A Small Reminder

Please do not forget your guardian angels. They so much want to be acknowledged and asked for help. That is why they exist-to watch over and serve us, to help us get to heaven. Do you think of your angel? Your angel thinks of you.

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...

Blogging Blues Two

Well, I am in a different cafe, which seems friendly and with good food. However, public blogging lacks the serenity of private blogging.

It is harder to concentrate in a room with five sports televisions and weird music...oh, well.

I am having an Iowa beef burger with a fried egg and ham on it, which is absolutely over-the-top.

There is nothing small in Iowa.

In the meantime, I am thinking of Immanuel in Malta, poisoning the wells....get back to you soon.

From SPUC

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Your support is crucial for victory
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Please give now to equip our dedicated attorneys to win strategic and precedent-setting legal cases that will help protect you and other believers who have been targeted for simply living out their faith. 

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Your support – when pooled with the gifts of other generous, caring Christians – will help fund winning legal strategies that are critical to achieving future victories for your religious freedom! 

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Sign, I hope for forgiveness

It my scattered existence, and next week I shall no longer be in Iowa, I completely forgot St. Etheldreda's feast day. I know she forgives me, but a belated honor is better than none. Check out the tags on my beloved patron of this blog.

May God raise up more Etheldredas in this day.

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 Last Manning Post for Now

Cardinal Manning writes that we can make reparation to the Holy Ghost in three ways. The first is through following His inspirations promptly. Look at the damsel fly, as I add, and see how this creature turns quickly over a stream and changes direction in its flight. So too, we must swiftly respond to grace.

Second, and this is more difficult as it demands a generous heart, we must respond according to the graces and inspirations given, not  with the burying of the talent, but with making more out of what is given.

Third, we must serve the Holy Ghost is complete purity of heart. Now, the Cardinal gives way to achieve this purity, some of which were pointed out to me long ago.

Firstly, “…hunt down and slay your little faults; he that is faithful in that which is the least is faithful also in that which is greater; and they who will hunt down, and slay, and exterminate their little faults, be sure of it, will never willingly commit greater sins.”

Secondly, Manning advises us to do all our “little duties”…”with great exactness”.

The last words from this book on this blog are on the horrible spiritual warfare we are experiencing now and which Manning saw in his day.

I shall end with the same prayer which ends his book.

“O God the Holy Ghost, Whom I have slighted, grieved, resisted from my childhood unto this day, reveal unto me they personality, Thy presence, Thy power. Make me know Thy sevenfold gifts: the spirit of wisdom and understanding, of counsel and fortitude, of knowledge and piety, and of the fear of the Lord; and make me to be of quick understanding in the fear of the Lord. O Thou Who art the Spirit of the Father and the Son, O Thou Who are the love of the Father and the Son, O Thou Who baptisest with fire, and sheddest abroad the love of God in our hearts, shed abroad Thy love in my heart. One thing have I desired of the Lord: that will I seek after: not wealth, rank, power, worldly home, worldly happiness, or any worldly good, but one drop of that holy flame, one drop of that heavenly fire, to kindle me and set me on fire with the love of my God.

Let that holy flame burn up and consume in me every spot and soil of the flesh and of the spirit. Purify me sevenfold with the fire of Thy love. Consume me as a holy sacrifice acceptable unto Thee. Kindle me with zeal, melt me with sorrow, that I may live the life and die the death of a fervent penitent.”

Happy Feast of The Birth of The Baptist

One of my patrons...

Almighty God, by whose providence your servant John the Baptist was wonderfully born, and sent to prepare the way of your Son our Savior by preaching repentance: Make us so to follow his teaching and holy life, that we may truly repent according to his preaching; and, following his example, constantly speak the truth, boldly rebuke vice, and patiently suffer for the truth's sake; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Manning Count Down

This is the penultimate post on Manning’s works for now.

I am sorry to leave the work of this great man. I feel a connection to him from my stay at St. Mary of the Angels for three months in 2012. Daily, I worshipped in the Church where Manning himself sometimes came, and in the buildings where the Oblates of St. Charles lived, I lived for a short, but happy time.

The Holy Spirit moves us and others to form our lives. The Holy Ghost is, as Manning teaches us, “the efficient cause of all grace.”

The Holy Ghost raised Christ from the dead. The Holy Ghost came into the Church and into us at Pentecost. And, we need His help now more than ever.

“And as the Holy Ghost is the Creator and Sanctifier of the Church,” writes the Cardinal, “He is also its Guide and its Light.”

Manning quotes many references from St. Paul in this last chapter. I highly suggest a study of St. Paul through Galatians, 1 and 2 Corinthians, and Romans. Manning decries the loss of the realization among most Catholics that we have the Indwelling of the same Spirit Who raised Christ from the dead and who recreated the world through grace and gifts.

How do we become unconscious of this grand heritage of the life of the Spirit within us?

“…ay, even from your Baptism…the Holy Ghost has been within you; all through your growth, in your childhood, in every age, in all your spiritual life, the Holy Ghost has been with you, springing up as a fountain of grace. You have been encompassed and enveloped by the love of God.”

