  Antonio followed the passage toward the rear of the house and stepped out into the garden. He found Gianetta seated at the small stone table, a book on her lap.

  He hadn’t seen her since this morning’s hurried breakfast. Preparations for the meeting with the Doge had occupied most of Antonio’s time, and he, Marco, and Sir Annet had huddled together until their departure for the Palace. Last night, of course, Antonio had been exhausted from the effects of the duel with Olivio.

  In her brief appearance at breakfast, Gianetta had been the demure and dutiful daughter, saying little and letting Marco drive the conversation. Now, relaxed in her chair, she appeared once again the beautiful young girl whom Antonio had regarded in wonderment on the stair last night.

  “Good afternoon, my lady,” Antonio spoke in Italian, unsure of how to treat her. She wore a different dress from the one she’d donned last night, this one dark green with white trim that set off her dark eyes and hair. The girl-child had blossomed into an enchanting young woman. The word “lovely” came into his mind, but she was much more than that. The precocious mind of the child had changed into the confidence and maturity of an intelligent young lady. From now on Gianetta would be turning heads in the Piazza.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Antonio.” Gianetta answered in English. “I hope that we would not have to be so formal, but Uncle Marco has told Bruno and Maria to keep a close watch on me . . . on us.” She tilted her head to the side, and Antonio followed her eyes toward the second floor. From the kitchen window, Maria could indeed keep a not-so-discreet eye on her charge.

  Gianetta lightened the mood with a smile. “Come sit beside me, Antonio. We have much to talk about.”

  “Yes, my . . . Gianetta.” He sat down beside her, with only a small table between them. Suddenly he felt awkward. Months of dealing with hard men had left him unsure of himself. “What are you reading?”

  “A history book. An English history book. If someday I’m to be a proper English lady, I must . . . I need to learn all about my new land.”

  “Your English is very good, Gianetta.” Only five months ago, her English language skills had been basic, but somehow she had become almost fluent. Another tutor must have joined the household routine. “But why are you so certain you will be an English lady?”

  She sighed. “Uncle Marco said that if the Turks seem likely to come to Venice, we might have to leave Italy, and since his brother, your father, lives in London . . .”

  Antonio had heard that this morning, just a passing comment on Marco’s part. “Of course you would be welcome in England.”

  “And if the Turks don’t come,” Gianetta went on, “I might decide to marry an Englishman. Do you know anyone who might make a suitable husband?”

  Antonio felt the flush on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed
. “I’m not sure . . . Gianetta. Perhaps someday.”

  She waved her hand. “Of course, I’m still a little young to marry, but in a year or so, I’ll be more than ready. My 13th birthday was last month. Some girls in Venice marry at that age, and most by the time they are fourteen. Is it the same with the girls in England?”

  He glanced up at the window, where he glimpsed Maria still occupying herself with preparations for dinner, but always keeping an occasional glance on the garden below. Then Antonio remembered that neither Bruno nor his wife Maria spoke English. So while he and Gianetta were properly chaperoned, as long as they spoke in English they were effectively alone.

  “Yes, 14 or 15 is considered a good age for English girls to marry. But none of them are as wise or beautiful as you are, Gianetta.”

  “My first compliment from you, Antonio. But you should always tell a woman how beautiful she is, before you say she is wise.” She leaned closer. “Did Martin give you my letter?”

  The past came back in a rush, the fighting at St. Elmo, the blindness and despair. “Not at first, my lady. When Martin arrived, it was June 23, I had been injured and lost my sight. I didn’t know if I would ever see again. I felt . . . helpless, useless. He only gave me your letter about 10 days later, when I recovered my vision.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. “You were injured! You must tell me all about it.”

  Antonio spoke about the block of stone that struck him and his awakening in St. Angelo’s hospital, but she stopped him.

  “No, you must start at the beginning. I want to know all about it, what you thought, what you felt, everything. How else can I help you, if I don’t know all your thoughts and feelings?”

  “That would take far too long, Gianetta, and some things would not be fit for you to hear.”

  She sat up straight and gazed at him. “Everything! And we have time. Uncle Marco will not be home for hours. If you don’t share everything with me, I may not be able to help you the next time you are injured.”

  The idea that Gianetta, or any woman for that matter, could help him had never occurred to Antonio. Then he remembered where he was – Italy – with the women of the Borgia family even now wielding power in Rome, and Lady Masina in Venice. Not to mention that the ruler of England was a woman.

  So he told Gianetta about the siege. She had studied maps of Malta and grasped the layout of the defenses. Antonio described St. Elmo and the fighting there, skipping only the extreme brutality that both sides displayed. He related the day of his awakening and his inability to see, and how wretched he felt.

  “That’s why Martin waited until I regained my sight before giving me your letter. I read it several times and kept it with me. It is in my room even now. It gave me great comfort, knowing that there was someone who cared whether I lived or died. But I do not hold you to your words. It’s been many months since I left Venice, and a beautiful young girl should be free to change her mind. Especially about someone who has no family name of his own.”

  “I do care for you, Antonio. And I’m sure you thought my letter the words of a child. But even a child can know what’s in her heart. And last night, when I heard your voice, saw you standing there, I knew that my heart had chosen wisely.”

  She touched his hand again and this time Antonio took her hand in both of his. “We are both young, Gianetta, and we need time to be sure. And I have very little of my own to offer you. You will soon be a great lady in Venice, with suitors by the dozen seeking your favor.”

