The Great Siege of Malta Read online

  In short order, the men began to climb over the sides of the galleys and onto the longboats that would carry them to the shore. As they milled about along the beach, still beneath a black night sky, the ships had turned and, oars dipping rhythmically, disappeared into the dark. Cardona could not risk being caught in broad daylight in galleys stripped of their fighting men.

  The Piccolo Soccorso was at risk so long as they were out in the open. Any stray foraging party, any patrol, might discover them and report their presence to the Ottoman command. The new arrivals needed to reach Mdina and safety as quickly as possible. At this point, fortune (miracolosa providenza Divina) favored them.19 A mild wind ferried in heat and moisture from North Africa, slowly but steadily, and in so doing conjured up an enveloping mist. It was and is an unusual midsummer phenomenon on Malta, and rarely so well-timed. Cloaked by this soft shield, guided by the coastal Maltese, the long train of soldiers ghosted its way across Malta’s short hills to the gates of Mdina, where it was welcomed with some surprise and great happiness by Dom Mesquita and the rest of city’s inhabitants. They would remain there while Toni Bajada, dressed like a Turk and fluent in their language, made his way through the lines, contacted Valette, and discovered what the grand master wanted them to do.

  Mesquita was worried enough about word of their arrival getting out that he posted extra guards at all gates. It wasn’t enough. After sundown, a small boy at Mdina saw a man slipping out of the city. The boy cried “Turk, Turk!,” alerting a nearby sentinel, who saw the fleeing man and managed to capture him.20 Torture persuaded the renegade, a Greek, to confess that he had intended to report these new arrivals to the Ottoman invaders. He was taken out and quartered.

  There remains the question of Don Garcia’s curious condition, so casually dismissed by Robles, for going forward only if St. Elmo still held. The answer was a matter of hard logic. As long as St. Elmo stood, the Ottoman army would be preoccupied. Until they could turn their attention to St. Michael and Birgu, Ottoman lines were as stretched and their mass as diluted as it would ever be. Don Garcia knew that messengers could get through the Ottoman lines, if with some difficulty. Once the enemy began to concentrate on Senglea and Birgu, those gaps would quickly shrink, or even disappear. Certainly they would become too narrow for any moderately large force to make its way to Valette. Don Garcia had managed this calculation with a nicety that his later detractors were to ignore. He assured Philip that “I didn’t consider sending these galleys except with a wide margin of time before St. Telmo was lost.”21

  Men die, other men replace them. Turgut’s successor as governor of Tripoli was Uludj Ali, whose first duty was to carry back the body of the old corsair and return with the city’s munitions that Turgut had refused to bring. Turgut was honored as befitting a man of his stature. No anonymous mass grave for him—the old corsair was wrapped in cloth and laid to rest inside Tripoli’s al-Saraya al-Hamra (Red Castle) mosque that he himself had built for the city. It can still be seen. Fittingly, Turgut shared his last journey with soldiers wounded in the several assaults on St. Elmo, men who would otherwise cram the already overflowing Ottoman hospitals on Malta. Uludj Ali set off on June 25. He missed the Piccolo Soccorso by forty-eight hours.

  Uludj Ali (variously known as Uluch Ali, Kiliç Ali Paşa, El Ulucchialim, and to the Italians, Occhiali), born in 1519 as Giovanni Dionigi Galeni, the son of a Calabrian fisherman, was the last of Khairedihn’s great commanders. Calabria, the sharp, rocky toe of Italy with its many inlets and coastal villages, had been a natural haunt for pirates and smugglers since before the days of the Greeks; and if there was little enough treasure to steal, there were always people to kidnap. Galeni was snatched in one of the too frequent slave raids. Rumor—since proven untrue but persistent to this day—held that he was a failed Jesuit, or that he was at least intended for the church, when he was taken by Muslim corsairs.