…

“We have been wasting the grace of God all our life long, and there has been a hand unseen pouring in oil, lest the light of the lamp should die out.”

…

“The Giver of all the sweetness of God is within you, waiting only for you to ask it of Him. He has shed it abroad in your hearts even when you have not asked it…”

Cardinal Manning stares we must do three things. First, we must adore the Holy Spirit as we do the Father and the Son. Second, we must “…have a more lively conception of His presence within us.” Third, “…we must realize and have a perception that He is at all times bearing ‘testimony in our hearts that we are sons of God.’ We must in turn speak with Him, and love Him, and praise Him, and glorify Him, both by inward acts of adoration in our soul and by outward acts of obedience in our lives.”

We must also make reparation to the Holy Spirit for our many sins. I shall continue in one more posting.

Parents, Check This Out

http://eagnews.org/commoncore/

Manning Glut--Enjoy!

The chapter on the Beatitudes includes a long section on the need for perfection for priests and bishops. I shall let those two groups of men read that section, rather than comment here.

However, I do want to quote a long section for the laity.

“We have come to the foot of the mountain of Beatitudes, from which the new law of perfection has gone forth to the ends of the earth. We see the companies of the elect going up each in its order. First the poor, wayworn, and footsore; here and there one who on earth was great, and noble, and rich, but poor in spirit, in the great multitude who eat bread in the sweat of their face. Then the meek, noiseless as the flight of doves; then the mourners, with their heads covered, following the Man of Sorrow by the strait, sure road of affliction. After them those that hunger after God in the vehemence of the spirit, speeding upward and saluting no man by the way; next come the merciful, with their hands full of alms, which look like roses.  After them the clean in heart, scaling the mountain like rays that run upward with the speed of lightning; then come the peacemakers in the majesty of calm and joy; and in the rear of all, the soldiers of Jesus, the heralds of the Holy Ghost to a world of sin, which smote them and slew them for their charity.  All these are going upward. Shall we be left behind? Aim higher and higher. Desire the best gifts. Be faithful over the least.  Commit yourself to the guidance of the Spirit of God, for He is Love, and Light, and Power. Ispe perficiet. As He began so He will make perfect.”

How wonderful, how beautiful…

One or two most posts on Manning to come….

Manning at His Best

The chapter on the Beatitudes includes a long section on the need for perfection for priests and bishops. I shall let those two groups of men read that section, rather than comment here.

However, I do want to quote a long section for the laity.

“We have come to the foot of the mountain of Beatitudes, from which the new law of perfection has gone forth to the ends of the earth. We see the companies of the elect going up each in its order. First the poor, wayworn, and footsore; here and there one who on earth was great, and noble, and rich, but poor in spirit, in the great multitude who eat bread in the sweat of their face. Then the meek, noiseless as the flight of doves; then the mourners, with their heads covered, following the Man of Sorrow by the strait, sure road of affliction. After them those that hunger after God in the vehemence of the spirit, speeding upward and saluting no man by the way; next come the merciful, with their hands full of alms, which look like roses.  After them the clean in heart, scaling the mountain like rays that run upward with the speed of lightning; then come the peacemakers in the majesty of calm and joy; and in the rear of all, the soldiers of Jesus, the heralds of the Holy Ghost to a world of sin, which smote them and slew them for their charity.  All these are going upward. Shall we be left behind? Aim higher and higher. Desire the best gifts. Be faithful over the least.  Commit yourself to the guidance of the Spirit of God, for He is Love, and Light, and Power. Ispe perficiet. As He began so He will make perfect.”

How wonderful, how beautiful…

One or two most posts on Manning to come….

Manning Day-The Ending of A Fantastic Journey

Manning continues on the theme of perfection.

In this state, there are two opinions are to whether people still sin venially. The key is “…there is no deliberate affection to anything contrary to the will of God. Temptations resisted are not sins; and the indeliberate adhesion of the mind to that which is deliberately resisted is not a transgression of the law. “

We are all called to this. Manning continues, “All that are saved must be made perfect before they can see the face of God. But all are not called to the same perfection, not to the same degree of perfection, nor by the same way….All are called, but not all to the same office, or grace or reward.”

But, all will be happy in heaven, according to each one’s call.

So, to repeat, what is perfection? “The essential perfection of the soul is the love of God and our neighbour. “

“There is no perfection of charity, humility, poverty of spirit we may not attain. All of you living in the world in trade and business, n the cares and works of home, you may all be united with God in a close and constant union…”

More later…much more tomorrow

HELLO! To Friends in Canada

I have a long way to go...more Manning on perfection

Perfection involves acting in the life of virtue, exhibiting all the fruits of the Holy Spirit and, eventually, having a character completely formed in the Mind of Christ, which is found in the Beatitudes.

Some people are born with strong characteristics of the Beatitudes. These people are especially graced to maintain their innocence and baptismal purity. Such as the saints like Gemma Galgani and Aloysius Gonzanga. When confirmed, these saints are almost “perfect Christians”. They will suffer the passive perfection and be united to Christ quickly, but not without intense suffering.

