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….