Instincts and More On The Eve of My Birthday

About two and a half weeks ago, I sensed a huge shift in evil and good in and over Malta and Europe. Something happened. This instinct is not based on the increased persecution of the Christians by the Muslims, nor the saber-rattling of the Russians, which have the Poles, Finns, and Lithuanians nervous.

God has allowed something to change, and we have been warned for a long time about the last, great tribulation of the Church.  He is removing His protective Hand and allowing Satan a time to sift us all.  I have written some fiction based on three days of visions I saw in the summer of 2008, some of which was verified by two other people, one who lived hundreds of miles away. As you know, I am not into private revelations, and believe that God merely inspires our imaginations. But, I was first warned by a small voice, in French, which is interesting. to pay attention to what was going to be shown to me over the next three days at the time. Again, details do not matter much, but as Hamlet said, "The readiness is all." When we see things like this, we are not adding to revelation, but being warned of what has already been revealed. There is no new revelation.

My novellas are partly base on those visions, which happened when I was wide awake, starting in the evening, moving into the night, and in the day time as well as into the night for three days. Twice I have had messages in French, which indicates something to me personally. I understand some simple things in French, my third language after English and Latin.

Since 2000, I warned my Catholic students that they were in the Age of the Martyrs. It has begun in earnest. If you think you can avoid suffering by moving somewhere, forget it. All the West will be engulfed by evil.

The reason why I want to stay in Europe is that this is part of my "destiny" as I cannot avoid suffering here. There are different kinds of suffering.

I do not need to go into detail and I am not infallible, nor a seer, but God showed me plainly in July, 2008, a series of happenings involving the States and the Western World. It does not matter what the details are, but the message was "get ready".

Now, many others see the same thing by watching politics and by paying attention. This is good, as we are rational creatures and need to use our brains.

2008 was seven years ago, and we have had time to do what we need to do to get ready for the greatest era of suffering the Church has ever seen.

The Church will be so weakened that only those who have a relationship with God the Father, the Son of God Christ and the Holy Spirit will keep the Faith. This is why I have written the perfection series, to help you all get holy, and ready for persecution.

Do not think America or Europe will emerge unscathed from the Wrath of God brought on, mostly by the millions of aborted babies crying out for justice. One other sin which cries out to God for vengeance, and I have written about this on the blog, is sodomy. If you do not believe me, here again, is the CCC note on this fact: 1867 The catechetical tradition also recalls that there are "sins that cry to heaven": the blood of Abel,¹³⁹ the sin of the Sodomites,¹⁴⁰ the cry of the people oppressed in Egypt,¹⁴¹ the cry of the foreigner, the widow, and the orphan,¹⁴² injustice to the wage earner.¹⁴³

Do not think that you will have access to Mass or the sacraments to keep you going. You will have to keep yourself going and this is why I have begged you to pod.

I cannot impress upon my readers enough the coming catastrophes. which God will permit for four reasons: one, to create saints for His Kingdom, two to bring about converts, three, to chastise us all, and four, to purify the Church.

I cannot count the ostrich photos on this blog or the number of posts on the stages of persecution. The Church has many, many enemies, both within and without.

Are you ready?

If not, get ready. We are heading for the Last Battle, which will not be short, but will result in the glory of God.

On The Apocalyptic Scriptures

As the Liturgical Year comes to an end, something is noticeable in the readings on Sunday and during the week. The reading become centered on three themes.

These are the days of tribulation and persecution; the end of the world and the final judgement; and the need for penance.

Advent continues with the call to repentance, especially in the words of St. John the Baptist.

But, in the weeks running up to Advent, we see the persistent themes noted above.

Why?

The end of the Liturgical Year is an appropriate time for reminders of the final judgement, end times, tribulation, persecution and penance. As the season of Autumn become more wintry, as cold and darkness set in, we are reminded of death, our death and the death of all mankind. We are reminded of our particular judgement and the final judgement.

Readings from Luke remind us of Christ's words on the end times.

Readings from the Apocalypse remind us of judgement.

Readings from the prophets warn us of the truths of Revelation that we shall be persecuted and judged.

These themes are not merely in this year of Luke, but are also found in the years of Mark and Matthew. The Church has always reminded us of persecution, judgment and death at this time of year, even in the Tridentine Calendar.

Indeed, as we move towards the great feast of Christ the King, this year on November 23rd, the last Sunday of the Church Year, we see this movement towards His Reign.

We are being asked to get prepared for the Kingdom of God. We are being asked to get ready for persecution, trials, the end of the world, the final judgement.

Get ready.

The Two Brothers of Malta-Ending

In the morning of August 9th, the second bombardment of Birgu began. The area was already almost destroyed by the cannons but the fort held out.  Birgu was almost invaded but a fluke of history caused the Turks to withdraw. Again, some strange power was at work stopping the advancement against Christianity. Birgu and Fort St. Michael did not succumb with the help of the charismatic Vallette, who had Frederico and his men by his side. The people proved to be some of the bravest on the island. 

The inhabitants fought well and stopped another attempt at the end of the month. Vallette sensed that the invaders were losing their will to win. However, the siege continued. The Turks had, at this point, before the beginning of September, lost over 9,000 men. 6,100 Maltese had fought against 48,000 men from the East and had not given in. The Turks attempted to take over the holy city of Mdina, but decide to withdraw in another surprise retreat. Mdina had little artillery, so the entire withdrawal of the attack seemed a spiritual mystery to the Maltese. Many of the Turks died of diseases adding to the number of dead, making the count 10,000. The siege moved slowly to an end.

On the vigil of the Feast of the Birthday of Our Lady, September 7^th, the famous Don Garcia appeared with his men in St. Paul’s Bay, clearing the area with 8,000 reinforcements. In a rage which could not be controlled, the Spanish soldiers swept through the area, including Gozo, and freed Malta from the invaders. The Turks left Malta on September 11^th, a day to be later remembered for another victory, as the Feast of the Holy Name of Mary, celebrating, as Catholics do today, the victory at the Battle for Vienna, a battle fought over two days, the 11^th and 12^th in 1683.

Soon the people had food sent to them from Spain, Italy, and Sicily. Sadly, many thousands died, in the fighting or by starvation. There graves, unlike like those of the Knights, lie unmarked, under the rocky soil of Malta.

The Maltese understood to whom they owed this victory, creating lovely churches in honor of Our Lady. The glory of Valletta revealed the beauty and love of the Knights for their country, their Lady, and their God.

Immanuel finally went back to Gozo to resurrect his father’s estates, and succeeded in being accepted into the Order, after training as a Knight, on Christmas Day, 1601. He was remembered always for his kindness and meekness.  Vallette began to build the most advanced fortified city in the world, but died before seeing it completed. Frederico received permission from the Grand Master after the Siege to enter the monastery in Mdina, where he lived to be a very old monk, writing this memory of the Siege of Malta from the perspective of two brothers-the two brothers of Malta. When Frederico died, the monks opened the tomb of Tomas and Isabella to add Frederico’s body to the dust. There, they found one white flower, a small white rose, preserved, as if it had been placed there yesterday by a gentle hand.

There is another story here, but it will have to wait a bit....

The End.

