PART TWO
Objective: St. Elmo
8
FIRST BLOOD
If we are to predict the outcome based on the beginning, we can expect only confusion worse confounded.
Petremol, French ambassador to Constantinople
Today, all the soldiers were assembled in and around Pasha Hazretleri’s tent and the imperial letter of command conferred on the pasha was read out loudly. Prayers and praises were raised to the Sultan. Even the Pasha himself bestowed many favours upon the soldiers.
1565 Ottoman Malta Campaign Register
On the morning of May 18, a single cannon shot rang out from Fort St. Elmo. An answering shot came from Fort St. Angelo (a thousand meters across the still water of Grand Harbor), quickly followed by the sound of church bells in Birgu. Ships, too many to be from Sicily, had begun to crowd the eastern horizon, indistinct dots on the glittering water, multiplying not quickly, but inexorably, until they formed a single arced line. Any lingering hopes that Malta might be spared were now over.
The Ottoman’s imminent arrival created new problems for Valette. The ten thousand men that Don Garcia was hoping to raise could not now manage to pierce the Turkish cordon and would have to stay in Sicily.1 Worse, far too many old, young, infirm, and unsoldierly noncombatants would remain in Malta, as they could not now be evacuated. As word of the approaching armada spread, some twenty-four thousand peasants, the inevitable refugees of all wars, began to clog the roads from the countryside to the safety of Birgu and Fort St. Elmo.2 Viperano writes uncharitably of the “fear and anxiety in the souls of the Maltese, who are by nature timid and scarcely accustomed to war.”3 These people were now Valette’s responsibility. Valette ordered the lightly inhabited peninsula of Senglea, site of D’Homedes’s old pleasure garden, to be made available to them. It wasn’t much, but at least it was on the right side of the walls.
(Viperano’s take on the Maltese is repeated elsewhere, but it was nonsense even at the time. Fifteenth-century surveys, taken years before the knights arrived, show native cavalry on the island. Maltese companies had served at Algiers in 1541 and Tripoli in 1536 and 1551, and Maltese corsairs at this time worked under license of the knights in exchange for a hefty 75 percent of their profits, later reduced to 9 percent.)4
As the sun rose, anyone not better occupied came out to watch the approaching fleet. Don Garcia had reported to Philip a total of one hundred and sixty Ottoman vessels at Modon as of May 3, but who could say if that number was accurate?5 Valette now ordered Romegas and Giou out on the waters for a closer look. The mission was strictly exploratory—any threat of engagement and Romegas was to break off and return to port. As it turned out, the grand master need not have worried. The Ottoman commanders had no interest in Romegas’s tiny squadron and certainly no reason to disguise their strength. Ships by the dozen, soldiers in their thousands, could only terrify the islanders. Malta would crack all the sooner once she understood that the fight was hopeless.
A single galleot lead the sultan’s fleet, its crew repeatedly dropping a lead line over the side, taking soundings. Romegas had learned what he could (not much) at a safe distance and headed back to Fort St. Angelo. The question then arose, where would the enemy attempt to land? By midday, the ships were close enough to shore that individual figures could be distinguished—soldiers, support personnel, the naked oarsmen, and the watchful coxswains who kept them in line. As the armada bore south, Valette ordered Marshal Guillaume de Coppier’s cavalry to shadow the armada’s progress along the island. Horses would not be staying in Birgu once the siege began in earnest anyway (too little water), and this foray was a preliminary to sending them to Mdina for good. Coppier commanded a hundred knights of Lieutenant Medrano, Colonel Pierre de Massuez Vercoirin (aka Colonel Mas), with part of Captain La Motte’s company and that of Captain Juan d’Eguaras, a thousand men in all.6 They mounted, the gates to Birgu squeaked open, and the men headed down the coastline, parallel to and maintaining the same speed as the ships.
By late afternoon the armada was rounding the southern points of the island near Marsaxlokk bay. This was the logical choice for a landing—a large, circular inlet, shallow, suitable for offloading the numbers of men and equipment the Ottomans had brought. Moreover, there wasn’t much chance of harassment from the Maltese or their allies—the surrounding terrain was flat and offered little in the way of defensive cover. Coppier’s men reached a good spot to survey the ships’ entry into the bay. They waited in vain. The wind shifted, and this, combined with the lateness of the hour, made landfall impracticable. As the fleet passed between the cliffs outside Zurrico and the small island of Fifla three miles offshore, the knight Ramon Fortuyn counted a total of 193 ships.7 The final total was closer to 380.8 (By contrast, the Spanish Armada of 1588 totaled 130 ships.)
