A Dead Man in Malta

by Michael Pearce

  ‘Getting out from inside? Well, it’s possible, I suppose. Especially if there were two of you.

  ‘A woman? Bloody hell, mate, what sort of woman is that? But if she’s going to strip off, just pass the word, mate, and I’ll be along to watch.

  ‘But getting out, rather than in? Climbing up the bloody coal chute? A woman? Christ, mate, what sort of imagination have you got? You worry me, you really do!’

  ‘I’m not getting anywhere on my project,’ said Felix gloomily.

  ‘Nor am I.’ confessed Sophia. ‘I’ve got the conclusions. It’s just the bit before that’s missing.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything,’ said Felix. ‘Neither the conclusions nor the bit before.’

  ‘Let’s put our heads together,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Hello!’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She was just going out of the dispensary with a trolley. Every morning she went round the wards with the prescriptions for the patients. It took her most of the morning and then, if she was still on duty, she would go round again in the late afternoon.

  ‘We’ve come to see if there’s anything here that would help Felix with his project.’

  ‘What was the project on, again?’ asked Mrs Ferreira.

  ‘Anti-weaponry,’ said Sophia.

  ‘I don’t think there’s a lot here - ’

  ‘Medicines,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Ah, well, those we do have.’

  ‘They have to be old medicines,’ said Felix.

  ‘Some of the medicines here are pretty old,’ said Mrs Ferreira’s assistant.

  ‘Twelfth-century.’ said Sophia.

  ‘But not quite that old.’ said Mrs Ferreira.

  ‘We thought there might be some old books.’ said Sophia.

  ‘They would be in a library. And not ours,’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘The Cathedral Library, perhaps. Or you could try the Infermeria?’

  ‘Hello, Dr Malia!’

  ‘Why, hello, Sophia!’ said Dr Malia, startled. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘We’ve come to look for some material. For Felix’s project.’

  ‘What was the project on, again?’

  ‘Anti-weaponry.’

  Dr Malia seemed taken aback. ‘I’m not sure there’s much - ’

  ‘You see.’ said Sophia, ‘what we were thinking was that when you talk about knights, you think of bashing people up. But the Knights Hospitaller weren’t like that, or, rather, not just like that. They tried to heal people as well as bash them. Well, that’s the side Felix wants to do his project on.’

  ‘Oh, very good!’ said Dr Malia enthusiastically. ‘Hospitals, you mean?’

  ‘Actually, we were thinking of medicines. They’re sort of anti-weaponry.’

  ‘Well, yes, they are, I suppose. But isn’t the title rather misleading? It sounds a bit - if that’s the title of the project, I mean.’

  Felix knew at once what he meant. It did sound a bit - He could just imagine what his teachers would say, especially old Mackereth. ‘Anti-weaponry? Death-rays, is it? I’m not sure the Board will rate comics as highly as sources as you do, Wynne-Gurr!’

  ‘Perhaps we could change the title,’ he said.

  ‘But keep the argument,’ said Sophia sternly. ‘I like Felix’s slant.’

  ‘It is certainly an original way of looking at it.’ said Dr Malia.

  ‘We were wondering if there were any old books here that we could draw on.’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, there are. Two certainly. One is a very early herbal. The other, yes, I think you could call it that, a treatise on medicine.’

  He went into another room and came back with two worn, leather-bound books.

  ‘I think these will help you.’ he said.

  Felix and Sophia looked at them.

  ‘But - ’ they both said.

  One was in Latin; the other in -

  ‘Arabic.’ said Dr Malia happily. ‘A lot of the early work in medicine was in Arabic.’

  ‘I think I would find that a bit tricky.’ said Felix.

  ‘We could ask Uncle Paolo, I suppose.’ said Sophia.

  ‘Or maybe that lady who is staying in your house.’ said Felix. ‘She’s half Arab.’

  Sophia was looking at the other book.

  ‘This is in Latin,’ she said. ‘You’re doing Latin, aren’t you, Felix?’

  ‘Yes, said Felix, ‘but - ’

  But not this kind of Latin. He could barely understand a word.