The Two Brothers of Malta Part Eleven

July was coming to a close, with a few odd encounters with the enemy. The Muslims were encircling the peninsula with cannons for a huge assault on Birgu and Senglea. In the Fort of St. Michael, an encounter occurred which changed the lives of several people.

Isabella and Rebecca had been escorted out of the camp near the harbor to St. Michael’s Fort. Immanuel accompanied them to the fort, before he returned to the interior to help some of the Maltese, who were beginning to starve, or who lacked water. Many goats had been stolen and eaten by the invaders. Little food was left in the catecombs, as so many people had to be fed. The cutting down of the unripe grain had caused a bread shortage and no supply ships from Italy or Sicily could break through the clogged harbours. In addition, some of the Suleiman’s ships sailed into St. Paul’s Bay, causing interruptions in trade.

Immanuel, Rebecca and Isabella were accompanied by the Bishop of Malta, a Knight of Malta, and by the servants of the Chevalier. Because Isabella was dying, the Bishop gave her the Last Rites and absolution, including a special blessing from the Pope. Immanuel stayed by her bedside in a small villa near the Fort, while the Bishop and the servants went on to the Fort.

It was the Feast of St. Anne, the Mother of Mary and Grandmother of Christ. During normal times, there would have been processions in Mdina and other towns honoring this beloved saint. Now, on this day, which was overcast and grey, the Catholics could only remember days of festivities.

Rebecca fanned Isabella in the oppressive heat. The clouds pressed the heat onto the island like a giant’s hands. Some said the heat was a sign of defeat. Immanuel was thinking of his thirsting, dying people of Malta. He and the Bishop went back to the chamber in the fort.

The first surprise was the arrival of Frederico. He had heard that Immanuel and his mother were in the camp area, hidden away for safety. He had met the Bishop himself. And thanked him for his kindness is bringing a sad soul to some peace.

“She is not a bad women, Your Excellency. She was young and weak. Personally, I believe she has suffered more than enough for her sins.”

The Bishop answered quickly, “I am inclined to agree with you, Frederico. She will have a peaceful death. Her confession was that of a child.”

Just then, Rebecca burst into the chamber. “Frederico, Your Excellency, please come back to the villa. Isabella is dying, I am sure.” The three men walked quickly down a small street to the house, but just as they were going to enter the dark, cool room, they heard a voice in the street. “Frederico, may I come in?”

It was Tomas. He had heard that his brother, son, and former mistress had gathered in this place. He looked strange, almost feverish. “Are you ill, my brother?” Frederico spoke first.

“I am better than I have been in years. Do you think she would see me?”

The Bishop walked over to Tomas and whispered in his ear. Tomas realized the closeness of death. “Then, I have no time. Bishop, listen to me. Take this.’

Frederico and Immanuel could not see what Tomas handed to the Bishop, but the Bishop looked for a long time at the object. “This is good, Tomas, this is very good. Come.”

All walked into the sick room. Rebecca respectfully stood by a back door. The Bishop approached Isabella who looked pale, very pale.

“My daughter, there is someone here who wants to see you. He wants to ask your forgiveness, and he wants to ask you something else. Will you see Tomas?”

Isabella tried to sit up. “Yes, yes, I shall. I will.” She looked over the Bishop’s shoulder as Tomas stepped forward.

“Will you forgive me, a pig, a stubborn, selfish man, Isabella? I took your son from you and I see God restored him behind my back. But, I am content, except for one thing.”

Isabella pressed her thin hand on the brown strong hand of Tomas. “Please know you were forgiven a long time ago. I have harbored no hatred or unforgiveness. I, too, was selfish and irresponsible. But, we have a beautiful son.”

Tomas looked at the worn face, but Isabella’s eyes glowed with love and joy. “Isabella, will you marry me, now, here?”

She turned to the wall for a moment. “You have taken a long time to ask this, Tomas. Yes, for the few days I have left, I can be restored to society, as will your son.”

The Bishop suggested that Tomas first make a general confession. In the next room, Tomas made the first confession he had made in almost thirty years before receiving the sacrament of marriage. All left Tomas and the Bishop alone for about a half-hour. Isabella was given some water. She glowed with an odd light, but she was breathing normally. Tomas and the Bishop returned to the sick room.

The Bishop came forward with his prayer book, and a small package. In it was the ring which had belonged to the noble mother of Tomas and Frederico. Immanuel choked. The ring was made of four emeralds and four diamonds in the shape of the Maltese Cross. Tomas knelt by the bed and the Bishop began the Nuptial Blessing.

A great silence enveloped all who were there. Frederico noticed tears in his brother’s eyes, but Isabella’s eyes shone with love. They said their vows quietly, serenely.

Then, the Bishop pronounced them man and left the room, indicating to Immanuel and Frederico to follow him.

“She does not have much time, perhaps hours, or a day. We can only pray.”

Immanuel hung his head but Frederico said, “You realize what a miracle this is, Your Excellency. Something has happened to my brother. This is a miracle, indeed.”

A few minutes passed and Tomas came out of the room. “She fell asleep, smiling. I had forgotten the charm of her smile. Rebecca will care for her and I shall come back after she rests, but I need some care.”  He opened his shirt and there on his side was a huge bandage, with blood beginning to seep through. “Father, we need to get the surgeon, now.” Immanuel almost shouted, but remembered the woman in the next room and lowered his voice.

“It is too late, my son. Look, I have blood poisoning and gangrene. I came here to die and to make you my son in the law and in the eyes of God. My son, no longer a bastard-the Bishop restores you as well to your rightful place. Can you forgive me?”

Immanuel led his father to a chair. “This is a day of forgiveness, Father. Of course. And as I love my mother as I love you, I am forever grateful that you made her your wife. Father…” But, Immanuel could not speak, for Tomas slid over and laid his head on the table. He took three or four deep breaths. “Your Excellency, give me the Last Rites. Please.”  Then, the Bishop began the prayers as the brother and son walked outside as Immanuel was trembling. It was now dark. In a few moments, the brother and son returned to watch Tomas receive the Body and Blood of Christ, His Lord, Whom he had avoided for years. Now, God and he were united again.

Then, after receiving the Eucharist peacefully, he fell into a fever and then, later, a coma. By midnight, he was dead.

Frederico discovered that his brother had been ambushed by Turks on the way to St. Michael’s Fort. He had killed two, but had received this blow from the third. This encounter happened four days ago.

“He may have been poisoned by the swords as well,” remarked Frederico. Some find mountebanks to buy poisons. He would not have died so soon. He was a strong man.”

Early the next morning, while the sun rose over the sea, Isabella passed away.  Immanuel asked permission for them to be buried in Mdina, in the Cathedral. The Bishop heartily gave permission, and if you visit there today, you will see a white tomb, embellished with stars, with the dust of Tomas and Isabella resting together.

The son took a carriage and escorted the two caskets, made hastily by soldiers, with Frederico and the Bishop back to Mdina.

Rebecca came as well, but did not stay in the house with the Knights. She had someone else to find. After the twin funeral in the Cathedral, she sought out Salim.

But, that is another story for another day.

July limped into August and the battering of the last two forts began. The siege was not over for Immanuel and Frederico.

But, the two old lovers rested away from the din, in a place for those who die in love and not in hate, who die in forgiveness and not in rancor, who die in humility and not in pride.