It was this report that Valette gave to Giovanni Castrucco for delivery to Sicily. Castrucco’s small boat paddled out of Grand Harbor and headed north, alone, while the great Ottoman parade continued toward the south and past Marsaxlokk until, as dusk arrived, it finally stopped and dropped anchor off the rocky west coast, forming a magnificent and alarming silhouette against the dying sun.
After sundown, Coppier’s horsemen regrouped at Mdina. The Turks, they knew, would not offload their army at night, but they might land a few scouts. Valette would appreciate a few captives, and between the dark, the unfamiliar terrain, and their still feeling the effects of a long voyage, the odd Muslim patrol should be relatively easy to catch. Coppier ordered a small patrol and headed some two miles northwest to Torre Falca, a landmark mill north of Mdina and a high point from which it became clear that Ottomans had indeed landed. Further reconnaissance required stealth, which in turn required smaller groups. He ordered Captain d’Eguaras to lead a detachment of one hundred foot and two hundred and fifty horse. D’Eguaras proceeded another two miles, then stopped in his turn and sliced off a yet smaller squad of a dozen chosen men—knights and Maltese guides, all with horse—to approach the shoreline.9 They were to find a well-sheltered position and wait for a stray Turk to come to them. Should they run into real trouble, they were to fire their weapons and d’Eguaras would come to their aid. D’Eguaras put Adrien de la Rivière, onetime page (trinciante) to Valette, in command, wished him luck, and watched as the men mounted and disappeared quietly in the dark.10
There is nothing harder or more typical for a soldier to do than to wait. These men, agitated by the sheer size of the armada and the knowledge of how few Christians were on Malta, could sit still, listen for unexpected sounds carried on the offshore breezes, peer into the dark horizons and up at the night sky, imagine what their comrades were doing, when they would come back, and what the rest of the spring and summer was going to bring.
Meanwhile, La Rivière’s expedition walked their horses across the rocky ground, alert to sound and movement—little enough, despite the night’s silence and the nearly full moon. After about two miles, they heard voices. La Rivière found a stone outcropping, ordered his men to settle in the stone’s lee and waited and listened. Uncertain sounds came and went, until he heard the clip-clop of a lone horse walking across the rocky ground. It was coming from behind them. La Rivière raised his head. What he saw was a man on horseback, clearly Christian, clearly lost. Shouting out would have been foolish; letting the man wander away would have been irresponsible. La Rivière mounted his own horse, exposing himself to the faintest of early morning light, and rode toward the interloper.
The rider was Vendo de Mesquita, a young nephew of the governor at Mdina. What did he want? Nothing more than to be part of the mission, and to that end he was wandering, unauthorized, just as aimlessly as the Ottomans he hoped to encounter. Foolish of the boy, but if he wanted excitement, he was about to get it. The Turkish patrol La Rivière had detected earlier now saw these two silhouettes against the creeping dawn and opened fire. Mesquita’s horse was startled by the noise and bolted, leaving La Rivière and his men to face the enemy alone.
The Ottomans were just yards away, and their numbers were growing quickly, as they, experienced soldiers, were attracted to the sounds of shouting and gunfire. La Rivière took the initiative. He wheeled his horse about and charged a knot of men. According to the Ottoman campaign register, one Mehmed ben Mehmed managed to get La Rivière off his horse and capture him alive.11 One of the enemy raised a long arquebus, leveled the weapon, and fired a bullet square in the center of La Rivière’s breastplate. The armor saved his life, but his horse reared and La Rivière slipped off the animal’s backside. He was alive, but flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, unharmed but helpless.
