7

DARK CLOUDS IN THE EAST, 1565

The same day the fleet raised anchors and departed from Beshiktash; passing in front of the Seray, the troops made their salute, the guns fired with such force that it rang to the skies and was heard across the world.

Selaniki

Don Garcia de Toledo was one of the great figures of the era, honored and praised in his own time, but maligned or all but forgotten by posterity.

He was born in Villafranca di Bierzo in 1514, the son of Pedro de Toledo Zuniga, viceroy of Naples; the nephew of the duke of Alba; husband to a Colonna of the Roman aristocracy; and brother-in-law to Cosimo I de’ Medici. His portrait shows a man with a long prominent nose, hooded eyes, receding hairline, and a full beard half covering full lips. Watchful and intelligent, he might have passed for a Dutch burgher. In life, he managed to combine in one person the talents of a skillful general, a patient diplomat, a perceptive strategist, an imaginative engineer, and a bold sailor. Emotionally, he could be proud, petulant, and if his numerous letters on the state of his health are to be believed, he was of fragile physical condition. Bosio describes him as “grave, judicious, and experienced.”1 He was also thoughtful, farseeing, conscientious, and loyal to his king, his soldiers, and his faith.

Family connections got him his first job, serving on and soon commanding galleys under the tutelage of Andrea Doria himself. Talent saw him rise. At the age of twenty-one, he became captain general of the galleys of Naples, in which role he commanded six galleys at the 1535 battle of Tunis. In 1540–41 he took command of Doria’s land forces at Monastir, Susa, Mahomet, and Calibra. He was also present at the 1541 catastrophe at Algiers. Two years later he and his fleet were cheered in Messina as he towed a treasure ship belonging to Barbarossa himself. But it was his ingenious work at Mahdia, his mounting of heavy cannon on a makeshift catamaran and thereby destroying the wall from seaborne cannon, that solidified his reputation.

The two decades at sea, however, had their effect. By 1552 he wanted out, and asked an intermediary to plead ill health for him—“the sun by day and the damp at night, along with other miseries, have destroyed his health and could possibly carry him off.”2 (Coincidentally, this was the same year he married.) He was instead made a colonel of Spanish foot in Naples, and in the following year, he led twelve thousand imperial troops against Franco-Sienese forces at Siena.³ Among his fellow officers were the one-eyed condottiere from Pavia, Ascanio Della Corgna; the Tuscan nobleman Giovan Luigi “Chiappino” (the Bear) Vitelli (a favorite of Garcia’s brother-in-law Cosimo de’ Medici); and Don Álvaro de Sande, all of them respected veteran commanders. He also served in Flanders and Italy. In 1560 he was slated to replace Medinaceli as viceroy of Sicily if the latter did not return from Djerba. By February of 1564 Philip had named him Captain General of the Sea (Andrea Doria’s old title), and when others (including the Djerba veteran Sancho de Leyva) had failed, ordered him to take the Moroccan pirate stronghold, the Peñon de Velez de la Gomera.⁴

Peñon de Velez, like Mahdia, was an example of the care with which Don Garcia mounted a campaign. It also demonstrated, again, his ability to manage an international force. His resources included Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and German soldiers, as well as the galleys of the Knights of St. John. Among the commanders were Chiappino Vitelli, Leyva again, and the young Gianandrea Doria. After an involved two-pronged attack, victory: “About 3 A.M. on Wednesday, two Turks came from the fort, and told the general that a great number of runagates [renegades] had abandoned the place, and that such as remained had agreed to render it.”⁵

The ill health that had plagued Don Garcia in recent years had not abated. At age fifty, he was suffering from rheumatism and gout—his old friend Chiappino Vitelli had sent him a medicinal elixir in 1563—and he might have been expected to settle down to a quieter life among the fountains, statues, gardens, and orchards at his villa at Chiaia, with honor and thanks and without the chains of office.6 He did not. He saw the threat of Islam to Spain and Christendom, and not without cause, saw himself as almost uniquely capable of doing something about it. And if he was to defend the empire against the full force of the Ottoman fleet as well as their Barbary allies, he would need as much authority as he could get. In addition to his title of captain general, he asked for, and got, the position of viceroy of Sicily, which combined authority made him the most powerful man in the central Mediterranean.⁷ He had his work cut out for him. “It is impossible to describe or imagine the condition in which I found the fleet,” he wrote to Francisco de Eraso, the king’s secretary in August 1564.⁸ Corruption was rampant, and he was not shy about saying so.

