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…
