CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

 

 

 

Payne glanced at his friends as he tried to figure out where to begin.

“Okay,” he said, “here’s what we know about Grand Master Hompesch. In 1798 AD, he finds out that an unstoppable force is headed his way. Even though Napoleon is bringing ten thousand fewer men than the Magnificent Sultan did for the Great Siege, Hompesch realizes that his own men are fat off the land, their loyalties are divided, and the locals are unlikely to offer support. He also knows that his allegiance is to the Order itself and not to Malta. This is a key piece of the puzzle, one that I didn’t think about when you first depicted the impending battle. You had described the Order as the home team during the Great Siege, and that was accurate in 1565 AD—but that doesn’t apply here, because the Order was no longer welcome in Malta.”

Jones nodded. “That explains why Hompesch didn’t poison the local wells or fortify the defenses around the harbor. As far as he was concerned, that would have been a wasted effort on his part because he had no intention of risking his life to save the locals who wanted him gone. Plus, he didn’t want this battle to last any longer than it needed to because that would only result in additional deaths of his men. You see, his goal all along wasn’t to fight. It was to escape.”

Payne smiled at the thought. “In order to pull this off, you would need to have a team of willing associates that you could trust explicitly. You obviously couldn’t trust any French knights because of possible divided loyalties, but you probably could trust men from your homeland. Tell me, was there a langue for Germans at the time of the French invasion?”

Marissa nodded excitedly. “Over the centuries, the original eight langues were forced to change with the times. The Crown of Aragon and the Crown of Castile no longer existed as medieval states, and the other langues had morphed as well. If I remember correctly, the German knights would have been housed in Auberge d'Allemagne in Valletta. Strangely, very little is known about the structure other than it was the only auberge to be intentionally demolished. That happened way back in the early nineteenth century.”

Jones laughed. “Of course it was demolished! It probably had evidence about Hompesch’s escape. You can’t afford to leave that standing.”

Payne rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with your conspiracy theories, or we’re gonna lose all credibility with our audience.”

Marissa smiled at Jones. “I promise, you won’t lose me. I love conspiracy theories. The crazier, the better.”

Jones grinned. “Then wait until I tell you where spiders come from! You won’t believe it!”

Payne shook his head. “Come on, DJ. Stay focused! We’re on a roll here.”

Jones nodded. “Sorry, man. You’re right. Treasure first, spiders later.”

Payne realized that he had about five seconds to get the conversation headed in the right direction or else Jones was going to launch into a monologue about alien arachnids. “As I was saying, Hompesch would need a team of willing associates that he could trust to pull this off, and my guess is that he found them at Auberge d'Allemagne. Did I say that right?”

Marissa nodded her head. “Oui.”

Jarkko was confused. “Pull off what?”

Payne smiled. “If DJ and I are correct, Hompesch used a classic misdirect to conceal what he was actually doing. Think about what we know: When Napoleon first arrived in Malta, Hompesch wouldn’t let his fleet into the harbor to get water. In fact, his men made a big production out of it, saying that only two French boats could come into the harbor at a time. Why in the world would he do that? Why risk pissing off an ill-tempered general with far superior numbers over something as mundane as water provisions?”

Jarkko guessed. “To buy time.”

Payne nodded. “That’s what we were thinking. Marissa already told us that Hompesch wasn’t fortifying their defenses, or poisoning wells, or even moving his troops into position. He was sitting on his ass in Valletta—her words, not mine—until it was time to negotiate the Order’s surrender. So the question is, what was he buying time for?”

Jarkko grinned. “For treasure!”

Payne smiled. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Jones picked it up from there. “I’m not sure what you know about Napoleon’s military career, but Malta wasn’t his main objective on this trip. It was merely a pit stop for the French on their way to Africa. At the time, Napoleon was getting ready to launch a major expedition to seize Egypt. His goal was to establish a French presence in the Middle East, where he could link up with Muslim enemies of the British in order to secure a trade route to India. So the last thing he wanted to do was lose a bunch of men and supplies in a meaningless battle with the Knights.”

Payne nodded. “And Hompesch would have known that.”

Marissa cut them off. “If that’s the case, why piss off an ill-tempered general—your words, not mine—at all? Why not just negotiate a treaty and be done with it?”

Payne couldn’t help but smile. Not only was Marissa highly intelligent, but she was more than eager to engage in the verbal jousting that he enjoyed with his quick-witted best friend. Over the years, he had come across very few people—let alone beautiful women—who could keep up with their verbal repartee, but she was matching them jab for jab.

“Here’s the thing,” Jones explained. “Fighting a war on foreign soil is very expensive—particularly when you’re battling extreme elements as well. And that’s what Napoleon would be facing as he marched across Egypt. In order to pay for everything, you either need to start your journey with a massive war chest, or you need to accumulate resources along the way. And since the Knights of Malta were one of the richest organizations in the world but no longer able to defend themselves, Napoleon was probably salivating at the thought of their riches.”

Marissa chimed in. “Just to be clear, the Knights of Malta had lost a lot of their assets over the centuries and were no longer as wealthy as they once were. When I was fast-forwarding for Jon’s sake, I skipped over the Protestant Reformation, which decimated the Order’s holdings in Europe and weakened the stability of the Catholic Church. Don’t get me wrong: the Knights were far from broke, but they weren’t nearly as rich as they were at the height of their power.”

Jarkko groaned. “Jarkko’s flag now at half-mast. Jarkko will keep you posted.”

Jones grimaced and moved even further away on the bench.

But Payne ignored them both. He was too focused on Marissa.

“Believe it or not,” Payne said to her, “your comment only strengthens our theory.”

“How so?” she wondered.

Payne did his best to explain. “If the Order had tons of riches throughout Europe—and I’m talking about literal tons of gold and jewels—then they probably didn’t need to tangle with Napoleon at all. But now that I know their assets were centralized in Valletta, then the entire future of the Order rested on the shoulders of Grand Master Hompesch. But here’s the rub: because of divided loyalty amongst the knights and the fact that two-thirds of his men were French, Hompesch couldn’t move the Order’s wealth in advance of Napoleon’s approach. Hompesch needed to wait until there was something massive going on to distract his men.”

Marissa smiled. “So Hompesch wasn’t sitting on his ass while waiting to sign the treaty. You think he was actually killing time while waiting to move the treasure?”

Payne nodded. “It’s a classic misdirect. He sends a bunch of knights—I’m guessing French, just to fuck with them—down to the waterfront to tell freaking Napoleon that he can only send two ships into the harbor at one time. Then he sends another group of knights—I’m guessing French, just to fuck with them some more—to defend the western flank of Malta from advancing French troops, knowing full well that they’re unlikely to put up much of a fight. But that’s okay as far as Hompesch is concerned, because the only thing that matters to him is moving the Order’s wealth without being seen by disloyal French knights.”

Jones jumped back in. “Meanwhile, Napoleon is sitting in his high chair, getting ready to throw a hissy fit, because he’s being disrespected by a stupid German, who is making the French fleet wait their turn at the water fountain. But Napoleon’s mood quickly brightens when he finds out the Maltese people are aiding his cause and that the knights in the west are providing minimal resistance at best. So Napoleon heads to the negotiating table in great spirits, thinking he has just defeated the legendary Knights of Malta while losing only three men. Meanwhile, what he doesn’t know is that the so-called stupid German had emptied the Order’s massive vaults under Napoleon’s massive nose while he was waiting for a drink of water.”

Payne laughed at the thought. “Like I said before—if our theory is correct and Hompesch actually pulled this off—it was one of the ballsiest escapes of all time.”