It was, however, external threats in the upcoming year that were his greatest concern. Rumors were coming from the east; and in 1564, Garcia cataloged various possible targets, noting each city’s strengths and weaknesses, the reasons Suleiman might (or might not) wish to attack them, and the kinds of preparation that should be taken in each case.⁹ This report was long and meticulous, but it was essentially superfluous. Without doubt, Malta was the target of choice, with Goleta a possible second.

He laid out the threat in the starkest possible terms: “If Malta is lost, not only would there be the loss of those who are therein, which would be great, but it would be simply like having the kingdoms of Sicily and Naples with a chain around their necks; and joining hands with Tripoli, [our enemies] could at any time gather together all the forces of Barbary.”¹⁰ When that failed to move Philip to action, Toledo wrote to the king’s secretary Eraso pleading with him to “for the love of God, expedite these matters.”¹¹

Spain was in an awkward position. The treasure ships from America this year were not enough to finance the horrifically expensive wars Spain waged and the fleets she tried to maintain. Philip had petitioned the papacy for money to help defray his military expenses, just as it had given France large sums to quash the Huguenots. Don Garcia, on his way to his new position in Sicily, went in person to Rome to press his case. Pope Pius IV was by nature a genial man, certainly a good friend to the knights and deeply concerned with the Muslim threat, but he was irritated with Philip. As of February 1565, revenues from Spanish parishes were being diverted to build sixty new galleys, and the pope thought that Philip should lead the armada in person, as his father would have done. Don Garcia endured a lengthy harangue in the gilt and marble halls of the papal palace, and afterward, in a nice bit of understatement, wrote to Philip that the pope “had his eye on [them].”12

Nevertheless, the pontiff did come through, as did the Duke of Savoy, as did Toledo’s brother-in-law, Cosimo de’ Medici of Florence, as did the narrow-eyed bankers of Genoa, as did most of the others whom Don Garcia visited on his way to Messina. Malta was, after all, a good deal closer to home than Rhodes had been, and the ramifications of an Ottoman victory were a good deal easier to imagine.¹³ His rounds finished in April of 1565, Don Garcia sailed into Messina to settle into his new offices.

While Don Garcia was still working to gather the Spanish fleet, the Ottoman armada was ready to sail. One hundred and ninety ships—war galleys, carracks, galliots, galleons—filled the harbor of the Bosphorus.¹⁴ Crowds of civilians—idle beggars and busy merchants, young children and old men—drifted down to the waterside to see this spectacle of imperial might, gawked at the ships, and cheered the soldiers and sailors. The galleys’ sterns were decorated with moons of hammered gold, with various paintings in the Turkish ornate style. The imperial galley had three lights, and instead of the normal standard it flew a banner of green silk.

Preparing to board were spahis, light horsemen and archers who lived off of small land holdings called timars, granted by the sultan for good service (much as Roman soldiers were granted land in exchange for service, a practice that required an ever-expanding empire); Janissaries from Anatolia and Rumelia, crack soldiers and the sultan’s personal guard, who dressed in red coats and tall white turbans topped with the white feather that marked them as a military elite; Iayalars, religious fanatics intent on death, both of the enemy and of themselves, dressed in animal skins; and corsairs from the Black Sea, adventurers who cared very little for rank and a great deal for a fight, the more one-sided the better. Finally, there was the subsidiary army of support personnel—engineers, armorers, tent makers, cobblers, ditch diggers, physicians, sailors, caulkers—unheroic men, but vital to the success of such enterprises. And of course, there were the merchants who follow any army, ready in this case to pay cash for any slaves the army might pick up along the way.