To be continued…

The Two Brothers of Malta Part Ten

A tall, thin man from Ephesus sat in his tent. His tent-mate had been killed in the assault on St. Elmo’s. Salim was twenty-four, and from an ancient family. But, tonight, days before the attack on Fort St. Michael’s and the landing parties crossing Mt. Sciberras, Salim lay on his bed in torment. No one knew that he had been conscripted years ago into the army of Suleiman. He had been taken from his town because he was a noted horseman, but he had only seen duty as an  arquebusiers. No one knew his mother was a Christian, and that he was a Christian. He had avoided detection because of a illustrious connection in the court, his uncle, a pious Muslim. All thought Salim was pious as well. He was, but his piety was to a different God, a Trinitarian God of his mother.

Salim knew of the new plans to avoid the Knights guns, and new ships in the Harbour. He had to decide to either stand up for his faith, finally, risking horrible torture and death, and defect to the other side, or remain in shame, for fighting on the wrong side.

His torture was compounded by the thought of a beautiful servant who lived in a small house north of the camp. This young girl, had met him by accident, when Salim was carrying messages from Mustafa to Piyale concerning the movement of small boats to the area around Senglea. He was on his way back to St. Elmo’s camp when he had a strange and haunting meeting.

In the dark of night, Salim had stumbled across a small party, two men and two women, one of whom was on a horse, wrapped in shawls and obviously unwell. The other woman, the young one, walked alongside the older woman, while the two soldiers went ahead a bit. About five hundred feet separated the servants of de la Cassiere from Isabella and Rebecca, when Salim practically ran into the small horse. Rebecca looked at the young man in the dark and the servants turned back to hold him, and most likely, kill him. It was obvious he was a Turk. Rebecca spoke quickly, “I know you. You are the horse-trainer from Ephesus.” The servants had drawn their swords to kill Salim. Rebecca held out her arms. “Wait, I know this man. His mother is a Christian. Wait.”

Salim felt ashamed to be saved by a young girl, but he now remembered her. “Rebecca, why are you here?”

The young girl asked the servants to move out of hearing and they obeyed. The servant of Isabella, once paramour of Sir Tomas should be obeyed, for now.

“I ran away from a marriage, like my mistress, and found shelter with a good Knight in Mdina. He was uncle to a young man, who asked me to take care of his mother, and pays for me to do so. He is the son of a Knight.”

“Rebecca, you are a Christian as well? I did not know this. Now, I understand why you left and disappeared.”

“I shall save you this time, but you must come back to us, you must. Pray, Salim. Be who you are.”

Rebecca walked up to the servants. They spoke with each other quietly. Then they came back to where Salim sat, still on his horse.

“If we let you go, false Christian, think that you owe the Knights a favor. Now, go, and be glad you know this good woman.”

Salim said nothing but turned his horse south and made his way back to the camp near St. Elmo’s ruins. Now, he tossed and turned his tent, unable to sleep. Finally, he knew what he had to do-be true to himself and his religion.

Just before dawn, Salim slipped out of his tent and into the horse yard. There, he chose the fastest and wisest of the Arabians, and managing to keep all of them quiet, he rode out of the camp and around the harbour. If he was caught, he knew he would suffer the worst tortures a man could bear. He rode on.

Finally, he found a camp and a guard. “Take me to Vallette.” The guard looked at the youth and then, Salim produced an ancient cross made of brass from under his tunic. The guard nodded and led the young man across the camp to Vallette’s tent. Salim spoke quickly, “Have mercy on me, a Christian youth, who was conscripted and has no heart to fight the Knights of Malta. There is coming a two-fold attack on the Senglea. As many as 100 boats have been brought across the mountain, and there will be sea fight with the last of the Janissaries. Corsairs have been sent up to Fort St. Michael’s to attack there from the land. Have mercy and let me help you.”

Vallette stood up and examined Salim’s face. “Why should I believe you?”

Salim looked at the ground. “Rebecca, servant of Isabella, mother of Immanuel, believes in me.”

Vallette almost laughed out loud. So, this young man smote the heart of the young girl. He became serious again, forcing himself not to smile.

“If I let you stay with us, will you help me against these Turks?”

Salim looked up, “Yes, I shall do what I can do.”

Vallette poured water with lemon for them both. “What can you do?”

“I train horses and I am a horse master.”

Vallette looked carefully at Salim. “Then, I send you to Mdina, to train some of our peasants to ride and care for horses. There are a few there in the city. Now, go, quickly, and take this.” Vallette gave Salim a sword and knife, as he had left with no weapons. On the handles were the Maltese Cross, the sign of the Order.

Salim took the weapons, but turned back and kissed the hands of Vallette. In minutes, he was travelling west to the holy city.

Vallette turned to his advisors. “I want a palisade built immediately across the peninsula, at the promontory. I want word to be sent to St. Angelo’s for preparation for a sea attack. I know that de Guiral has cannons there. Tell him to be on the alert.”

It was the middle of July, and the weeks of the siege had cost the Turks more men than the Suleiman had anticipated. He had to think of his last attempts to crush Malta.

One more time, Our Lady had changed the game plan of the war. The battle would be won by the Knights, as the cannons sunk all the boats, except one. And, over 800 of the Turks died in this attack.

The attack on St. Michael’s failed as well, as extra reinforcements arrived in time on an invention, a floating bridge. Salim’s return to himself had won him a place of honor in Malta, and, eventually, a Christian wife named Rebecca.

To be continued…

The Two Brothers of Malta Part Nine

Frederico awoke early to join the monks in prayer. He was falling into his monastic life too easily. It was difficult being both a warrior and a priest. His priesthood was hidden at this time, as he did not want any shame to be brought against the Order in case he failed his duty as a commander. Unlike many of his priestly peers, however, Frederico had found his vocation naturally, as an answer to the deepest desires of his heart of hearts. His only wish was to end his day in the simplicity and silence of this monastery in Mdina. He prayed that the war, the siege would end in a time of peace so that he could pursue contemplative prayer.

Today, in prayer, he seemed to find a great peace and a greater joy concerning his own possible death. The death of Paulo had reminded Frederico how close he was daily to the reality of eternity.

His small army gathered in the Cathedral for a Mass for the dead Paulo. The bishop then blessed all the men and gave them general absolution-a gift from the Pope in Rome.         

Afterwards, Frederico called his military advisors for a meeting. But, first, he ordered twelve lookouts on the walls of the small city. They each had a grand view of the surrounding area and could warn of danger quickly.

The city on the hill provided a temporary safe-haven for the soldiers and for many inhabitants. Daily, farmers, merchants, fishermen came with their children and wives into the walls. People slept outside on the streets, and in doorways. The nuns and monks fed the displaced families as best they could with soup made of grass and seaweed, while eggs were given to the mothers nursing their babies and the very old.

Frederico brought up the question of the day. “Do you think the Turks will attack?” The advisors disagreed, and just as a decision as to defense was made, a messenger from Vallette rushed into the meeting.

“Pardon, but read this. There is need for great haste.” The young man sat down and was given wine.

Frederico opened the scroll. He read and then spoke. “Vallette is asking for the army to leave Mdina immediately and moved both arms and men to St. Michael’s and St. Angelo’s. Elmo’s’ has fallen.”

Frederico bowed his head. He feared for the holy city, but more men were needed near the promontory and the peninsula.  Vallette was busy building defenses on the peninsula and Vallette had asked the Spanish in Sicily to send more men to Birgu, and they were, apparently, on their way, while the Turkish fleet was in three places.