  “Take what time you need, Antonio, or should I say Sir Antonio. Already you have obtained a station higher than most men ever attain. And I understand that once you are accepted into the Order of St. John, the Knights will care for all your needs.”

  Antonio smiled. “It is only an honorary title, my lady.”

  “Sir Annet does not seem to think so. He values your advice. To be named Deputy Ambassador to the Republic of Venice is no small thing. And the soldiers, I see how they respect you. Martin and Will, too, have changed their ways toward you. You are no longer one they were charged to protect. Now you are a leader, and they and the soldiers respect you for that.”

  “Most soldiers are simple men. Some were criminals before they found refuge with the Knights.”

  “And the Grand Master, he also thinks so little of you? Antonio, you need to think better of yourself. These others, they see qualities in you, just as I saw the goodness within. You’ve become a man, a soldier. Now you must act like one, think like one. The youth who came to Venice is gone.”

  “And do you still like what you see, my lady?”

  “Oh, yes.” She hesitated for a moment, as if thinking of the right words. “I see a man I can love, one who will accomplish great things, if he dares them.”

  “Then to earn your love, I will dare great things.”

  The words were not idle, he realized. Yes, he could dare to be more than just a soldier or a cannon maker. If being a Knight of St. John made up for his ignoble birth, then he would accept the honor. And for a woman like Gianetta to stand at his side, he would do whatever it took to earn her love.

  She smiled, and leaned back in her chair, but did not let go of his hand. “Good. Now tell me all about your journey to Malta.”

  Chapter 62

  In the morning, the second meeting with the Doge started almost on time. Apparently neither the Doge nor the members of his council wanted to waste more time watching Sir Annet pray. As the Doge took his seat, Antonio studied his face. It took no great skill or experience to see that the man had made up his mind. Antonio and Sir Annet had spent much of the evening and this morning readying themselves for that decision.

  “Good morning, my lord,” Sir Annet said, speaking in his halting Italian. “I trust you are well today.”

  “Well enough, Sir Annet,” the Doge replied. “The council has considered your request for a contribution and decided it is one that we cannot accept. However, we are willing to sell you whatever arms and munitions you can afford. To assist the Knights of Malta, we will waive our usual profit, and ask only for 50 percent over our costs.”

  Sir Annet leaned closer to Antonio, who translated the decision, though of course Sir Annet understood every word. When Antonio finished, Sir Annet nodded, then whispered his reply. “Proceed, Antonio. Give them our terms.”

  Antonio met the hard stare of the Doge with his steady gaze. “My lord, Sir Annet regrets that you are unable to support the Knights of Malta in their holy cause against the Turks, and that he will have to deliver your decision to Grand Master Valette. But in that case, we will leave for Malta tomorrow morning, to carry your resolution to the Grand Master and our allies. We would like, however, to purchase some muskets and gunpowder before we depart. Can you authorize the transfer of 150 muskets and their accoutrements, plus 250 barrels of prime grade gunpowder? The galley can carry that much, and the amount should be sufficient for now.”

  His words produced the desired effect. The faces of the Doge and Falieri gave away nothing but cold anger. Moro allowed a hint of a smile to cross his lips. Several of the members of the Signoria looked surprised. All of them had expected Sir Annet to begin bargaining, pleading his cause and begging for support and a reduction in prices.

  Fortunately, none of them knew the full extent of the damage to Malta’s defenses. While Antonio’s request was not large – as he said, enough to fill the galley – it was not insignificant.

  The moment Antonio finished, Sir Annet leaned forward, made the Sign of the Cross, and closed his eyes in prayer, his lips moving silently.

  “What is this? Why is he praying?” The Doge could not keep the anger from his voice.

  “Sir Annet wishes to pray for your souls, my lord,” Antonio said, “and for those of all Venetians who will suffer under the heel of the Turk. Please excuse his orisons. His knightly vows compel him to pray for those who stand against the Pope and the Order. But before we take our leave, if you can tell me who I may deal with at the Arse
nal for the purchases, I will complete our business. We have no wish to detain you and this council any longer.”

  “Tell him – Sir Annet! Stop this foolishness. Ce n’est pas le temps de prier!”

  So the Doge’s French was good enough to tell Sir Annet to stop praying.

  The Knight opened his eyes at the outburst, stared at the Doge for a moment, then made the Sign of the Cross. He leaned over and whispered in Antonio’s ear. “Good. Deal with him.” The Knight stood, bowed to the council, turned, and without a word strode from the Hall of the Senate.

  The members of the Signoria looked at each other in confusion. Whatever they had been told, whatever they expected, they clearly hadn’t foreseen that Sir Annet would walk out of the meeting. No one did that to the Doge. “My lord,” Antonio repeated, “my pardon, but who can I speak to about the arms purchase?”

  The Doge had no intention of talking to Antonio. He stood, anger pulsing a vein on his forehead. “Talk to Falieri.”

  Antonio raised his voice above the murmuring in the chamber and spoke quickly, before the Doge could leave. “My lord, I have orders from Sir Annet not to deal with Dom Falieri. Is there no one else who can sell us arms?”

  The council sat there in shock. Yesterday the ambassador from Malta refused to speak directly with their Doge, and today he insulted all of them by threatening them with the Turks and stalking from the chamber without even asking permission. And now they had to deal with the Knight’s deputy, scarcely older than a boy.

  The Doge, his face flushed, glowered at Antonio. “And what is wrong with Dom Falieri?”

  Antonio bowed. “My lord, my apologies, but since his wife attempted to have me arrested, Sir Annet wants nothing to do with him.”