Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  The Doge made an effort to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and resumed his seat. “And if I say that you must deal with Dom Falieri? Will you refuse?”

  Antonio sounded his disappointment. “I have no choice in the matter, my lord. I cannot disobey my master’s orders. If we have to leave Venice empty-handed, we will do so with the greatest regret. The Grand Master will be most unhappy and disappointed.”

  The Doge glanced to his right. Falieri, as surprised as anyone, held his lips tight with anger. A glance to his left showed Moro, impassive. “Very well. You can deal with Dom Moro regarding the purchase of what you need. But you will tell Sir Annet that neither he nor his ship will leave the Arsenal until I give him permission.”

  “My lord . . .” But Antonio was already talking to the man’s back as he rose again and strode from the chamber. A glance at Falieri revealed the rage on his face. He, too, had just been humiliated, first by the Knight and then by the Doge. Now Moro and the others would gloat over this new slight to his person.

  The members of the council hurried from the chamber, no doubt eager to discuss what had just happened. Falieri was the last to leave, casting one final angry glance over his shoulder not at Antonio, but at Moro.

  Dom Moro arose and stepped down from the dais. He moved to the table where Antonio sat, dragged Sir Annet’s empty chair around to the side, took his seat, and stretched out his legs. They were alone in the Hall of the Senate. Except, of course, for those in the walls listening to their conversation.

  “That was skillfully done, Sir Antonio,” Moro said. “Sir Annet and you have outraged everyone in the Signoria, insulted the Doge, made an enemy of Falieri, and placed me in a delicate position. I did not believe a Knight of St. John could be so devious, or did you provide him with insight into the affairs of the Republic? Yes, only an Italian could be so adept at politics.”

  “Dom Moro, I am much more English than Italian. But I have been in the company of the Knights for the last five months and I have learned that they obey only God’s law and the commands of the Grand Master. The laws and customs of others do not matter to them. If the Republic chooses to side with the Sultan, then the Knights will have nothing to do with Venice.”

  “We do not side with anyone, Antonio,” Moro said firmly.

  “You pay tribute to the Sultan, like any vassal state, and we know you have sold him arms. In the eyes of the Knights, that places you on the side of the devil.”

  “What the Knights believe means nothing to us.”

  Antonio shook his head sorrowfully. “Perhaps, Dom Moro, that might have been true before the siege. But now the Knights of St. John command the respect of all the major powers in Europe, including Spain, Rome and Genoa.”

  Antonio glanced around the chamber, as if seeking assurance that they were alone. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. Their heads were now less than two feet apart. “I should not tell you this, but it will soon be general knowledge. In a few weeks, the Grand Master will be sending a missive to the Sultan, warning him to keep his fleet and trading ships in the eastern Mediterranean. There will be other signatories as well and I’m sure you can name them. It will be everyone, except Venice and France. And you know the French will ally themselves with no one, not even your Republic, without payment. They think only of themselves.”

  “Malta would pull the beard of the Sultan? You yourself said the siege was nearly successful. If he comes again . . . you will be crushed.”

  Again Antonio shook his head. “No, that will not happen, not this year or next. Remember, I was there. By the time the Sultan is able to attack, the defenses of Malta will have been rebuilt stronger than before and the island reinforced with Spanish and German soldiers. If the Sultan could not capture Malta when it stood alone, what chance do you think he will have with 10,000 professional soldiers reinforcing the garrison? And the galleys of Spain and Genoa will be ready next time. There will be no easy passage for the Turks, and no blockade of Malta.

  “As you know, the Sultan is old, and he will not want to risk another defeat in his lifetime. Before death takes him, he will search for an easier and closer target – Cyprus for certain, then Venice. Or perhaps Venice will feel the first blow. That would make the capture of Cyprus an even simpler affair, perhaps even unnecessary. Once Venice is captured, Cyprus would surrender immediately.”

  Moro liked being lectured to as little as the Doge, but he retained control of his emotions. “You seem to know much about politics, Sir Antonio. But the Republic has stood alone for many years, and will for many more.”

  “Dom Moro, you will excuse me, but you did not see the ferocity of the Janissaries, eager to die and attain their reward in heaven. Without allies, Venice will fall. In fact, some say that it would be to Malta’s benefit if the Republic were captured or defeated. That would mean the Sultan would be busy for many years absorbing his new conquest. I’m told Rome and Genoa could use the breathing room, to raise and train their armies. They know the Turks are coming sooner or later.”

  Antonio shifted his chair and dragged it even closer to Moro. He lowered his voice so that the hidden listeners could not pick up his words. “I would advise you to make your own plans to leave the island at the first sign of war.”

  Moro sat there in silence, his arms crossed over his chest. “You are playing a dangerous game, young man. How much of what you say agrees with Sir Annet?”