“We, of course, will obey the command. I shall leave a few men here, and hand armaments only. The army shall march tonight, under cover of darkness. Our decision has been made for us. We shall take the large cannons”

More ships sailed into Marsamxett, now that Fort St. Elmo was a ruin, while the army of Frederico left Mdina to a handful of his men and a few armed farmers. The ships waited for more orders from Piyale or Mustafa. Suleiman had decided on continuing the attacks on the forts. Perhaps he thought the loss of the forts would undermine the confidence of the Knights and the bravery of the Maltese inhabitants. The other orders from Suleiman, to attack overland, did not come until too late. At Marsamxett, one third of the Turkish fleet languished. The decision to take St. Elmo’s at all costs, a decision of mere pride and arrogance, and the decision to split the fleet into three would prove to be decisions of wasted opportunities and carnage. But, the Lady who watched over the Maltese was in charge, not the three Turkish commanders.

Frederico and his small company of men traveled as quickly as they could in the night. Clouds covered the moon, and no sound of cannons or gunfire from the Senglea. But, an attack would come in two days, an attack from both sides of the peninsula. The history of the war would include battles at the remaining forts, with both soldiers and inhabitants suffering losses. However, the Corsairs and Turks found the locals capable of fighting one of the most experienced and trained armies in the world, if necessary, to the death of all.

Both brothers were moving towards the east. One with his entire group of dedicated and relatively fresh men, one with a small body guard of two men made their way in darkness. Both would meet up in unusual circumstances.

To be continued…

The Two Brothers of Malta Part Eight

The day Frederico disbanded his temporary camp in order to take his men to the defense of Mdina, a solitary horse slowly walked into the camp, dirty, blood-stained, head down. This was Paulo’s Arabian. Frederico easily read the signs of death and mourned his good servant. Not only was the rider gone, but the leather satchel which contained messages from Frederico to Vallette about the plans of the western flank was gone. Now, the enemy knew of the plans to defend Mdina. Perhaps the Turks would change their minds about the attacks.

The beautiful horse gently taken away and from that day, treated as the god of the horses by the troops, which adopted it in the name of the brave and faithful Paulo. For ten years, this horse accompanied the troops in war and in peace, lovingly cared for in turns by most of the men.

Today, Frederico had to decide whether to stick with this plan, now known to the enemy, or rebuild the tent camp. He chose to move on, as planned. It was highly possible that the enemy would change their own plans, knowing that up to 1,000 men would be crammed into Mdina and the surrounding area. His own small unit was made up primarily by Spanish and soldiers from the general Maltese people, whom he had trained himself. The Spaniards were connected to the Order, either by religion or by family ties. Frederico’s men proved to be the most loyal in the field, and the most deadly, as the farmers, tradesmen, fishermen, and merchants fought for their own land, wives, children and their beloved Catholic Faith.

What he did not know, because Paulo did not reach the promontory for news, was that the great Turkish general, Turgut, once the scourge of Gozo, had been shot by friendly fire, and lay dying. He would not see the shallow yet costly victory at St. Elmo’s. Turgut died the same day as the fort fell.

Frederico did know that Vallette did not know all the changes in the west. The nobleman made a bold decision to carry on without sending another messenger at this time. From Mdina, he would send someone by a more northern route to the eastern war.

He stood in the middle of the camp, now mostly packed in the few wagons and on the horses. “We shall commence to Mdina, and immediately, I shall ask the Bishop to pray a Mass for Paulo. Let us stop and remember his now.” The men stood silently, each praying in his own way. They, most likely, thought of their own possible deaths. Paulo’s body was never found, which grieved many more so.

As Frederico and his men hurriedly moved north, Tomas intended to visit both his regiments at St. Michaels’ and near the harbor at Marsamxett,  hoping to fight alongside his men in either, or both places. To date, he had been robbed of glory and honor. Again, he wondered how his lookouts did not see the Turkish fleet coming south. Were there spies, or paid mercenaries among his own men who had sided with the enemy? Had his men been betrayed by false reports, false sightings of nothing? Tomas prided himself in knowing his men and could not imagine quislings. Still, the entire success and ease of the landing of the Turkish fleet in Marsaxlokk baffled his experienced sense. What he did not sense, was that he would be involved in an extraordinary meeting in the camp. But, first, he would visit St. Michaels’ Fort, partially built with his own money and guarded by 500 of his own men, all from his relatives and the Order in Italy.  The fort was held by about 800 men at this point, soon to be joined by 400 more from the far northern estates.

Tomas raced his horse east, avoiding anyone he saw on the way, and soon was on the road to Fort St. Michael. It was Midsummer in the northern countries, June 23^rd and Tomas could hear the bombardment of Fort Elmo even from this distance. His shock as a soldier of the ferocity of the cannons mixed with fear for the men at the fort. However, his mind was on his two errands to encourage his own troops in two places and he forced his heavy horse to go faster. What he had yet to learn was that the Turks had decided to smash St. Elmo’s and wait on the attack on Mdina. His men at the bay of Masaxlokk had all died for a cause, a plan which would be changed. His men died in vain, as the leaders of the Turks fought over their own strategies.

Tomas could see smoke in the air towards the east and his heart grew angry at the cruelty of the enemy.  On this very day, the Turks captured St. Elmo’s and Kızılahmedli Mustafa responded to the great, overwhelming loss of his men with added cruelty.

1,200 Maltese had stood against a much larger army, an army which lost 6,000 Turks and up to 6,000 Janissaries from the beginning of June to this day. Only 1500 Janissaries, his best troops, remained. He had other plans for them and had held them back from this fray.

Mustafa stood above the crumbled ramparts. His men picked through the rubble for treasure, but could find none. Thankfully, some of the priests among the Knights had taken the altar ware away secretly with the help of the people of the area.

The Pasha kicked stones in irritation. He had lost his bravest men, and realized that this battle was too, too costly.

“Take the dead men’s bodies, cut off their heads and make crucifixes. Then nail their headless, infidel bodies to the crosses and send them the bay. If we cannot win through arms, we shall win through fear.” His army carpenters got to work with this grim task. Within the day, hundreds of crucifixes on which were impaled the bodies of the mostly Knights of Malta forces were thrown into the sea, where the waves took them up and sent them to the opposite shore, on the promontory. Some women from the countryside were on the shores, far into the Harbour and Mustafa could see them running to the corpses. A wail, like the storms of the harsher seas, rose from the promontory, as mothers and sisters knelt on the rocks and received the bodies of sons and brothers. Then, there was a great silence.

Mustafa turned to look across the Harbour. There, in the midst of the crucified dead, a priest walked under a canopy with the Holy Eucharist in a glorious monstrance. A small procession of Knights and acolytes followed. Another priest moved from crucifix to crucifix, blessing the bodies of those who in death resembled Christ.

The Pasha sneered. “These infidels adore bread. How I hate this show. But, today, I shall not waste any shot on this puppetry. We shall have our way in the future on this superstitious island.” He turned and moved down the fallen battlements. Walking across the ruins, his thoughts were on the possible error of the decision to take this pile of rubble.