  ‘It has some excellent illustrations.’ said Dr Malia.

  Perhaps he could copy them, thought Felix. That would at least be something. But -

  ‘Beautiful!’ said Dr Malia enthusiastically. ‘And so accurate! You can see at once what they are. This one for instance.’

  He showed it to Sophia.

  ‘I’m not good on flowers,’ said Sophia. She looked hopefully at Felix.

  ‘Well, I can see it’s a poppy.’ said Felix.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Malia. ‘I suspect they made a great deal of use of opium.’

  ‘You could stick a poppy in your project.’ suggested

  Sophia. ‘Press it between the pages. Teachers always like that sort of thing.’

  Maybe they did. But not Mackereth. Mackereth would go berserk if Felix did that. ‘What’s that?’ he would squeak. ‘A flower? Take it to your mother, Wynne-Gurr, not to me! What is that meant to show? That you can pick a flower? Oh, and recognize it, of course, which, I admit, is unexpected. But where does it get you? What does it lead to? Conceptually?’

  ‘Well, I could,’ said Felix. ‘But where would it lead to? Conceptually?’

  This floored Sophia for the moment.

  ‘It takes time for the concept to develop,’ said Dr Malia. ‘Take willow, for example. They knew, even in the twelfth century, that it has medicinal properties, but it’s only comparatively recently that we’ve been able to isolate them and derive aspirin. That would be a very interesting process to follow, Felix, and make a worthwhile subject for your project.’

  ‘I know!’ said Sophia excitedly. ‘You could show how the Knights would have made opium. There are lots of poppies around. I can show you some. There are lots over by the Victoria Lines. We could pick some and then you could make it. A sort of practical project.’

  ‘A laboratory project?’ said Felix considering.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I haven’t got a laboratory!’

  ‘You can use a kitchen.’

  ‘I haven’t got anywhere in the hotel.’

  ‘Our kitchen. That’s the place!’

  ‘I’m not sure - ’ began Dr Malia uneasily.

  ‘Drugs, is it, now?’ said Sophia’s grandfather.

  ‘Medicine.’ said Sophia. She could see that another of those arguments with her grandfather were about to begin. ‘Medicine.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ said her grandfather sceptically.

  ‘Dr Malia says he thinks it likely that the Knights Hospitaller made a lot of use of opium.’

  ‘And alcohol, too, I’ll bet.’ said Grandfather.

  ‘Father - ’ began Mrs Ferreira.

  ‘It was used,’ said Sophia, picking her words with care and enunciating them with emphatic clarity, ‘as an anaesthetic.’

  ‘They didn’t have anything else, you see.’ said Felix.

  ‘So when they were cutting people’s legs off, they would give them a dose of opium first.’ said Sophia.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ said Grandfather, ‘the next time I’m having my leg cut off.’

  ‘This is a serious historical project,’ said Sophia, glaring at him.

  ‘Sophia - ’

  ‘Actually,’ said Chantale, intervening hastily on the side of peace, ‘we used to use opium like that in Tangier. Or, at least, pregnant women did. To alleviate the pain of childbirth.’

  ‘We used to use it here, too,’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘But we don’t any more.’

  ‘We found i
t in an old herbal that Dr Malia showed us.’ said Felix. ‘You know, medicines the Arabs derived from plants.’

  ‘Dating from the twelfth century,’ said Sophia, embroidering the truth slightly.

  ‘And of course, the fact that the book was in the Infermeria is significant,’ said Felix. ‘It suggests it was there for use.’

  ‘So we’re on to something,’ said Sophia. ‘Despite what some people might think,’ she added, looking at her grandfather menacingly.

  ‘Arab?’ said Grandfather.

  ‘Yes. Apparently the Arabs led the world in medicine at that time. Or so Dr Malia says. He says a lot of the early words we used in science came from the Arabic. Alcohol, for instance.’

  ‘Are you going to make that, too?’ asked Sophia’s grandfather.

  ‘No, just the opium.’

  ‘Here, in the kitchen?’

  ‘Felix, can I have a word with you,’ began Mrs Ferreira.