  Galeni was short, squat, scabrous, shrewd, loud-mouthed, and apparently fearless. He was hustled on board the corsairs’ galley and chained to the rowing benches with the rest of the miserable Christians. It was a common enough story of the time; and with no family connections and no money, his only hope of freedom was that a Christian pirate, or the Knights of St. John, might seize the vessel. Until then, endurance, faith, and patience were the chief allies of a galley slave. Galeni may have had all those qualities, but he did not have tact. Where others would row in silence, Galeni spoke out loudly and often, freely criticizing the way the captain and crew were handling the ship. A cruder man might have taken offense at a slave’s backtalk, but Chaifer Rais, who owned the galley, was fascinated by the Calabrian. Something might be made of a man like this.

  The story goes that Chaifer Rais brought his ships back home to Egypt and Galeni into his house. He made the Calabrian a proposition. If he would accept the blessings of Islam, his master would take him on as a business partner and give him command of one of his ships. It was a generous offer, and it took a strong man to turn it down. Galeni was never anything but strong, and his Christian faith was still powerful enough to send him back to the oar bench.

  What the captain could not force, Galeni’s own temper made inevitable. One day a fellow oarsman, presumably tired of this man’s mouth, insulted him, one guesses grievously. Galeni lashed out and struck him dead. Under the laws of his master, the slave Galeni must pay for a slave with his own life, and suddenly a dogged adherence to Christianity held less attraction. Galeni immediately professed Islam and claimed its protections. The captain considered the matter. As the dead oarsman was a Christian slave with few rights that a man of faith was bound to respect, the matter could be ended then and there. Galeni was free from the oar bench, free to join his master’s enterprises, free to marry his master’s daughter.

  Now reborn as Uludj Ali, he began his rise to greatness. He started out as an able-bodied merchant seaman and soon became one of Barbarossa’s protégés. By 1560 he was sailing in tandem with Turgut, and as we have seen, played a significant part in the fight for Djerba. When he arrived at Malta, just before Turgut, he brought four ships, three hundred Levantine fighters, and three hundred Egyptians skilled in digging tunnels. Just the sort of man Mustapha could use. Unfortunately, although his own luck would hold out, his contributions at Malta would be plagued by bad timing.

  Mustapha, his spleen vented on the dead of St. Elmo, now had a harder nut to crack in Birgu and Fort St. Michael. In theory, taking St. Elmo had been a worthy endeavor, but the cost had been horrendous, more than he cared to count, more really than he could afford. Even now he was preparing Suleiman for lowered expectations. He wrote that he hoped for victory, but that, in his judgment, it would prove more difficult and time consuming than previously believed.22 Balbi goes further, stating that Mustapha reported home “his small hope of actually taking Malta.”23 Suleiman, in a letter that must have been both encouraging and alarming, acknowledged the taking of St. Elmo and the loss of Turgut, then added that “you should encourage the army and the Janissaries to fight against the enemies and you should conquer the island. I trust that you and everybody else will succeed in this feat.”24

  Mustapha could comfort himself with the belief that the worst was over. The Christians had put on a brave show, an astonishingly brave show, but one that had cost them as much if not more than it had cost the Ottomans. The cream of the knights had died in defending St. Elmo; those who remained might just be willing to accept peace with honor. Protocols of war, though much abused in this siege, still had meaning, and Mustapha would have to make the offer. It would be irresponsible, unchivalrous, and contrary to the laws of Islam to do otherwise. Worse, it would be unbusinesslike. Mustapha would rather take a walled city fully intact than plant his standard on a second pile of blasted rock.

  On June 29, a small party overseen by a man on horse approached the walls just outside St. Michael under a white flag of truce. One of their number declared that he was a fellow Christian, a Spaniard, thirty-two years a slave of the Ottoma
ns, and that the party wished to discuss terms. There was some consultation behind the walls, and after a time, an answer came down. The Christian might approach and enter. The others should stay where they were. Minutes later the old man was hustled inside, searched, and his eyes bound. He was then frog-marched through the stone streets of Birgu to the Piazza del Borgo, where his blindfold was removed. He blinked in the sudden glare, and he found himself face to face with an unsmiling Valette.