Long lines of porters had carried all the matériel that any large army needs from the quays and onto the ships and into the holds. Every spare corner was packed with rope; canvas; grain; arquebuses; tents neatly folded, bound, and labeled; pikes; a seemingly endless supply of iron and stone cannonballs in all sizes from egg-sized (scattershot, suitable for maiming a crowd of men quickly) to six-hundred-pound granite stones thirty inches in diameter (capable of knocking down walls). There were eight thousand kegs of powder to launch these missiles, and the mammoth bronze siege guns, so large they needed separate ships to carry the two halves.15 All the impedimenta of war caused the ships to ride ever lower in the water as the oarsmen awaited the order to push off.

Above it all, Suleiman sat on a raised dais with a clear view of his fleet and the army that was boarding it. The grand vizier led the two commanders to the platform to get his final benediction. He tried to set a light tone: “These two are known to enjoy a bit of kif, and here we are sending them to two islands just made for that. And on two ships loaded with coffee and opium!”¹⁶ Ottoman historians later condemned such frivolousness. They thought it ill omened.

Suleiman presented Mustapha with his own standard and a jeweled scimitar. Apparently concerned that there might be an unhealthy rivalry between the two, he ordered Mustapha to treat Piali Pasha as a beloved son, and Piali to honor and revere Mustapha as a father, and both men to work in unity and harmony.¹⁷ Petremol, who was the French ambassador in Constantinople at the time, writes clearly that Suleiman named Mustapha Pasha as “chief of the enterprise.”¹⁸

The sultan encouraged the both of them:

“The armada joined for you is the largest ever created—the army numerous, the soldiers hand chosen, the matériel more than sufficient. Nothing more is required other than courage and zeal. The prophet will aid you in this most just war, from which you must not think to return until you have swept Malta clean, destroyed all as an example to these pirates and to the ages.”¹⁹

Left unspoken was the injunction that they wait for Turgut to arrive at Malta from Tripoli and to do nothing without first consulting him. He had, after all, invaded the shores of Malta repeatedly and thrown the knights out of Tripoli. He had the trust and respect of the Barbary corsairs, and the corsairs were a vital part of this expedition.

One can imagine Mustapha’s feelings about that. His reputation was high, but nothing so high as Turgut’s—or perhaps even the young gun, Piali’s. Add to this the fact that Turgut and Piali had a highly successful working relationship of long standing, and Mustapha, although nominally in command of this enterprise, was looking more and more like the odd man out.20

The crowds cheered, cannon fired, drums beat, trumpets blared, flutes whistled, cables were unbound, and the armada set off. For several hours the galleasses, mahones, galleots, bastardas, and foists all jostled their way from the wharves of Constantinople, heading westward to whatever fate God had ordained. With them, at least for part of the way, was Grand Vizier Semiz Ali Pasha, who disembarked and returned to Constantinople just before the galleys reached the wider waters. He was not happy. The Ottoman historian Selaniki quotes him on his return:

“My Pashas! They believe that Malta is a cake and wish to eat it. They do not go to me to decide their actions and I have not approved of them; for all that has been spoken, they have no intention of heeding me. May God grant a good end to this enterprise. May I not see their ruin. God alone knows if we should succeed!”²¹ He died the following June 28.

It was the custom of mariners setting out to sea to journey up the Bosphorus to the tomb of Khairedihn, there to acknowledge the greatness of the admiral, invoke his spirit, and pray for a successful outcome to whatever their purpose might be.

It is said that both commanders neglected this particular custom.²²

Malta may have been the likeliest target, but ships are mobile and emperors capricious. The merchants at Genoese-held Chios briefly assumed they were the target as the armada rested for a short time at anchor outside their harbor—in fact, the ships wanted only tar.²³ Fretful senators in Venice were covering all bets. The Serene Republic had both supplemented their normal defenses at Cyprus, Corfu, and Zante, and collected gifts (velvet, satin, sugar, glass, etc.) for Mustapha and Piali should the two men pass near any Venetian outposts. Venetian sailors were warned to avoid any unfortunate incidents with the armada. France was less concerned. A week after the fleet’s departure, the French ambassador Petremol was able to assure his king that Suleiman had no quarrel with friends of the Grand Porte. The ambassador had, however, no light to shed on the armada’s final destination. To the best of his knowledge, the target was up to the judgment of the commanders, but would be either Malta or La Goletta, depending on which one they found [le] plus commode, most suitable.²⁴

The armada’s first leg ended in the various coves and inlets along the coast of Greece. The holy month of Ramadan was approaching, April on the Christian calendar. Fasting would be mandatory from dawn to dusk, with all the enervating effects the practice entails; and although the Janissaries, members of the Bektashi strain of Islam, were generally more elastic in their religious observance than others might be, it was better to have this obligation over and done with before any possible encounter with the enemy.

