Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  “I’ll send the hypocrite a message informing him that Venice has accepted his terms,” the Doge said. “This will severely drain the treasury, but even 15 percent profit should be significant, if they buy as much as they say they will.”

  “The purpose of the treasury is to sustain the Republic in time of need,” Falieri countered. “Today is a time of need. Or would you risk our trading ventures? When the political situation changes, and it will, we can reassess our membership in the Alliance.”

  “Yes, nothing we do today cannot be changed tomorrow,” Moro agreed. “I will deliver the news to Antonio. We were supposed to meet at the Arsenal and I am already late.”

  “Do not underestimate the Englishman,” Falieri warned. “His words are as bad as the Knight’s.”

  “I will not.” Moro stood, bowed to the Doge. “With your leave,” he said, and left the chamber.

  As Moro strode out of the Palace into the blaze of sunshine, he started laughing. That drew surprised looks from the usual crowd of loiterers who spent their days near the Palace. None had ever seen the grim-faced Moro smile, let alone laugh out loud.

  Antonio had bribed him and done it as skillfully as any back-stabbing senator from the days of Julius Caesar or any conniving member of the Signoria. Not with gold, but something of far greater value – life itself. Moro knew such an offer would never be extended to Falieri or the Doge. Yes, the day might come when Moro might need the protection of the Knights of Malta. And Sir Antonio would deliver it.

  Chapter 63

  When a weary Antonio finally returned home, darkness had swept over the lagoon. He’d spent most of the afternoon at the Arsenal, first meeting with Dom Moro in a quiet little tête-à-tête. To insure privacy, they strolled back and forth along the inner wharf, and no one thought to disturb their long conversation. But after their extended conclave, Dom Moro led the way into the Arsenal and they wended their way to Master Marco Silvestri’s office.

  A summons brought five of the Masters to confer with Antonio. He listed the type of musket he wanted, the quality and quantity of the gunpowder, and the details of the other supplies. Antonio also explained that he personally intended to inspect each weapon and powder keg, and that any attempt to substitute inferior equipment or gunpowder would be noted, and would incur a penalty equal to double the item. A keg with lower-grade powder would be replaced with two kegs of the Arsenal’s finest. The same would hold for the muskets and other weapons.

  As Antonio explained these rules, the eyes of the shocked Masters and senior apprentices often went to Dom Moro, who sat there calmly without saying a word or offering a challenge. Not even when Antonio mentioned that the price to be affixed to each item would be 15 percent above the actual cost, as determined by himself and the Arsenal’s Masters.

  Only that 15 percent would be paid in gold. The rest of the sum would be charged to the account of the Knights of Malta, and the Signoria would accept that as payment against their contribution to the Alliance.

  Marco Silvestri sat there as dumbfounded as the other Masters, while Antonio listed his demands – he called them requests. No one had ever bargained with the Arsenal in such a haughty fashion, and all this without the slightest protest or argument from the representative of the Signoria, Dom Moro.

  Apparently the deaths of Olivio and the clerk meant less than nothing, mere incidents already forgotten. Truly, something had changed in the Signoria and the Republic. Antonio was now the deputy ambassador in fact as well as in name.

  To make certain that everyone understood his new status, Antonio requested that everyone refer to him by either his title, Sir Antonio, or his position, deputy ambassador.

  At last the final details were attended to. The Arsenal’s Masters departed, each clutching a hastily scrawled list of his own, to begin the collection of the items required. Antonio rose, bowed to Marco and Dom Moro, and went off to supervise the selection process and stowage aboard the San Giovanni.

  When the long day ended, Antonio sat once again with Sir Annet on his private balcony, both men speaking in hushed tones. After leaving the Palace that morning, the Knight had visited the galley and made sure De Bracy had completed his preparations for departure. Sir Annet had also warned the captain to be wary of any treachery at sea and even to guard against Venetian soldiers trying to swarm the galley by day or night.

  “But that won’t happen now,” Antonio said. “Dom Moro convinced both the Doge and Falieri to reverse their position. The arms will be sold to us and the Republic’s contribution to the Alliance will be given to Malta as a credit. All we need to pay is the 15 percent. For this order, that will be less than 2,000 reals.”

  “You’ve done well, Antonio. That will save much of our gold for future purchases. Once we depart, you can begin negotiating those, using Venetian transports.” He sighed. “Our visit here has been most successful. I thought we might be here for weeks, negotiating with the Council, but now I can leave tomorrow for Rome. You’re certain the galley will be ready to sail in the morning?”

  The Knight would journey to Brindisi aboard the San Giovani. From there he would take passage to Rome while the galley returned to Malta with its precious cargo.

  “Yes, everything has been loaded aboard except the powder kegs. I thought it best to have that loaded in daylight, when the men are fresh.”

  “And you’re certain Moro is willing to work with us? Do you trust him?”