We see this pattern in the life of St. Therese, the Little Flower, the saint of love. These young saints have been perfected on a fast track to holiness and illumination, love and unity.

Other saints must strive to conquer their predominant faults. Manning makes the distinction between a “just man, and a holy man, and a perfect man.”

He writes that, “A just man fulfils the law, and gives to every man his due; a holy man is specially united with God; the perfect man is both.”

Can parents understand why it is so important to form their children from little on, helping them create habits of charity and all the virtues, using the baptismal purity to move on to purity of mind and heart as adults?

This is not impossible. Manning notes that, “because truth is the revelation of the mind of God, the intellect is conformed to the divine intelligence.”  

Read the process which is possible for all: “As this sanctifying grace grows in the heart, the intellect and will are conformed to the intelligence and will of God; and this growing conformity prepares both for the operation of the seven gifts. Then holy fear, and piety, and fortitude control, and soften, and strengthen the will; and knowledge and counsel form the practical reason or conscience; and understanding and wisdom enlarge the head and the heart, and unite both with God.”

Manning states, however, that this state is still not perfection.

“There may still be flaws and dents in the heart, mists in the intelligence, twists and crookedness in the will. There may be roots of many faults yet alive; habitual faults and deliberate venial sins.”

One may sin venially out of a knee-jerk reaction learning in childhood, habits which must be broken, but deliberate venial sins, with full knowledge, are more serious sins. Both types must be washed away in the Dark Night.

Manning continues, “The complete circle of charity and of it fertility is not yet expanded. There may be no self-denial, or generosity, or fervour. Such a man may still seek his own things, and not the things which are Jesus Christ’s. He keeps the commandments, but not the counsels. He dos many good things, but he does not spend himself, nor is he willing to be spent for the elect’s sake.”

As Manning notes, these people are good but not perfect. They do good works, but seem wooden and not spontaneous. They have to enter into the passive perfection of the soul, the purgation of self-will, the Dark Night, when all egoism is destroyed because good men judge one as evil, but nothing prospers from the work of one’s hands. ‘…everything goes wrong…all seem to prosper that is evil.”

Such is the way of the saint, those who want to be perfect. “Here is the realm which seems to be the home of those God has forgotten; where His face is never seen, nor a ray of His light ever shines. Let us now read over the Beatitudes: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit;’ Blessed are they that mourn;’ ‘blessed are they that hunger and thirst;’ Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you for justice’ sake.’

As Manning states most neatly—“This is the region not so much of active charity as of passive endurance.”

One suffers in the dark.  Faith, hope and charity need to be used, daily. Those who want to be perfect, must go through this time. “They are learning to suffer without and within; from the world, from enemies, from friends, from Satan, from themselves. They are learning to be patient to be patient as their Divine Master, gentle to all, even the most unworthy; generous to the ungrateful, thankful under the cross, and their will in perfect submission to the will of God.”

As God told me on the Feast of Corpus Christi, “You have a long way to go….”

To be continued…

Books by Cardinal Manning

By the way, Cardinal Manning, besides the two books I have highlighted on this blog, wrote many others.

If anyone would like to find and send me any of these, I would be thrilled to share the contents with you, my dear readers. Here is a partial list of titles:

Miscellanies (two vols.)

Glories of The Sacred Heart

England and Christendom (sounds fascinating and timely)

Dignity and Rights of Labour

Education and Parental Rights

The Centenary of St. Peter and The General Council

The Oecumenical Council and The Infallibility of The Roman Pontiff

The Vatican Council and Its Definitions

Petri Privilegium

The Blessed Sacrament The Centre of Immutable Truth

Sermons on Ecclesiastical Subjects

The Love of Jesus to Penitents

The Temporal Power of The Pope

The Temporal Power of The Pope in Its Political Aspect

Rome and The Revolution

Christ and Antichrist (very timely)

Rome The Capital of Christendom (great!)

The Four Great Evils of The Day (hmmmm-might be timely, indeed)

The Fourfold Sovereignty of God (we need to preach this)

Sin and Its Consequences

Dominus Illuminatio Mea

Confidence in God

Ground of Faith

The Vatican Decrees

More from the book on the Holy Ghost and us later…

On Rainbows

What is it in a rainbow which brings joy?

Why do we stop and watch the colors grow in brightness, then fade?

I have seen more rainbows in the past four months than I have in years. All have been glorious and one I saw to the very ground, as if it was burrowing into the hard soil of Iowa.

Tonight, just before dusk, I saw the second one in three weeks; both were full, with a faint double on either end.

These rainbows were in the East, as the sun set in the West. It was as if God was encouraging me to look East, as I always do in my heart.  This evening, my heart grew wings and flew between the bow and earth, to the East, with prayers and thanksgiving for God’s love and His Providence. The two greatest human loves I have in that heart with wings are in the East.

This ancient sign of promise continues to thrill those who have the eyes of children, the eyes of simple gifts, today, as in the days long ago, when God renewed His covenant with men.

May God continue to send us the sign of His favor and love. May we continue to rejoice in the sight of a rainbow.