In this quiet period, part of the armada anchored in the bay of Navarino, where conscripts assembled from mainland Greece. The commanders examined these men just as they would a slave or a horse, enrolling the promising candidates and weeding out the lesser. (Balbi claims that reluctant soldiers “paid money freely to be quit of the obligation”; these bargains were a moneymaker for the mustering officers, and perhaps even for the empire.)25 The commanders also waited for volunteers, who were not long in coming—on top of the chance for looting the riches of Malta, Suleiman had offered free pardon to any Levantine pirate who signed up for the expedition. Some, like the spahis and Janissaries, were already looking past Malta and on to the riches of Italy.²⁶

Any enterprise this large will have setbacks. Mustapha’s began now. While being towed through the channel of Nauplia, without warning and for no obvious reason, one of the troop carriers suddenly capsized. Seven hundred highly skilled spahis struggled in the water and, in their allotted time, slipped under the surface and drowned. Soon they were joined by a number of large cannon stowed on a second boat. The captains and essential crew in both of these vessels somehow managed to survive, a fact that the remaining landlubbers could not fail to notice. At the very least, it could be taken as an omen.²⁷

As spring awoke on Malta and shrugged off the winter chill, Valette began to make preparations. For whatever reason—fear of expense, hope that the armada would target Goletta—he had left the matter later than was strictly prudent. Don Garcia had arrived at Malta in February with three thousand solders and offered to leave some behind; Valette turned down the offer in case the armada should target someplace else.²⁸ For the time being, he was content to call for the knights to come from Europe. This he did on February 10, a delay that would have consequences later on.²⁹

Still, by April the Knights of St. John began to make regular trips to Sicily, three days’ journey in good weather, importing “rods and hoops to make gabions [wicker baskets filled with earth to absorb gunfire], great quantities of hoes, of picks, of spades, of iron tools, of baskets, of nails, and other items to work on the fortifications and make necessary repairs. They also carried bread, cloth, leather, drugs, medicine, wine, salted meat and other provisions, all as much for the defense of these fortresses as for the sustenance and lives of men in case of siege.”30 Most important, they brought knights, soldiers, and adventurers who had gathered from all over Europe in Syracuse. The return voyage from Malta carried off useless mouths—the very young, the very old, women, dubious foreigners, prostitutes—all of whom were to wait out the conflict where they would not be in the way of the fighting or, more important, a drain on limited resources. At least, not on Maltese resources. Don Garcia ordered the Sicilians to treat them with courtesy, como buenos vezinos, like good neighbors.³¹

On April 9, Don Garcia arrived once more, leading twenty-seven galleys manned with nearly a thousand foot soldiers.³² The grand master came down to the dockside as the sailors brought the viceroy’s ships along the quay. Bad news. Malta would be getting one hundred and fifty men at this point; the rest were bound for La Goletta.³³ Don Garcia assured Valette that Philip took a keen personal interest in Malta and that further Spanish foot were being gathered. Unfortunately, this might take several months, during which time the island would be largely on its own. Don Garcia was outwardly hopeful, however. To Philip he reported that Malta was well positioned and that La Goletta was even “more difficult to attack, and easier to defend, and if [the Ottomans] go to that island, I firmly believe that they will depart with little honor and great injury.”³⁴

The two men had the same goal of keeping Malta free of the Ottomans, but each had long-standing grievances against the other’s nationality. Valette and a large part of the Order were French; he would associate Spain with such troublemakers as d’Amaral, the possible traitor at Rhodes; D’Homedes, who lost Tripoli; and La Cerda, who failed to retrieve it. For his part, Don Garcia would recall that France had allied itself with Suleiman and given Khairedihn hospitality. As brother-in-law to Cosimo de’ Medici, the viceroy likely would have heard that man’s indignation when Valette declined the free offer of the Tuscan military engineer Baldassare Lanci to put Malta’s defense works in better order in 1562, an oversight the more galling now that he could see firsthand just how ill prepared Malta was for a siege.³⁵