  “I was a young man when I was left for dead on Malta. Now I am a veteran, one of the Grand Master’s advisors, an expert on siege warfare, and my words are heeded. Do not allow yourself to underestimate me.” He leaned forward again, this time getting as close to Moro as he could without touching him.

  When Antonio spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, again too low for anyone eavesdropping to catch his words. “If you need a place of refuge, Dom Moro, one could be arranged for you on Malta. Or we could assist you and your family to the destination of your choice, anywhere in Europe. The Knights, as I’m sure you know, come from many lands and many influential families. Your wealth and persons would be safeguarded.”

  Moro’s face showed no emotion, and he made no sign that he had even heard Antonio’s discourse. “Tell me what munitions you wish. The sooner you leave the Palace and Venice, the better.”

  Antonio dug into his pouch, and extracted a single sheet. “I sincerely hope that you will give the Knights a favorable price, Dom Moro. The Grand Master will be very appreciative.”

  Antonio stood. “With your permission, I must report to Sir Annet. If convenient, I will meet you at the Arsenal in one hour, and I can inspect and select the guns and powder. We would like to get everything loaded before dark, so we can leave first thing in the morning.”

  “The Doge has forbidden you to leave. Our guns can sink your galley before it travels a hundred yards.”

  Antonio shrugged. “Do you think the Doge will give the order to sink one of the Knights’ galleys? What message would that send to the rest of Europe? When I inform Sir Annet of the Doge’s order, the Knight will ignore it, knowing it is an empty threat.” He bowed. “Good morning, Dom Moro.”

  ***

  Moro remained in his chair as he watched Antonio leave. The Knights of Malta were indeed playing a dangerous game. Not long ago the Republic’s rulers would have ignored any threats or laughed at warnings from the throwback Knights, but the balance of power in the Mediterranean had indeed shifted with the unsuccessful siege of Malta.

  Now Spain’s star was rising even faster than Malta’s. Moro had no doubt that it was the 6,000 Spanish infantry, or the threat of their imminent arrival, that broke the siege.

  Regardless, the Knights of Malta had forced a decision on the Republic. For Venice to be safe, it would have to choose between this new alliance and the Sultan. But for a man of wealth, safety could be found in many locations. France and Spain both came to Moro’s mind.

  Perhaps it would be prudent to prepare for such a departure. With care and over time, he c
ould shift a substantial portion of his wealth out of Venice without anyone being the wiser.

  “Dom Moro, the Doge wishes you to join him in his chamber.” The voice belonged to the chamberlain, who had entered without a sound.

  Moro shook himself out of his depressing thoughts. He picked up Antonio’s list of munitions and stood. “I’m on my way.”

  A few moments later, Moro resumed the same seat he had occupied yesterday, facing the Doge and Falieri over the table.

  “What did the boy say to you?” Falieri snarled the moment the chamberlain closed the door.

  “He gave me his list, and wants to meet me at the Arsenal in an hour. He says that it is in Venice’s interest to deal favorably with the Knights. And he warns that Sir Annet is planning to leave in the morning.”

  “I told him that he could not leave,” the Doge said, anger in his voice. “I’ll notify the Harbor Watch. They’ll send him and his ship to the bottom of the lagoon.”

  Moro met the Doge’s glare. The man’s age now showed on his face, and today’s events had made it clear that his mind had lost both its edge and the ability to think rationally.

  “Yes, I’m sure Sir Antonio will inform Sir Annet of your order. But the Knight intends to leave at dawn – unless you plan to stop him by force. But arresting the Knight or sinking his ship will require bloodshed, and perhaps now is not the time to quarrel with one of Malta’s heroes.”

  “Moro is right, My Lord,” Falieri said, speaking quickly before the Doge committed himself to something foolish. “The best course of action is to get the Knight and his galley out of Venice. We should sell him whatever he can afford and send him on his way. Already the people in the Plaza hail him as one of God’s fighters, after his little speech yesterday. I noticed his Italian was good enough for that.”

  So Falieri saw the weakness, too, Moro decided. Nevertheless, the Doge remained dangerous, and would have to be manipulated carefully.

  “I agree with Dom Falieri,” Moro said. “I will meet Antonio at the Arsenal and arrange the details. We can get the Knight and his men out of Venice. If that is indeed the course we wish to set.”

  “What other course is there?” The Doge had finally managed to control his rage.

  “Yesterday I did not argue with you and Dom Falieri that we should do nothing for the Knights, except sell them a few arms. Now I think that decision needs to be changed.”

  Moro took a breath. “I think we need to join this alliance the Knights are building. If we do not, then Rome and Genoa and Spain will forsake us. Antonio told me that the Grand Master intends to send a letter to the Sultan, warning him to abandon the central Mediterranean. The letter will be signed by all those in this new alliance. What will the Sultan think when he sees the Republic is not one of the signatories?”