  Mustapha, the slave told him, was proposing an honorable finish to this affair on the same terms as his master Suleiman had offered at Rhodes. The knights would have to leave, of course, but unmolested, and they might take their belongings with them. The Maltese were welcome to stay, their lives spared, their property and religion respected, and their safety guaranteed. Peace would be restored, lives saved, and honor served. The Order was even welcome to return east, to an (undetermined) “larger and better island than Malta, paying a light and fair tribute, allowing each one to live according to their own laws,” where they might “practice their skills as Hospitallers.”25 There could be no shame in accepting these terms. The alternative was the grisly fate of St. Elmo; worse, even—all killed and the grand master marched in triumph through Constantinople.

  Valette listened to the envoy in silence, and when the terms had been laid out, he spoke. He ordered the guards to kill the man, in sight of the enemy, to make an example to others who might come to him with similar offers. The old man broke down. He was a good Christian, he said, an unfortunate who had been captured by these infidels and forced to serve them all these many years, but a man whose true faith had never wavered. He was here by order and hoped only to save the lives of fellow Christians through his mission. For the knight and a man of God to execute a poor wretch such as him would be a sin.

  Valette let the man babble on for a while, then, at the urging of his knights, appeared to relent. He pardoned the envoy, but told him not to try this again, since he, Valette, would not entertain further offers from such barbarous men (gente tan barbara) and would hang anyone who brought them.26 He ordered that the Spaniard’s eyes be bound again, then led those present out of the chamber. They tramped down the hot echoing streets and into a stone-covered passageway, down some steps, then stopped. Again the blindfold came off. The slave looked about him, again adjusting his eyes in the bright sunlight, and found himself at the bottom of the ditch between the enemy lines and the defensive walls by the bastions of Provence and Auvergne. Valette let him take in the sight.

  Mustapha, said Valette, might have Malta, but not before he had filled this ditch with Muslim dead.

  The whole affair had been a well-planned piece of theater, but the dramatic setting and the blunt talk had a powerful effect on the slave. He said that the Turks would never take Birgu. He was not, however, going to risk uncertainty in his own life—faith could only take a man so far. He chose instead to return to the Ottoman lines, presumably to a familiar and comfortable station in life. He is hereafter lost to history.

  The next day, Mustapha sent his envoys to Mdina with much the same message, slightly altered to play to this different audience. Suleiman, they declared, had no wish to make war on or in any way harm the ancient and pacific capital of Malta. His quarrel was with the knights, old enemies and constant troublemakers in the sultan’s domains. An alliance, or at least an understanding, was suggested, though on what terms we are not told.

  It was an interesting approach, and the aristocracy of Malta, those old Italian families who had lorded over the island before the knights arrived, might have been tempted by the promise of renewed, if largely nominal, power on the island. That was the hope, in any event. Mustapha, however, was negotiating in a vacuum. The elite of Mdina had left the city before the Ottomans ever arrived. The envoys got their answer from an unnamed prefect, foursquare with the defense: “Those who are enemies of the Knights of Rhodes are also enemies of the Maltese, nor will I ever permit such an alliance.”27 Turgut might have talked his way into Tripoli. Mustapha would not be so lucky.

  18

  RELIEF INTO BIRGU

  If the fort is on the water, there must be stones and stakes emplaced around it to render its approach secure, so that the sea borne machines of war should not be able to advance within close range.

  Giovanni Battista Alberti, De Re Aedificatoria

  The enemy is laboring with all diligence to dig trenches all around Senglea, and although the Pasha and his Janissaries have not yet moved from the Marsa, they will not delay long, perhaps tomorrow, having already established many emplacements above Santa Margarita . . . It is desirable to send some vessels to hearten our people.

  Valette to Don Garcia, June 29, 1565

  The offer and refusal of surrender was as much a matter of protocol for Mustapha as it had been for Valette. Mustapha, however, also had a practical reason for ending the siege now. This was not Rhodes, close to the center of Ottoman power. If he should manage to seize Malta, it would need walls. Anything that was destroyed on Malta, particularly any defense works, would have to be rebuilt. Even as his heralds had raised white flags, he had been arranging his guns before Senglea and Birgu. Four new platforms rose on the grand master’s garden in the Marsa, readying the army for the next phase of operations—the battle for Senglea and Birgu.