He would have to change the strategic plans of taking over places, as now, he knew his opponents were as brave and as fierce as his own men. Suddenly, he heard cannons, and saw the cannon balls heading towards the rubble. What was Vallette doing? He saw a ball land next to the feet of his body guard. Gruesome as it was, a head of one of his own soldiers, one of those who had attacked the mountain and the promontory, lay on the harsh stone pieces of fort. Another, then another landed here, there, all over the ruined fort and into the camps of the Turks.. Pasha smiled ruefully. de Vallette had a heart like his own, full of steel and anger. The heads of the Janissaries who had been prisoners flew into the fort, reminders that two could play the game of fear mongering. Pasha walked away and disappeared from St. Elmo’s forever.

To be continued….

The Two Brothers of Malta Part Seven

Tomas rode north to the Harbour from Marsaxlokk, having secured his men there with enough arms to withstand at least a quarter of the supposed 192 ships.  About 700 men were in base, in tents, with some rock and stone battlements. He also had men at Marsamxett which was a real harbour and not merely a bay, in case the ships of the Suleiman moved north. This was highly expected by Vallette, as noted, and he was prepared as far north as St. Paul’s Bay, without endangering his army at Fort St. Elmo, so he thought. The southern bay seemed an unlikely place for a landing, but the avoidance of the winds and sandstorms could mean that no ships would come around the western or far northern side of Gozo, as the Sahara storms blew fiercely up through Sicily and even into Italy, where many in Rome took sick this year because of the unusual length of the siroccos.

The winds circled around like dervishes, confusing those who were caught up in the desert storms. Tomas, like his son fifty miles away, covered his face with a loose, white collar around his tunic. His horses had been trained to move as quickly as possible in the siroccos, and this horse, a large black stallion, had no trouble withstanding the coming storms. The horse was large and stocky, capable of holding a man in full armor, and a prize on the island. Both Frederico and Tomas had brought horses from England, trained in the warfare of knights, at their own expense. These hefty animals were unlike the smaller, faster stallions of the East, the famous Arabians, which could run like the wind accosting Tomas’ face.

His own steed, called St. Tomas for its stubbornness and strength, was one of twelve, all named after the apostles, except for Judas. The twelfth was named Matthias. Today, Tomas rode St. Tomas, and he has given one of his few, rare Arabians to Immanuel, who did not need to wear armor.

Immanuel’s horse, named St. Dimitri, was a sleek, white beauty, the fastest on the island. It could race over the rocky terrain as if it were a light breeze. Tomas loved this horse and gave it to his son for good luck.

The armies of the Maltese would need more than luck. Their numbers counted far short of those of the Turks. Tomas could see the ships moving now into range of the forts. He could count at least seventy from his view on a small hill close to the promontory. The ships had good wind and were moving into range of Fort St. Elmo and the mountain, Sciberras. So, the men in that Fort will be hit with the big guns from the mount, once it was taken, and with the invading armies. Tomas spurred his horse. He had left the south bay to ask Vallette in person what the plan was to defend Mdina, as well as keep the enemy from landing anyway on the far northern coasts. A handful of farmers had been armed, but most of the Knights had their men on the eastern coast. Tomas feared that the landing parties in the south and west would find little resistance.

From his small hill, Tomas then saw ships split from those going into the Harbour to the north-Vallette was right, either in his instincts, or through his spies on the continent and in the ancient capital of Constantinople. Marsamxett could be hit. However, what he did not know was the confusion among the leaders of the enemy.  Piyale Pasha had fought with Kızılahmedli Mustafa Pasha as to where to anchor the fleet. Piyale wanted to go to Marsamxett, which Vallette anticipated. But, Kizilahmedli insisted on both taking Fort Elmo first as well as going south in order to invade Mdina. The ships at Marsaxlokk were intended to destroy the holy city.

Tomas changed his own plans and pulled his horse back towards the interior. He would go to the north and stand with his men there. Half of his orders contained that duty, and now, he could see that a battle would strike this quiet harbour. He grieved at the ready loss of his other men at Marsaxlokk.

As he rode, Tomas saw a horseman approaching him from the west. He recognized a servant of Frederico, Paulo. The man was Arabian himself, a convert, and a brilliant horseman. He rode one of Frederico’s Arabian’s, a coal black, small animal, with fire in its nostrils, Tomas thought.

“Sir Tomas, stop. A message from your brother. Here, in this scroll.”

Tomas rode alongside Paulo, pulled up his horse and took the scroll.

“Tomas, we see ships as far as off in the sea as Hagar Qim, near the ruins. How they passed your men in Marsaxlokk, we do not know. But, there is a fleet now settled in the bay which I hear you were to leave.  At least one-third of the ships seem to be in Marsaxlokk.  We should have received word from the watchers on the bay. They may be dead. Send some of your troops from your reserve to us near Rabat. We may be attacked there and I shall take my men into Mdina as soon as I can.”

Tomas mused on this information. How did his men not see the ships move around to Marsaxlokk? One has a clear view of the sea from there. Would the Suleiman have sent ships farther south in the sandy winds? He had only left his men and the bay a few hours before. How could the ships have landed so quickly? Was God on the side of the Knights?

He spoke quickly to Paulo. “Do you have a quill and ink? I shall not give a verbal order.”

“Yes, Sir Tomas, I carry these and sheets always in this pouch. Dictate and I shall write down what you desire.”

Tomas spoke hastily. “To Captain Filip of France at Fort Michael, my brother in arms, take my 500 men to Mdina. Marsaxlokk has been taken behind my back. Act with haste. Ships have been seen on the western side. Tomas of St. John.”

Paulo wrapped up the sheets in leather and raced away, after saluting Tomas. He rode so quickly that Tomas had to watch him disappear like a ghost. Now, he decided to not to turn to the southern bay and perhaps face a useless death, but felt in his gut he should go north. He desperately wanted to be with Frederico, for some reason, as Tomas was not a sentimental man. He sensed in his high sixth-sense, real danger for his brother. But, he had to go north to help organize any attack either at Birgu or Marsamxett, so he spurred St. Tomas on. He had to reach his men in the north. But, he hesitated. He wanted to help Frederico, who he knew would move into Mdina.

Frederico had men stretched out at various high points on the western shores. His tent city edged the cliffs on the western shores. He had sent some of his men to Marsaxlokk. They watched the seventy ships, not highly armed with large guns, but full of troops, as those on the hills could see. So, a landing party was scheduled for this side. Perhaps Rabat and Mdina, the holy city, were to be targets, most likely having to face land troops from Marsaxlokk. Frederico sat in his tent looking at two maps, one of the terrain and one, a secret map with codes, of his own army’s movements. Suddenly, a huge wind moved the tapestry over his tent and in raced a person he did not expect to see, Immanuel.

“They have landed, Uncle, I have seen Turks creeping up the rocky hills south of the ruins. They have guns. I was on my way to Father, but raced back to you. I do not know where Father is.”

Frederico stared at the sunburnt face of Immanuel. He seemed older, more confident than his years. “Have something to drink, Immanuel. I have a letter from your Father that he is sending reinforcements from St. Michael’s Fort. This tactic surprises all. And, we have word from Vallette that St. Elmo’s is even now under fire.”