  “The Sultan will declare war, attack at once,” Falieri said. “Malta will be crushed . . .”

  “No, that will not happen. Antonio convinced me that Malta will not be attacked, not for many years, and not until long after our Republic and Cyprus are seized.”

  He saw the disbelief on their faces. “If the Sultan could not capture Malta when it stood alone, what chance does he have when the island’s fortifications have been strengthened, and 10,000 Spanish soldiers are manning the walls, supported by the galleys of Spain and Genoa? Antonio declared, and I believe him, that the Sultan will choose an easier target – Venice. Especially if Venice stands alone.”

  “What makes you think we would be such an easy victory?” The Doge’s anger hadn’t lessened.

  “In the past,” Moro said, “Venice has played the Turks and Europe off against one another. But now that time has passed. The Alliance is willing to abandon us. It seems they prefer a conquered Venice to one that does nothing to resist the Sultan while providing him with gold.

  “Once the Turks realize that the rest of Europe will not come to our aid, they will have no problem deciding to seize Cyprus and Venice. They still have those 100 galleys, untouched by the siege. That is more than enough to blockade us. That would mean no ships delivering cargoes, no reinforcements, no trade, no profits. They could destroy the Republic in a few months without a single soldier setting foot on the island.”

  “Venice will not fall easily,” the Doge countered.

  “No, but it will fall without the support of Rome and Genoa,” Moro said. “And the Alliance understands that the Turks would take many years to consolidate such a conquest.” He shook his head. “No, we must choose sides – now.”

  “And Antonio made this clear to you?” Falieri’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You listen to the words of a callow . . .”

  “His words are the same ones Sir Annet would choose, but he wisely prefers to let Sir Antonio speak for him,” Moro said. “This way, if anything goes wrong, Sir Annet can always disavow anything that Antonio says, declare it all a misunderstanding. My lord, we must join this Alliance before the Knights decide they can do without us.”

  “We can do without the Knights,” the Doge said. “Let them go their way.”

  “And what will the people of the Republic think when they learn of the Alliance, and that Venice is not a part of it?” Moro rapped his fist on the table. “They will know that we are at the mercy of the Sultan.

  “And what about our trading partners? Do you think Rome and Genoa will continue to look to us for guns and powder? They will forsake us as well, knowing that at any time we may be snuffed out by the Sultan’s army, the trading and supply lines cut off.

  “Once the Knights begin dealing with the Genoese,” Moro went on, “in addition to the German and Spanish foundries, a new trade route will grow ever stronger and more efficient each year. Before long, we will have nothing they need, nothing that they cannot get elsewhere. Even our master gunners admit that the Germans make fine weapons of their own. If nothing else, an increase in production will drive down the prices of our goods.”

  Moro’s words about trade had struck home. The Knights of St. John and the politics of the Mediterranean might be ignored, but trade and the trade routes mattered more than anything. Every member of the Signoria, including the Doge and Falieri, stood to lose heavily if the trading balance shifted. Venice was, after all, a long way by galley from the western Mediterranean.

  Even if the munition makers of Genoa and Barcelona were not as sophisticated, they were far closer, which meant they could sell their wares for much less. The profits from the Republic’s trading ventures, coupled with sales of arms by the Arsenal, kept the Signoria in a life of ease and luxury.

  Moro saw that his argument had finally had an effect. Threats to each man’s purse could not be ignored. The other members of the Signoria would feel the same. If the Doge did something foolish that jeopardized their purses, there would soon be new Doge.

  “Damn these Knights,” the Doge muttered. “They will bring the Sultan down upon us.”

  “This Alliance,” Falieri said, “it must be stopped. It can ruin us all.”

  “Perhaps in time. But consider this. Do you think the Knights of St. John,” Moro said, “after a brutal siege that lasted over four months and killed three-quarters of their men, care anything about Venice? They see only one thing – that the Republic is either on their side or against them. Against God. You saw the hypocrite Knight, praying for our souls and damning us to hell under his breath.”

  “Perhaps we can mollify the Sultan,” the Doge mused, thinking out loud. “If we have to pay this Alliance and deal with the Knights, he will find out. But we might be able to offer additional payment to the Sultan.”

  “To keep the old wolf from our door,” Moro agreed. “That might work, for a time. Besides, he might not press us too much. He did attack a Christian city, after all.”

  “The Knight suggested that the Republic need not contribute as much as the other members of the Alliance,” Falieri said, “as long as we sell arms to Malta at their rate.”

  Moro knew the tide had turned in his favor. What had be
en impossible yesterday now seemed almost inevitable. “Then we should tell Sir Annet that Venice will join the Alliance, at least for now.”