All this was water under the bridge for the moment, but it would serve to color their relationship from here on out. The viceroy had one last offering. He presented his bastard son Faderigo to Valette. Faderigo, a beardless youth just twenty years old, had traveled with Don Garcia from Messina with the stated intention of joining the Order, and it is a testament either to Valette’s regard for the boy, or for the father, or for own his need to oblige the viceroy, that rules requiring four aristocratic grandparents (often loosely defined) were in this case set aside.36 Certainly the young man was an eager soldier, which could only be welcome. Faderigo was enrolled in the Spanish langue.

Valette took this occasion to introduce Don Garcia to the commanders who would lead this defense. In addition to Romegas, there was Sir Oliver Starkey, Latin secretary to Valette. Starkey was the last of his countrymen to represent the English langue. (Henry VIII, the great champion of L’Isle-Adam, had had a change of heart in latter years. He quashed the Order on his island and stripped it of its considerable remaining assets.³⁷) There were Luigi Broglio, the aging, fat commander of Fort St. Elmo; Juan d’Eguaras, bailo of Negroponte and second to Broglio; Melchior d’Eguaras, a captain of cavalry and Spanish secretary to Valette; Dom Mesquita of Portugal, another septuagenarian and commander of Mdina; Marshal Coppier, commander of the horse; Fra Vincenzo Anastagi, who would act as a conduit between Valette and Don Garcia; and Giou, Gimeran, and others, some of whom Don Garcia would have fought alongside on previous campaigns.

As the men gathered in the council chamber at Fort St. Angelo, they could review past history and guess at Mustapha’s general strategy. Malta had suffered many quick raids in the past thirty years, chiefly from Barbary corsairs, but her strongholds had been avoided. This time would be different, not a harvesting of peasant slaves, but an all-out attempt to take the main island in its entirety. How then should they allocate their defenses? An unsigned and undated letter exists, probably the work of Don Garcia, in which the author suggests that the core of the defense should be made in Senglea and Birgu.³⁸ Useful as far as it went, but all options needed examination, and so the council members began their discussions.

For Mdina, some five miles from the grand harbor, there was little that could be done. Its walls had been untouched since Roger of Normandy expelled the Saracens in 1090 and would not be able to stand up to any serious artillery. Although the capital of Malta, it was now little more than a closed city whose inhabitants, old nobility of no power and a great antipathy toward the knights, had largely packed up and left for Sicily. For Valette, however, the city’s loss would be a serious matter. Besides its nominal value as capital of the island—a propaganda point if nothing else—Mdina served any number of tactical ends for the Christians. It was a staging point for any communications between Messina and Malta. It would soon headquarter the cavalry units, useful for hectoring Ottoman patrols. It would also be the temporary refuge for any relief efforts, those that found their way onto the island from the west.

Valette’s main concern, however, mirrored Don Garcia’s. The greater effort should go into the area of the Grand Harbor, the chief entry point to the island. The peninsula of Mount Sciberras was like a tongue sticking out of the harbor’s mouth with Fort St. Elmo on the tip, and Senglea and Birgu, two long teeth sticking up from the bottom jaw and holding Fort St. Michael and Fort St. Angelo. Looming over these, ranging from east to west, were Mount Salvatore, Mount Margaritas, Mount San Giovanni and Mount Corradino, and Sciberras across the bay. Against these, geography provided three lines of defense behind which the knights could rally, and Valette led the viceroy to inspect all of them.