“Yes, the large guns are on the galleons in the Harbour. The Turks do not even have to land, but merely sail up and use their artillery. However, I expect landings beneath the fort as well. I they take the mountain, they can use heavy guns from there. I think this will happen”

“So do I. God help those men. There cannot be more than 3,000 on the mountain, the promontory and in the Fort, all together. Immanuel, can you do one more thing for me?”

The young man sat down, “Yes, of course. Anything.”

“Run like the wind, the wind which moves your stallion, and warn Rabat and Mdina. The people must be warned.”

“Of course, Uncle.” Frederico took a weapon from a carved case behind him. “Take my best gun. You know how to use this, I know. You were always my best pupil.”

“Thank you., Uncle, but I hope I do not have to use it. God bless you. “ And, like the young man he was, Immanuel was on his horse and gone before Frederico reached the opening of his tent.

“God be with you, Immanuel.”

The sunset in Malta fell quickly, as usual, forcing the land into darkness without the long twilights of more northern countries. Immanuel travelled in the night, the stars above his head guiding him to the heights of Rabat and Mdina. He raced up the hills and onto the bridge into the city of monks and the Cathedral. The guard at the gate recognized him.

“You come here with fire in your eyes, Immanuel. Trouble?”

“We have Turks on this side, land troops, armed, about 2,000 at least, as there are many ships in Marsaxlokk, already anchored.” The guard blanched hearing the number, but his white face was hidden in the darkness. “This is, indeed, serious. Come in. We must warn all the inhabitants and the surrounding farms.”

Mdina had two signs of warning for those in the countryside. One was a flag, which could not be seen at night, with a Maltese Cross marked with a raven. The other sign involved the ringing of the great bells of the Cathedral.  The time now demanded the use of the bells. Within minutes, the peel rose out of the walls of Mdina and was hurled across the lands surrounding the Cathedral, like a death shroud. Fires could be seen being lit across the land, fires like a long dragon, winding its way through the now-harvested fields and fruitless orchards. The soldiers within the walls moved into position of warfare and the siege began in the west.

Immanuel notified, Mathurin Romegas, who was temporarily in Mdina before going back to Fort Elmo, but the famous Knight wanted Immanuel to stay. However, the young man insisted on moving farther east, across country, to Marsamxett. He wanted to survey the entire scene of the battle for Malta, and spread the word of an attack from the west as well as the east.  As Immanuel was not a Knight under orders, Romegas could let his go his own way, within reason. Leaving at once, Immanuel spurred his horse onward, after giving it water and only a few oats. He would stop in a small farmhouse with which he was familiar on the way to the harbour.  This small, humble house of two rooms sat half-way between Mdina and Marsamxett, and in it dwelt his own mother, Isabella, a woman long forgotten by Tomas. Years ago, Immanuel had discovered this woman and identified himself as her son. The two secretly saw each other at least twice a year. Immanuel grew to love the quiet lady of a strange northern race, once, obviously, a great beauty, but now a woman bedridden with a wasting sickness. She looked older than her forty years and her blond hair hung limp and fading.

Immanuel would rest his horse in her garden and wait for pre-dawn. Both he and his Arabian needed rest and food. A woman who tended Isabella met him at the door, and escorted both man and horse into a very small walled garden in the back of the house. The house was surrounded by trees and a short wall made of ancient stones. The house rested on a crest of a hill, from where one could just see the sea, like a blue line, far away.

Isabella’s maid, paid for by Immanuel, as was all her keep, took him into the kitchen for some late dinner, and then she took oats out to the horse, mixed with a strange grass. Immanuel understood that the maid knew the way of the Arabs with their horses.

Interesting. Immanuel wondered where Rebecca had learned the art of caring for horses. But, he could not think of this now.

Isabella’s voice, weak and soft, called from the back room. One window faced the northeast and the moon shown into the small bedroom. Isabella held out her hands for Immanuel. “There is danger. I can feel it. I heard the bells from Mdina and now, with you here at this hour, I know it is the Turks. We have begged Our Lady for protection.”

“Mother, do not be afraid. If necessary, I shall carry you away from here into Fort Angelo. But, for now, stay, as I cannot believe that the land troops will come this far immediately. I can send for you and Rebecca as soon as I finished my journey.”

Isabella looked at her son with her large, blue eyes. “Immanuel, I do not fear death, or even suffering. But, Rebecca, being young and comely, must leave. They may take her.”

Immanuel stood up. “No Maltese woman will be taken. None. We men shall all die first.”

Isabella smiled in the darkness. She was so proud of her beautiful son. She was grateful to God that he resembled her, and, indeed, that he looked like her father so long dead and gone in a far away country in northern Europe. She had been a rebellious child and run away from her parents when asked to marry someone she did not love. She ran and ran and ran until she found a way to a boat from France to Sicily and then to Malta. Then, she stopped running, and became a lace-maker for a living, learning the trade from a kind woman who took her in and taught her not only lace, but the language of Malta. Isabella grew to be a great beauty, unusual with her blond hair, tall frame, and sea blue eyes. Tomas found her and kept her until the son was born, when he took Immanuel and left Isabella forever. But, unlike the father, the son had a heart, the heart of a Christian son, and he searched for her until he found her. Immanuel supported her since he was thirteen years of age. At that time, she was only 28, and still lovely, but illness came like a thief in the night and stole her health and beauty all at once. Isabella accepted the wasting sickness willingly, believing it was punishment for her former life of sin. She had been forced to be in bed for twelve years.

“I shall send a servant and perhaps another will come within the day. Rebecca and you shall be taken into the fort, and there stay until the danger is over.”

Isabella nodded weakly. She did not want to tell her son that she would never survive such a journey. She knew in her heart that her time for travelling even with help, was over.

“Wait for the servant. Goodbye, Mother.” Then, as if he, too, sensed they would never meet again, Immanuel bent down and kissed his mother. “I bless you, dear son. Now, go.”

Horse and youth, rested and fed a little, sped on to the coastal fortifications, hastily built, and marked by a tent city. About 1,000 Maltese troops now resided at Marsamxett, more could not yet be spared. Immanuel needed to seek out the commander, get a servant or two to return for Rebecca and Isabella.

He pushed his horse through the crowds of men, making his way to the main tent. Light was coming out of the Middle Sea, an eerie light, as if the sea itself was on fire, only with a green fire. Several men were pointing to the mysterious light, shimmering in the darkness. Some were speaking as if it were a good omen, some as if it were a bad one.

Immanuel stared at the light, and then, proceeded to the commander’s tent. The famous Jean de la Cassière was here, ordering the units of Knights into strategic positions overlooking the harbor, preparing for a large invasion here, perhaps only second to the one at the Harbour. de la Cassiere met Immanuel, and answered his first plea to send two men to take Isabella and Rebecca into Fort Angelo near Birgu. de la Cassiere asked no questions. He was a man of reflection, as well as action, born with a sensitive, romantic nature. His tall, fair frame inspired not only confidence, but trust. And he gave trust as well as demanded it. Like Isabella, de la Cassiere was from a handsome northern family, the proud bearers of a long line of a noble name.

“Immanuel, I think your ladies should not go to St. Angelo’s but be brought here to this camp. I think this is a safer place for them. I sincerely hope your honorable father is aware of the three actions about to commence. We have had word of the ships in the Harbour beginning to attack Fort Elmo, and if you stand by the cliffs, you can hear the guns even now, in the early morning light.”