  ‘Opium and alcohol? It wasn’t like that when I was at school!’

  ‘Science didn’t exist when you were at school!’ said Sophia crushingly. ‘Things have moved on a bit since then.’

  ‘I’ll say!’

  ‘Felix, can I have a word with you?’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘I wonder if this is really quite the right project for you?’

  ‘But - ’

  ‘I really think you ought to consider changing it.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Felix. ‘Not again!’

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning Mrs Wynne-Gurr announced a change in the programme.

  ‘It has occurred to me.’ she said, That in view of the importance of religion to our original founder, we should not, while we are here, overlook that side of their lives. The Order was, after all, often referred to as The Religion. I propose, therefore, a visit this morning to the Co-Cathedral, aptly, for us, the St John’s Co-Cathedral.’

  Felix thought for a moment that his mother had stuttered, but then, when she repeated it, decided that she had not.

  ‘Why are you saying “Co-Cathedral”?’ he asked.

  ‘Because that’s what it’s called. I do not know why, exactly - ’

  ‘Because it is a Conventual Church,’ said one of the ladies.

  ‘What is a Conventual Church?’ asked Felix.

  ‘You can look it up later,’ said Mrs Wynne-Gurr firmly. ‘Now let us press on, as there is something I wish to show you all.’

  She stopped by a blank wall in which there was a single window.

  ‘This is very special.’ she said.

  The ladies and Felix examined it gravely.

  ‘What’s special about it?’ asked Felix.

  ‘This is the wall of one of the Grand Inquisitor’s prisons. And in it were kept two English ladies. Ordinary ladies like ourselves. But Quakers. They had been put in the prison because they were trying to save the island from Catholicism.’

  ‘I’m a Catholic myself.’ said one of the ladies.

  ‘As were most of the inhabitants of the island.’ said Mrs Wynne-Gurr. ‘So these ladies were up against it. However, they made such a nuisance of themselves that the Grand Inquisitor locked them up. Nothing daunted, the ladies continued their efforts from within the prison. Through this very window. They continued to address the passers-by.’

  ‘In English?’ said Felix.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘But - ’

  ‘They refused to be deterred. Just think of it: two ordinary elderly ladies, in prison in a strange land, refusing to give in. Determined to spread the Word.’

  ‘But in English?’ said Felix.

  ‘Yes. Every day and all day.’

  ‘Did the Maltese speak English then?’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Mrs Wynne-Gurr, slightly flustered. ‘The point is, they were standing up for what they believed in.’

  There were mutters of approbation.

  ‘It is an example,’ declared Mrs Wynne-Gurr in ringing tones, ‘which has always meant a great deal to me. An example to us all!’

  Felix wondered about this as they walked on to the Co-Cathedral. Was it? It seemed a bit sort of misguided to him, haranguing passers-by out of a window and not even in a language they could understand. It wasn’t likely to be very effective.

  Effective, that was the word. Felix liked things to work. And then he liked to see how they worked. But he couldn’t see how this was likely to work. Surely people would just take no notice?

  He could see, however, the point that his mother was making, that it was a stand on behalf of a principle. The Wynne-Gurr family was hot on principles and Felix was too much his mother’s son not to feel the force of an appeal to it.

  All the same, though, it had to work. He put the point to Chantale as they were walking along.

  ‘What about martyrs?’ she said. ‘And these ladies probably thought of themselves as martyrs. They were prepared to suffer for their beliefs.’

  What about his mother, wondered Felix? Was she prepared to suffer for her beliefs? As opposed, he thought, to making him suffer? He thought she probably was.

  And then another thought came into his head. What about Sophia? Would she be prepared to suffer for her beliefs? Would she, in the right circumstances, be willing to become a martyr?

  He thought she would.

  And he, Felix, would he be prepared to suffer for his beliefs? Not if it wasn’t going to work. What would be the point? You would be dead, and nothing would have changed.

  ‘At the time, I suppose,’ said Chantale, ‘you don’t know it’s not going to work. In fact, you probably think it will work. But I’ve always thought there was a kind of cussedness to being a martyr, that, perhaps, they think to themselves: Right, you bastards, I know I’m going to lose, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of admitting it.’