La Rivière’s outnumbered comrades were firing back now. One of the Maltese broke cover and attempted to drag La Rivière to safety. But the knight was heavy, the more so with armor on, and after several attempts, the task proved too much for one man. The Maltese saw no advantage in their both being captured or killed. “Forgive me, Sir, that I can do no more,” he said, and retreated to fight another day.12 The firing died off, the Christians melted away, and La Rivière lay alone on the ground. He might have fought to the death, but did not get the chance. The enemy, more interested in a live prisoner than a dead trophy, surrounded the knight, hoisted him up, and carried him off. They also had managed to snag a Portuguese serving brother, Bartolomeo Faraone, who failed in a last-ditch attempt to save his commander.13 (Elsewhere the Ottoman records claim: “Mehmed ben Mustafa . . . when the fleet arrived in the island of Malta and some horsemen on the side of the infidels put up some resistance . . . overturned one of the horses and captured the horseman riding it alive.”)14
Later that morning, Maltese scouts found Vendo de Mesquita propped up against the side of a farmhouse some miles away, stone dead. He had gotten his cuirass off, but to no purpose. An Ottoman bullet had hit home, and he had bled to death. He was the campaign’s first casualty.
D’Eguaras did not get a Turkish prisoner, but he did get a Neapolitan renegade, a young man who had managed to jump ship and stumble his way into the Christian lines. One renegade pawn was a poor trade for three knights, but he was better than nothing and, as a Christian, deserving of refuge. And he had information. The fleet, he said, carried fifty thousand fighting men and enough supplies for six months.15 He also reported bad blood between the commanders. According to this man, just as the fleet was approaching Malta, Mustapha pulled out a firman from the sultan giving him ultimate power, and thrust this toward Piali Pasha, which started a serious shouting match.16 The firman was unlikely to have changed the line of command as laid out in Constantinople, but the story encouraged the defenders.
Bad news followed good. Some time after midnight, thirty-five ships of the invasion fleet had broken off and headed back for Marsaxlokk where, unopposed, they off-loaded three thousand men.17 By morning, these exploratory troops had marched on and entered the villages of Zeitun and Zabbar. Detachments of Coppier’s remaining cavalry had harassed them as much as possible, but to no great end. When Valette learned of the situation, he ordered all infantry back to Birgu and all cavalry to Mdina. Coppier and his men may have been eager for revenge; Valette wanted to keep his force at full strength.
In the meantime, the defenders could do little more than pray, which the bishop of Malta did with a general procession, including the grand master, the knights, and the people. A Capuchin preacher prayed aloud for forty straight hours.18
The size of the opposing forces is largely educated guesswork. Contemporary reports take the Ottomans from a high of 80,000 to a low of 24,500—the latter figure being part of a report late in the siege. The figure of 35,000 men, 12,000 of them trained soldiers, is likely about right. That is against the 6,100 to 8,655 Christian defenders, of whom perhaps half were professional—at best a three to one advantage.19 On May 21, two days after they had arrived, the remainder of the Ottoman fleet glided into the shallow waters of Marsaxlokk, now fully secured, and prepared for the arduous task of landing an army and all its equipment on the beach.
The prisoners La Rivière and Faraone were brought to Mustapha, who could only have been delighted. First blood to the Turks; two knights captured, one probably killed—it was a good start. He might be able to learn how far the defenses of Birgu had progressed since previous reports.
The barriers to the peninsula of Senglea were a set of bastions, the so-called Post of Carlo Ruffo (later called the Post of Robles), the Post of Italy, followed by the Post of de Medi and the Post of the Maltese. The wider expanse of Birgu was defended by the Post of Aragon, the Post of Provence, of France, of Auvergne, of the Genoese, and where the walls met the water, the Post of Castile. On the water of Kalkara Creek were the Posts of Germany and England, all named for the langues assigned to defend them.20 There could be no question that Valette had been working hard these past six months to reinforce all of the defense works, but inevitably there would still be weak spots. Mustapha would find them in time, but how much easier it would be to learn it firsthand and thereby expedite the inevitable. Interrogation was hurried along with torture. The Ottoman standard (and Spanish, for that matter) would be the bastinado, whereby a skilled man took a heavy stick and, starting at the feet, methodically shattered all the bones in a man’s body. Death would come slowly and painfully from internal bleeding, and in theory a man would reveal anything his inquisitors wanted to know.