As de la Cassiere said, the booming of artillery grew more persistent, indicating the siege had begun in earnest. Immanuel feared for the men at Fort Elmo.

“I agree for the women to be brought here. There was disagreement among the commanders as to the attack on Mdina.” Immanuel was not blaming anyone, but he needed to remind the commander of the immediate danger to the west.

“Yes, yes, I know, and now we have the three prongs of the triton of satan at our necks. Thank God for Vallette’s far-sighted plans to the building of the forts.

Look, you can see this strange light in the sea. What do you make of this? One wants to write a ballad and place this light at the center of some great mystery which will lead to our victory. Perhaps, I shall call this light the hem of Mary, as she leads us, does she not, our Queen?”

Immanuel bowed as the commander referred to the Lady of Malta, Mary, the Mother of God.

“But, we do not see the entire fleet here. And word from St. Elmo’s indicates that the Ottomans have split into three. This is a mistake, mark my words.”

Immanuel agreed with a nod.

 Only God was in charge, neither lights nor demons. Immanuel’s faith transcended superstition and fear. And, his faith and love for the Madonna reassured him as he sat down, finally exhausted with his full twenty-four hours of riding. He was sure St. Dimitri had earned its extra oats, grasses, fresh water and rest as well. Now, he could sleep for a while, and as soon as de la Cassiere gave him his own tent, Immanuel fell onto the blankets on the ground and immediately fell asleep, as if he were an experienced Knight of Malta. But, before he lay on the soft coverlets from de la Cassiere’s own tent, he laid the gun of Frederico on the side of his bed. The young man had the instincts of a Knight, but perhaps, because of Tomas and Isabella, not the rights. His sleep was dreamless.

To be continued…

The Two Brothers Part Six

Immanuel did not want to poison the wells. But, he was under orders from Vallette. The local farmers filled hundreds of old crockery jars with water and hid these in their small houses and even underground in the few caves they could find. Some farmers put dried food stock in the ancient ruined temples, as the Turks thought these were the haunts of demons. The farmers knew better. They knew the island belonged to Mary, the Mother of God, and felt completely protected under her mantle.

Immanuel worked with the local farmers and helped them dry fruits and vegetables, store what grain was ripe, and burn the unripe grain. The farmers also got pigs from Sicily, knowing the Turks would not touch pork and made rashers, hams and other variations of dried ham.

These were kept in secret places, but in the end, many Maltese died of hunger and thirst, but that come later in this story.

In the meantime, the ships of the Turks came into the Harbour and began to shot the large cannons at St. Elmos and at the smaller fortifications on the promontory.  Tomas, down in Marsaxlokk, trained unskilled men and worked with those of his Order who were eager for battle, but wondering why they had been stuck so far away from the action.

Tomas only had to wait a few weeks before it was clear why the Grand Master had sent him and his troops
up the coast. Too soon, ships were landing in the north and in the south, in a three-fold attacke. And, the few men there would have to fight the greater number pouring off these sailing fortresses.


But, something odd was happening, and Tomas felt uneasy. If he were either occultic, or religious, he superstitiously or discerningly would look for a spiritual answer. The siroccos started late and were going on 
longer and harder than usual. 

To be continued...

The Brothers of Malta-Five

Tomas would have to deal with Suleiman I and Frederico with Lala Kara Mustafa Pasha. The ships had to be destroyed by the guns of Tomas, and the land soldiers by the guns and swords of Frederico. Both men approached their commands with different means. Frederico had risen early, before the early dawn, and assisted at Mass. He then prayed before the icon of Our Lady in the small chapel next to his apartments for two hours. His orders came from a different authority than Vallette.

Today, Frederico knew the battle would commence, and, sadly, many people would die. But, he was assured by the Virgin that Malta would endure and win in the end, after many trials.

Frederico had been mentally prepared for suffering and victory. The French Grand Master had joined Frederico for Mass, surprisingly prayer, and then breakfast. The tall and elegant Grand Master prepared for battle like his entire household, by going to the King of Kings and begging for spiritual prudent and perseverance. And, a break-fast it was for both men. Frederico trusted Valette’s humility, born of his past as a galley slave himself, and as a true Knight of the Order. Vallette had already given new orders in the dark of pre-dawn. The promontory and St. Elmo’s armies were on alert, even before Tomas saw the sails in the distance. Vallette had received word from his men in Sicily and southern Italy, men who would be called “secret service spies” in later days.

The Grand Master poured fresh water with lime slices for both men.  A small, brown bird hopped on the window sill. “The rumour mills turn and turn, giving the numbers of ships belonging to the Sultan Suleiman as 193. Do you suppose such numbers would be sent here? I do, but we will hold back the enemy from the shores of Europe herself.”

Frederico tore some bread and spread soft cheese over the piece. “Yes, I believe the numbers we are hearing. Why not, Vallette. Why not? The Sultan has many ships and he has pride to match. He wants to destroy Catholicity on this island and will use all his power to do so. Yes, I believe these numbers.”

Vallette stood up and went to the window. “Listen, the bell, the warning bell. Tomas has seen something-the something we knew was coming. Call for my horse and attendant, please Frederico, and God bless you here. I assume you are ready? I go to the eastern coast with God and Our Lady to guide me.”

Vallette was outside, and turned to shake Frederico’s hand. “I am ready, Sir.”

Vallette mounted his horse, and he and his attendant charged down the cobblestone streets to the gate and off in the direction of the promontory.  Frederico attache joined him, “Do you want your horse, Sir?”  Frederico looked at the young man, who seemed frightened. The young man was a novice in the Order, a young man from England, fair and tall, but scared. “Matthew, let us first stop and say a rosary to Our Lady. Then, we shall join the troops. Pray for courage and perseverance, as this will be a long battle.”

Within the hour, the two were on their way to the tents at Fort Angelo. In this Year of Our Lord, 1565, on May 18^th, with the hardening breeze of the sea in his face, mixed with the sand of the sirocco, Frederico thought, either he would suffer and meet His God soon, or suffer and endure to fight for many days. All rested in God’s Hands. He sped on his white horse and Matthew followed on his bay.

To be continued…

The Two Brothers of Malta Four

Tomas stood on the small battlements on Mt. Sciberras set-up on the peninsula, which in a few years, would present one of the more beautiful cities to the world with a fortress no one could overcome. But, today, only a handful of works had been hastily built around the tents and guns of the Knights of Malta’s troops in the months before this spring day.

Already news of a huge fleet sailing towards Malta had come with the dawn breeze. The cry of the gulls never seemed so poignant to Tomas, who was grateful that his only son was far away in Gozo tending flocks and crops.

Tomas looked towards the East. Nothing yet was on the horizon, and when the first ship would be spotted, the large bell on the coast would cry out for all men to come to arms.

The elder brother wondered at his calm. He was not a peaceful man, usually, but a man of restless energy and intense intellect. It was no accident that Vallette had chosen Tomas for the front line of battle on the edge of the promontory.

But, today, Tomas felt neither brilliant nor particularly active. His thoughts were far away, in the cool streets of Rabat, in the past sadness of his youth, his wasted youth. Tomas was no romantic. He saw clearly that he had scorned wisdom for advancement, peace for pride, and position for temperance. He have loved unwisely and those beneath his status, choosing none of the ladies who his parents had chosen for him, but stubbornly choosing those who he knew could never bear his name, or his title.