  ‘That sounds like my mother,’ said Felix.

  Felix found the Co-Cathedral more interesting than he had expected. There were marble tombstones all over the floor which were covered with heraldic coats-of-arms with many quarterings, some of which he tried to work out. And there were lots of inscriptions commemorating battles, some at sea. There was also, downstairs, a big picture of St John being beheaded, which Felix thought was pretty good.

  But - St John? Was he another loser? The Wynne-Gurr family was not strong on the Bible and nor was Felix. Was St John one of the Twelve Apostles? Felix thought he probably was. But what happened to the Apostles afterwards - after all that bit in the Gospels? Did they all end up like St John? He would have to ask Sophia. She would certainly know.

  But, look, this was bad. The founder of the Order of St John - no, no, that wasn’t right, the person around whom the Order was founded - was not effective. He couldn’t have been if his head had been cut off. Did that mean that the Order of St John wasn’t likely to be effective, either? And, certainly, they didn’t seem to have been very effective. They had been chucked out of Jerusalem and out of Rhodes.

  On the other hand, they seemed to have made a success of their move to Malta. They had beaten off the Turks, after all. So maybe the St John Ambulance had more going for it than he had thought.

  ‘At least they beat the Arabs,’ he said to Chantale.

  But then he remembered that Chantale was an Arab and thought: What a crass thing to say!

  ‘I’m sorry!’ he apologized.

  ‘Why?’ said Chantale, surprised. She had been walking along with her mind elsewhere, taking in the effect of the golden light. A lot of the buildings in Valletta were of honey-coloured stone and the effect of the light on them was magical. It was as if they had been dipped in honey. But inside the Co-Cathedral everything was grey. Not the cold, reducing grey of the churches in London which absorbed the light and then didn’t let go again, but somehow a cool, sharp grey which refreshed after the brightness outside and which brought out the richness of the heraldic symbolling.

  ‘You being an Arab,’ said Felix.

  Chantale laughed.

  ‘I’m only
half Arab,’ she said. ‘The other half is French. And, anyway, I’m not sure the Turks count as Arabs. They were Muslims, certainly. But Turks are different from Arabs.’

  ‘Of course they are!’ said Felix mortified. He knew that, really.

  ‘However, they were all lumped together as Saracens. I’ll give you that. But who beat them, anyway? Exactly who were the Knights? I’ve been looking at the chapels. Each one belonged to a different langue, as they called them. A different language, I suppose, or a different nationality. There was one for France, one for Italy, one for Germany, and so on. There was even one for England. The Knights were pretty international. The one thing they weren’t, though, was Maltese. There isn’t a chapel, or a langue, for Malta.’

  ‘Do you think they mind?’

  ‘I would if I was them. Of course, perhaps they think that since the whole Cathedral is Maltese, it takes in all the other nationalities.’

  ‘That’s a nice thought,’ said Felix. ‘And it’s good that the Knights came from all over the place. It’s good to see the different countries working together.’ he added, echoing something his father frequently said.

  ‘Yes, but they were working together against the Turks. And the Arabs. They had just been at the Crusades. Some people.’ said Chantale, teasing him, ‘say that the only time the Europeans work together is when they’re working against the Arabs.’

  Felix let it pass but took it in. He thought he might try it out on Sophia.

  After the visit to the Co-Cathedral, Chantale walked over to the Upper Barraca Gardens, where she had arranged to meet Seymour when he got back from the hospital. Felix went with her, hoping to meet Sophia, who had half promised to be there. And when they got there, she was there, talking happily to Seymour, who had just crossed over from the Birgu side.

  ‘The sky was full of them!’ she was saying excitedly.

  ‘It must have been an amazing sight.’ said Seymour.

  ‘It was.’ said Sophia.

  She had watched things that day from a position down by the sea where her grandfather had taken her. Above had been the balloons, dozens of them, and below had been the grey, sleek Navy ships, clustered in the harbour for the occasion.