  “Yes, for now,” Antonio said. “Already he is seen as allied with Malta and the Alliance, and without our friendship his support in the Signoria could vanish. Dom Falieri is another matter. He feels embarrassed by both of us, so he will do what he can to undermine Moro and the Alliance.”

  “These Venetians are all treacherous, and I trust none of them too far.”

  Nobody ever said anything good about the Republic. Apparently Venice was hated deeply and equally throughout Europe.

  “I promised Moro and his family a safe haven on Malta or elsewhere in the event of an attack here. For that alone, he is willing to support us. Not to mention his hatred of Falieri. That will make him a useful ally.”

  “Tell him that promise will be honored,” Sir Annet said. “I’ll draft a document for him, signed with the authority of the Grand Master. You can deliver it to him in private as soon as you can. Tell him a second document under the Grand Master’s seal will arrive with the next galley.”

  The Knight leaned back in his chair. “You will be dealing with Moro for the next few months, or even longer. As he helps the Order, we will help him maintain his position in the Signoria. The Doge is old and may not have long to live. Moro would make a good replacement.”

  “You think the Grand Master will be satisfied with me representing the Order?”

  “Yes. We do not have many Knights with the skills to deal with politics and intrigue. By now, De Robles is at the Spanish Court, and I am needed in Rome and Genoa. For the next few years, our dealings with Venice will be solely for the purchase of arms, and you have already proven yourself more than capable of that. But stay out of trouble for the next few weeks, until the deaths of Olivio and the clerk fade away.”

  Not that the incidents would ever disappear completely, Antonio knew. Italians had long memories when it came to revenge. Nevertheless, he would be the sole representative of Malta, and that status should protect him from Falieri and Lady Masina. So Antonio would be the Knights’ ambassador to Venice in everything but the title. In a way, he would still be fighting the Turks, albeit by dealing with the hard-headed and greedy rulers of the Republic.

  “I assure you I will spend my days here or at the Arsenal. The last thing I want is another encounter with the Signoria.”

  “Short of something urgent,” Sir Annet said, “the Doge isn’t likely to meet with you again. The man’s pride keeps him from dealing with anyone less than an ambassador. But you are fully capable of negotiating with Dom Moro and the others, and obtaining what we need at a fair price. The cargo I bring back
to Malta will be ample proof of your skill. I could not have accomplished that on my own. And I will inform the Grand Master that you know what needs to be done, and that you have the drive to accomplish what you set your mind to, though not always in the manner we might expect.”

  Antonio realized the Grand Master must have retained some doubt about entrusting the Knights’ business with one so young and headstrong.

  “Thank you, Sir Annet. I understand his concerns.”

  “Mine are the same,” the knight said. “But you must take care of the responsibility we give you. The Order is stretched thin. There are not enough fighting Knights to defend Malta and fight on the galleys, and even fewer well-informed and educated men to deal with the politics of Europe. Do not make any decisions without careful thought, and consult with me as much as possible. I will be in Rome for the next few months, and it may be some time before I can return to Venice. If necessary, you may journey to Rome to meet with me.”

  “I will do my best, for you and the Order of St. John.” Even as Antonio said the words, which had come unbidden to his tongue, he realized he meant them.

  The Knights of Malta, really Grand Master Valette, had by the sheer force of his will helped save Europe from the Turks. After dealing with the Signoria in Venice, Antonio understood something else – the war had not ended, and another great battle was coming. Malta and Christian Europe needed to prepare for that encounter. And so did Antonio.

  “The Turks will come for Venice next,” de Clermont said, “What you do for Malta and Venice will help protect her when that day comes. You have not seen what the Turks do to those places they capture. The old and very young are slain, given a slow death by belly wounds. Women and men are stripped naked, chained, and sold into slavery. Often crops and buildings are burned, so that any survivors die of starvation. I pray that no more Christian cities ever come under the heel of the Sultan.”

  Antonio nodded. “I understand.” He had seen for himself the ferocity of the enemy soldiers. Knowing what they would do to the women and children of Birgu brought the Maltese men to the walls each day, willing to fight to the death to prevent such a fate.

  “Do you have any other suggestions, Antonio?”

  “Yes, I have. You might ask the Grand Master for another letter for the Doge. He is a proud man, and a little flattery might help to ease him to our cause. And perhaps another letter for the people of Venice, welcoming them to the Alliance. The crowds were very favorable to you. The Grand Master’s words might help sway others to our side, even members of the Signoria. When the Sultan learns that Venice is helping the Order, he may threaten the Republic. The more the people support the Alliance, the less likely the Doge will renege on his word.”

  “An excellent idea,” Sir Annet said. “I will write and deliver the first draft of those letters myself, and the Grand Master can expand on them when I get back to Malta. I had already intended to write a letter, informing the Doge that you have our fullest support, and that should anything happen to you, the results would be grave. It will have to be carefully phrased, so as not to offend. Once in Malta, I’m sure Sir Oliver can come up with the proper words.”

  “Those documents should make my work in Venice much easier,” Antonio said.