La Rivière suggested this was pointless: “What will you get by torturing me? You will never learn anything other than that you will never take Malta, because it is very strong and well provisioned, its captain is exceedingly valorous, its knights and soldiers valiant, and as is their obligation, they would sooner die for their faith and their Order than to show weakness.”21 Mustapha might have taken the last comment as bravado—admirable but irrelevant. Still, he held off torture and even sweetened the deal by offering La Rivière freedom if the knight revealed the weakest part of the Christian defense.
9
SIZING UP THE ENEMY
When the war waxed hote: the Master of the order thought good to certifie Garzias of Toledo the viceroy of Sicile, that he might make haste to come with his fleete.
Celio Secondo Curione (Thomas Mainwaring translation)
On May 21, 1565, Mustapha and seven thousand men gazed down on Birgu from the heights of St. Catherine, prevented from coming any closer by Christian artillery. As they watched, soldiers, slaves, and civilians were pulling down the stone houses of Bormulu outside the walls, to deny the invaders any cover. Women and children gathered up the loose detritus and carried it inside Senglea and Birgu. Once the Ottoman guns started firing, these stones and sacks of dirt would be vital to repair any damage to the defense works, or could serve as weapons—stones dropped from a height of twenty feet can easily crush a man’s skull.
Other than this controlled destruction, there was little more the defenders could do, and accordingly, they did little. Valette would not risk his soldiers, many still green, this early on, as failure to rout the Ottomans would end the campaign before it even started. He did, however, allow Coppier’s horsemen to ride out in search of targets of opportunity. They found work enough. By nightfall they had returned to celebrate the feats of the day. Souvenirs and trophies of the day were brought out and displayed to inspire fellow defenders. A Monsieur de Montal la Prade and an unnamed Spanish soldier took joint credit for seizing a Muslim standard, soon to adorn the Church of St. Lawrence. Others carried the heads of dead enemies. In the Auberge de Provence, Jean Antoine de Morgut of Navarre was showing off a talisman, una piastra d’oro, taken off the right arm of a richly dressed Turk. Arabic script covered the surface, its message simple and to the point: “I come to Malta not for gold or honor but for the sake of my soul.”1 No doubt there was truth to this, just as Christian adventurers were encouraged by the papal indulgence Rome had attached to this operation. Faith mattered. One of Valette’s anxieties was that La Rivière might reveal to Mustapha just how many of Malta’s defenders were soldati pagati, mercenaries, who might cu
t and run if things went badly, or be open to a higher bidder.2
On May 22, the last of the invasion fleet had settled into Marsaxlokk, and the invasion force had begun to snake its way toward Grand Harbor, taking advantage of abandoned property along the way, chiefly in the form of livestock. Not all peasants had had the time or the foresight to get their cattle and oxen to safety, or the discipline to slaughter them. Mustapha Pasha, by contrast, ordered that these animals “grandissimi, most large, like those of Sicily,” according to the Genoese spy Bregante, not be slaughtered.3 These animals were soon hitched up to the invader’s yokes and pulling carts laden with tents, cannon, food, ammunition, and other impedimenta over uneven roads.
By midday the Ottomans occupied Zeitun (St. John), a small village midway between Birgu and Marsaxlokk. The first serious assault could wait, but the day ended with one more fight, and a crucial one. It concerned water.
This was a resource worth dying for. Water, or rather the lack of it, had decided the siege of Djerba, and no general could afford to overlook this resource, not in summer and not at that latitude. A corps of water bearers was part of the Ottoman army. The invaders knew about the springs of the Marsa—the main water source for Birgu and environs—and were anxious to take control of them. Coppier, still angry over the loss of La Rivière, was determined that they should not. The two factions came to contest the matter on May 20, raising a din that carried across the waters to Fort St. Elmo, where several hundred soldiers were busy digging defense works. The sound of battle was catnip to these men, and they and their commander, Juan de La Cerda (a Spanish captain, not the former viceroy), hearing the sound of battle, felt their blood rise. These men had come to Malta to kill Turks, not lay stones, and now Turks were being killed, and not by them.4 Fra Broglio, in charge of St. Elmo, directed La Cerda’s men to down their tools, pick up weapons, and head off to join the fight. Broglio then waited for news, listening to the sounds of distant battle, wondering if he had lost the Spaniard and his men for good.
The Great Siege of Malta Page 13