  On the morning of July 2, a lone man dressed in red robes stood on the shore across the Spur of St. Michael. The clothing suggested a figure of some consequence, and for some reason he was waving his hands at the defenders, trying to catch their attention. Someone shouted over to him, asking his business. He called back that he wished to join them but had no way of getting across. Could they send a boat over to fetch him? The ranking officer hesitated. A boat over would require lowering the massive chain that defended the water between Senglea and Birgu. He needed permission from Valette for this and sent a runner to get it. It would, however, take some time and the man was advised to swim, if he was able, and wait for Christian swimmers if he was not.

  This conversation had been carried on over a thousand feet of water, and although it was far from the Ottoman activities, it could not escape notice for long. Armed Muslim soldiers from Coradin began to run down Sciberras toward the man in red. There was only one way out. The defector threw off his cloak, tied his shirt around his head, and stumbled and flailed into the water. As the Muslims drew closer, the men on the ramparts of Fort St. Angelo were able to provide covering fire. In the water, the renegade managed to reach the halfway point before he began to founder. Three Christians—a Maltese, a Provençal, and a Sicilian—managed to reach him and haul him back to Fort St. Angelo.

  Once the rescue party and their charge returned, Balbi himself and Don Jaime de Sanoguera escorted the shaken guest to rest in the room where Valette once kept his lions before being led to the grand master.1 His Turkish name, he said, was Memi Celebi, but he was born Philip Lascaris. This would have raised an eyebrow among the knights. Lascaris was a name with roots deep in Byzantium’s imperial history, and included two emperors and a small army of court officials. When Constantinople fell to the Ottomans in 1457, his family had been largely humbled. He had, he said, been taught to despise the faith of his ancestors. The logic was simple enough: Allah had permitted Islam to seize Constantinople, proving itself better favored than Christianity.

  In submitting to Islam, Lascaris found opportunities almost as dignified as any that he might have enjoyed in Christian Byzantium. The fifty-five year old had been a spahi and close to Mustapha Pasha. But the example of the Christian soldiers at St. Elmo had moved him and, as Bosio writes, “The Holy Ghost touched his heart . . . to return to the sacred Catholic faith” (ignoring that the Lascaris family had been born Greek Orthodox).2

  This conversion was no small thing. As an apostate of Islam, Lascaris had bound his fate entirely with that of Malta. If the island fell, he would be executed immediately, and so more than most he needed to see the Ottomans fail. Fortunately, he had a wide and intimate knowled
ge of the Ottomans’ strategies, troop levels and dispositions, morale, intelligence, and supplies. He was able to tell Valette that an attack was imminent, and a serious one, and that it would come by land—no great secret there—and by sea. The bulk of the attack would, in fact, be aimed at the relatively weak western flank of Senglea, and to get the ships past the guns of Fort St. Angelo to the inner harbor, Mustapha would take a page out of Turgut’s playbook. He intended to drag his ships overland around the base of Mt. Sciberras.

  Lascaris had other news as well. He was also able to explain recent anomalies, such as the smoke and flares that Valette had seen since June 24 at Mdina, but which Valette could not interpret. Lascaris said that this was a signal that the Spanish relief had arrived, a fact, he added, known only to him. (How this could be, we are not told, but if true, it might have factored into his decision to switch sides.)3

  Confirmation that the Piccolo Soccorso had arrived came the next day with the arrival from Mdina of Toni Bajada. Valette pondered his options. St. Elmo was gone and had taken nearly a quarter of his entire force with it. His soldiers had bought him time, but that time was now up. The Ottomans were redirecting their guns against Fort St. Michael and Birgu. They were also redeploying around those walls, making it more and more difficult to get in and out of the peninsula. A few hundred fresh soldiers would be useful both militarily and as a morale raiser for the general population on Malta.

  But could it be done? Bajada made frequent trips back and forth between Mdina and Birgu—as had others—but always alone, always at night, and always with a native’s instinctive knowledge of the area. Even those trips were dangerous. Getting a train of that many men weighted down with heavy clanking armor and metal weaponry through lines increasingly thick with enemy soldiers would seem nearly impossible.