  “Then we are well begun in our duties to the Order. I should go and begin my work,” Sir Annet said. “It seems I have a lot of writing to do before I retire. I only wish I had brought my clerk.”

  “If I can help, Sir Annet . . .”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll need you any further today. That should give you more time with Gianetta.” He laughed when he saw the flush on Antonio’s face. “You can deal well enough with the Doge, but I think you will have more difficulty with that young lady in the long run. As mistress of the house, she invited me to join her in the garden earlier. She had many questions about Malta’s defense and your experiences during the siege. We spoke for some time. A most interesting young person.”

  “Yes, she is very inquisitive and sees things clearly.” Antonio stood. “Then if I have your leave, I will pay my respects . . . to my uncle.”

  ***

  As Antonio left Sir Annet to his labors, his thoughts turned to England and his father. Until the siege began, home had always been England. Now he had a second home on Malta, and possibly a third with the beautiful Gianetta here in Venice.

  The thought that people cared for him in all three places made Antonio appreciate life. He’d survived the Siege of Malta and overcome his enemy in a duel. But the Turkish Empire was not yet vanquished, only temporarily defeated. Nor would the Sultan accept this insulting setback. The Turks would return, and Venice and all of Europe remained in danger. Antonio made a decision.

  England would always be his true home. But he would not return there until the Turks abandoned their plans of conquest for the Mediterranean. A decisive battle would take place, and it might not even be at Malta. After all, the Turks still possessed a daunting fleet of galleys with which to threaten Europe’s soft underbelly. That advantage would allow them to choose the time and place for the next battle.

  Perhaps the next battle would be fought at sea, the way the Battle of Actium had once decided the fate of the Roman Empire. Antonio decided that as soon as he had the opportunity, he would learn much more about the fighting capabilities of war galleys.

  When the day of that great battle came, Antonio wanted to be ready, to strike another hard blow against the Sultan’s soldiers, either on land or at sea. By chance, Antonio had played a role in Malta’s defense. The next fight would be one of his choosing.

  All this would take time. Antonio realized that it might be several years before he could return to England. But until then, he had work to do in Venice, vital work that he knew he could perform better than anyone else in the Order of the Knights of St. John. He would see to it that Malta and its fleet were properly armed with the latest and most effective weapons.

  ***

  Antonio found Gianetta waiting for him in the garden, this time sitting on the bench that faced the greenery. The evening breeze chilled the air, and she had a shawl draped over her shoulders. Tonight she wore a dark green gown, though this one appeared much more festive. She seemed at peace, watching the last of the light fade in the western sky. But she smiled when he arrived, and closed the book beside her.

  “Antonio, welcome home. Come, sit beside me. Dinner will be ready soon, and Bruno will be calling us to table.”

  He apologized for being late as he eased into the chair. “Forgive me, my lady. The session at the Arsenal took far longer than expected, and then I had to report to Sir Annet. He will be leaving Venice tomorrow as soon as the galley is loaded.”

  “But you are here now. Tell me about your day. Sir Annet said that you are negotiating with the Signoria and Dom Moro.”

  “It seems so, Gianetta. Events in Venice have moved rapidly, but I think they will settle down once the Knight’s galley departs. After that, I will be spending my time either here or at the Arsenal. Sir Annet mentioned that other galleys or supply ships from Malta might arrive, if the Grand Master could prevail on the Spanish fleet.”

  “No more trips to Brindisi?”

  He smiled. “No more trips to Brindisi or anywhere else without the protection of the Knights. And I don’t think my duties as deputy ambassador will take much time.”

  She reached out and held his hand. “It would be painful to have you leave so soon after you returned.”

  “Yes, I do not want to be away from you. You might forget all about me.”

  She laughed. “Never. But it’s comforting to know that you care for me.”

  Antonio glanced up at the kitchen window, and saw no one there. He moved closer, and pulled her hand to his chest. She lifted her face. He kissed her soft lips, once, twice, and a third time. Suddenly she was in his arms, trembling as she leaned against him. The fourth kiss lingered for some time, before Gianetta let him go, her face flushed with excitement.

  �
��I will always care for you, Gianetta.” He wanted to kiss her again, but a clatter of pans from the house reminded him that they might be under observation. A moment later, Bruno called out that dinner was being served.

  “Then you have no plans to return to England?”

  He shook his head. “No, not for at least a year. There may be journeys to Rome or Genoa, perhaps even Malta. But I gave my promise to the Knights to work with them.”

  “A year is a good time for a marriage,” she said. “Your obligations to the Knights will be ended, and I will be old enough to marry.”

  “Then may this next year pass quickly,” he said. “I will speak to your uncle tomorrow, to see if he objects.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Gianetta said. “His respect for you has grown, especially once he saw how Sir Annet relied on your help.”

  Antonio stood, and offered his arm. She rose, accepted his touch, and together they entered the house. Once inside, Gianetta did not release him. They climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, both enjoying the sharing, both contemplating the next year.