Today, however, Tomas reflected on the fact that his son was hindered by the father’s stupidity and coarseness. Why had he not thought of a son in those years, a son who could inherit title, even the name of the Order, two honors of the father which were denied the son by birth?

Tomas looked one more time to the East, as if he sensed, or even smelled, danger. And, there is was, a small black dot on the far edge of the Middle Sea-growing ever so much larger, and flanked, in crescent shape, by other black dots. The wind was “up” which bode evil for the small garrison on the rocks above the small peninsula. Tomas watched the dots grow into shapes, the shapes of sails. The fleet would be here in a matter of hours.

Tomas was under the command of the captains at  Fort St. Angelo, Fort St. Michael and Fort St. Elmo but directly under Vallette as well. The great leaders de la Cassiere, de Medran and de Robles would have authority over Tomas, as he was only fifth in command. But, as he had the most men and movable armory, his role was not insignificant. That Vallette moved Tomas to Marsaxlokk was an unusual move, leaving less men to defend St. Elmo and the promontory overlooking the harbour. But, Tomas trusted the Grand Master.

In the meantime, his son had travelled overnight in a small fishing boat to Malta from Gozo. Then, he moved quickly, with a group of his own men, about six youths, south.

In the countryside, Immanuel had been ordered to cut down all the crops on all the estates, as had all the smaller farmers and other estates on the hillsides. Even the young, unripe grains were sacrificed. The Gozo wine estates would be guarded against those Turks who still lived on the island after the victory years ago. But, most of those men, who lingered had become soft, even marrying into some Catholic families, after being baptized. Immanuel did not worry about his vineyards, but he had much work to do organizing the early harvest to keep the grain and fruits out of the hands of the landing troops. Much of the produce was stored in the ancient catacombs of Rabat. Immanuel and the other farmers had also been ordered to poison most of the wells near the sea. This they did, keeping only the ones in Mdina and Rabat, as well as a few in the north free of poison, so that the locals could drink.. Immanuel, sharing instincts regarding warfare with his father had poisoned the wells around St. Paul’s Bay, angering the local inhabitants, but his foresight later proved correct.

Immanuel stood at the gates of Mdina and looked out to the sea. Like his father, he could sense danger in the airs above the blue waters. He knew instinctively that today was to be the first day of the battle. He ordered more guards to the catacombs, and turned to the south, where he would visit Frederico one more time before the battles began.  What Immanuel did not know was that his father and the troops on the Grand Harbor had split into two, some staying at St. Elmos and some moving to Marsamxett. Vallette had a premonition about that northern base and had sent Tomas and his men there. However, St. Elmo’s was the key fort.

As Immanuel rode south, he could feel sand in the air, as the sirocco raged off the African coast into the fair land of Malta. These winds off the Sahara caused Immanuel to put a scarf over his face. He laughed. And, for a moment was glad that he was not a Knight, forced to wear the armor of the Order. But, a strange thought crossed his strategic mind. If the siroccos became worse, would not the fleet turn away from the winds and move to the north? What then for the troops at St. Elmo’s Fort? What if the land troops of the enemy chose to take Mdina and Rabat, where the foodstuffs lay hidden? What if the promontory could not hold? What if the Madonna left the people to their own devices because of their many sins?

Immanuel spurred his horse to get to the camp near Fort St. Angelo, where his angelic uncle was still training young men in the art of swordsmanship, even on this day.

To be continued…

The Brothers of Malta-Three

Rumors of the fleet began months before the ships were sighted. Fishermen who travelled beyond Sicily and trading vessels disappeared, without any trace of ruin or survivors. Widows cried and lit candles to St. Publius and St. Paul all over the island. Spanish, French and Roman ambassadors came and discussed plans for a great sea battle with the commander of all the Knights, Jean Parisot de Valette. They came in stealth, and with little pomp due to their status. Plans made in secret need to be kept secret in a small place, on a small island.

Frederico was given orders to get more volunteers to fight and defend the coastlines of the west and south. All knew that the small peninsula would see the great part of the fighting. The harbor, so deep and easily accessible invited invasion.

Valette had been elected as Grand Master in 1557, because a battle would happen. The inhabitants looked towards him as a messiah, as a savior. As a monk as well as a soldier, Vallette gained admiration from Frederico, who honored the Grand Master's efforts to be an example of chastity, prudence, and obedience to God. Unlike so many of the Knights, Valette was stamped with an inner as well as exterior greatness. He inspired his men because he invoked God, and was, unusually, a humble man.

Frederico was called into a meeting in late July, on the Feast of St. Anne, to discuss plans for the inevitable. Tomas, also, had an invitation. When Frederico met the two in a small, quiet back street in Mdina, near the Cathedral, he was surprised, but pleased, with a third attendant. Immanuel walked into the cool room, resplendent in his newly acquired Italian clothes. But, on his face was joy and relief. Immanuel desired nothing more than to help with the battles to come. His youth and energy flushed his fair face. His mother had been beautiful.

"Immanuel, sit next to me, and look at these diagrams. I need your advice." Frederico smiled, but Tomas beamed. His decision to call back his son had proved to be right. He silently thanked his own judgement, with a nod to Claire's memory. He would have a Mass of thanksgiving said, as soon as possible.

"I need five large estates on which to grow necessary food stuffs in case of a siege. In my mind, at night, in the darkness of this small room, I see our dear people unable to get help from other Christian nations, for weeks, for months."

I want you to start what I shall call "state farms". Here, near Rabat, here on Gozo, on your father's estates, here in new city I want to build, and here in or near the Grotto of St. Mary. I want these estates to be so large that all the people will eat well, even if they must eat like rabbits, for as long as the battles take place. Can you do this? And continue to make wine, as well? I shall provide workers."

Immanuel remained quiet. Then, he cleared his throat and said gently, quietly, "With the Madonna's help, I shall do this. And, for Christendom, not merely for Malta."

Tomas could hardly conceal his pride. Here, his blond, blue-eyed son of the north and south, answered with a graciousness and humility Tomas could hardly believe.

Frederico thought, "And, Our Lady will help this good, young man."

Vallette took out several bags of gold coins from an old chest on the floor behind him. "I give you money from France and from Spain, good gold, for you to start now. Purchase what you need and pay your laborers well. We shall all be grateful, all the Maltese."

The Grand Master stood up, and the three began to leave. "Immanuel. I cannot accept you as a Knight, but if you succeed in feeding our people, I shall see if I can change the Order's rules. You understand."

Immanuel blushed and glanced at his father, who started forward. Frederico stopped Tomas, with his arm. "Be quiet, Tomas. You created this obstacle, not Immanuel."

Tomas stepped back and bowed. No one noticed his blush, perhaps the first blush in his long life.

As the three entered the dark night, Tomas slapped his son on the back. "I am so proud of you, my son."

"Father, I have never wanted to be a Knight. My example has not encouraged me to see the beauty of the order. Now, let me go do what I must."

Tomas dropped his arm, and the youth walked away quickly into the dark. The two brothers stood side by side. Frederico spoke, softly, "It is not too late to make your son proud of you brother. Think on this."

"I shall, but not tonight. Good night, Frederico. We all have work to do, you in the courtyards with swords and shields and me on the ramparts."

to be continued....