Slaves, civilians, and even soldiers were busy pulling the stones from quarries and using them to bolster the defending walls of Birgu, Senglea, and not least of all, Fort St. Elmo. Here the Christians had one remarkable advantage. Their spies in Constantinople had filed a report of the Ottoman strategy sessions held the prior winter, discussing how best to take Malta: “On the fifth [of December 1564], a divan was arranged wherein all the old captains were present, because they were called to discuss the enterprise of taking Malta. The plan is to first take Castel San Ermo [sic] so as to command the port, and insert the better part of the fleet to spend the winter and then take Castel San Angelo by siege.”39 It says something of Spain’s intelligence network that they might have this kind of access, and it helps explains why Toledo was so concerned about bolstering the defenses of Fort St. Elmo in particular.

Fort St. Elmo presented its own peculiar problems and had been a concern for many years. Turgut’s raid in 1551 had underscored the need for defending the area, and in 1552 a committee was formed and engineers engaged to discuss the matter.⁴⁰ Money was tight that year and the question became, what was the least they could get away with? Grand Master D’Homedes insisted that no project be undertaken that could not be finished before the following fighting season. The result was a plan for the relatively small Fort St. Elmo with its four spurs overlooking the entrance into Grand Harbor. The rest of the budget went to bolstering the bastions of Provence and Auvergne, and to Senglea, another small fort on the hill of St. Giuliano.

Work began in 1552. When the Sicilian laborers proved insufficiently diligent, native Maltese, who had a vested interested in the matter, were hired instead. Barracks were constructed of Sicilian wood, the ditches excavated, and some walls put up so that by April of 1553 the knights were able to fire a salute to galleys entering Grand Harbor. As a further precaution, a heavy chain that rose “two or three palms above sea level” was ordered from Venice, enough to block unwelcome ships from the inlet between the head of Fort St. Angelo and Senglea peninsula.41

Still, Fort St. Elmo in 1565 had shortcomings. It was at the lowest elevation of the Sciberras Peninsula, at the end of a plateau measuring about a hundred paces. Guns placed on the higher elevation could fire down on its weak landward side. The solution, already in place, was a cavalier, a short tower built on the seaward side, solid enough to anchor heavy guns and fire a considerable distance into the water. Its guns could also fire back over the fort if need be. The tower was connected to the main fort by a drawbridge over the ditch that surrounded the fort. One startling oversight was the total lack of embrasures or crenellations, slits where defenders could fire outward with some degree of cover, rather than rise up and present enemy sharpshooters with a silhouette.

Don Garcia’s greatest concern, however, was the north face. The wide angle of the spurs provided no opportunity for protective crossfire. It was also dangerously exposed to the water. After his own success at Mahdia, Don Garcia was acutely aware of the possibilities of a seaborne cannonade. To solve both problems, he suggested that a ravelin be built, a detached counterguard that allowed for crossfire and a defense against waterborne cannon fire.⁴² Workers were diverted to the purpose. It was a sound idea, but implemented too late. By the time they had finished, the ravelin’s height was modest, which was to have serious consequences later on.

On the eve of Don Garcia’s departure, Valette reminded the viceroy of Charles V’s old promise to aid the Order against all enemies. He was preaching to the converted. Don Garcia promised aid “on his honor and his conscience through all the month of June.”43 With that said, and having gone over and critiqued the island’s defenses with some care, the viceroy could offer little more than advice learned from his years of practical combat.

Valette must, he said, maintain utter control over the men. He might seek their advice, acknowledge their concerns, and listen to their suggestions, but in the end they must understand that his word was final. He must at all costs preserve his person from harm, since an army without a leader can easily fall into confusion and despair. However compelling the urge to join his men in battle, he must never become a casualty of war. All good advice, but this last, given the nature of the man and the nature of the times, was as good as useless. Honor would scarcely allow Valette not to become part of the fight.

The following morning, Don Garcia boarded the viceregal galley heading for La Goletta. The next ship, he promised, would bring more soldiers and equipment, and his sincerity on this cannot have been doubted. Nor his courage—he was heading into Barbary waters and was concerned both for Turgut’s twenty galleys and the three more that Uludj Ali was bringing from Constantinople.⁴⁴ It was April, early days yet. Slaves, civilians, and soldiers could continue to pull stones from the quarries and improve the defending walls of Birgu, Senglea, and not least of all, Fort St. Elmo. Even the peasantry worked the quarries when required. Some of them were still convinced that the Turk would not show up this year at all.