I have, for instance, referred throughout to the main southern harbour of the island as Marsasirocco (the Italian place name) rather than Marsaxlokk. Similarly I have used the name Marsamuscetto for the large harbour to the north side of Valetta, rather than Marsamxett.

Malta, in fact, had no written language or dictionary even, until the nineteenth century, when the Roman alphabet was adopted. The language which is Semitic by origin, stemming possibly from the Phoenician, does not easily lend itself to this system. I have referred throughout to the ancient capital of Malta by its Maltese name ‘Mdina’, rather than Città Notabile (as it was known to the Knights). The name Mdina undoubtedly derives from the Arabic—Medine or El-Medina (The City). The second main peninsula of Grand Harbour I have called Senglea, rather than L’Isla—the name the Maltese have always given it. The village of Senglea was founded by Grand Master Claude de la Sengle (1553—7). On the other hand, where no English or Italian equivalent exists, I have kept the modern Maltese spelling of place names, such as Ghain Tuffieha (the ‘Gh’ is silent). Translated literally it means: ‘The Fountain of the Apples’.

For assistance and encouragement at various times, and over a number of years, I would like to express my thanks to many people: Sir Hannibal Scicluna, M.B.E., who first allowed me to consult his unique library in 1951; to the Malta Government Tourist Bureau, and the Director of Public Works; and to The Hon. Dr L. Galea, C.B.E., Q.C., for his assistance in the early stages of my research. I would like to record my particular thanks to Dr Vincent DePasquale, Librarian of the Royal Malta Library, for all his kindness and help over many months, also to Mr Joseph Galea and Mr E. R. Leopardi. I owe an incalculable debt to Dr Joseph Spiteri, LL.D., who, in many conversations, has enlightened me on aspects of Maltese custom, legend, folklore, and language. I also owe a debt of thanks to the Librarians of the Garrison Library, Malta, and the British Council Library.

I dedicate this book to the memory of my father, Major Jocelyn Ernle Sidney Patton Bradford, M.B.E., M.C.

E.B.

St Paul’s Bay, Malta

16 April 1961



De dehors on lui cria; des remparts on répondit. ‘Malte d’or, Malte d’argent, Malte de métal précieux, Malte, nous ne te prendrons pas, même si tu n’étais que courge, même si tu n’étais protégée que de peau d’oignon.’

‘—Je suis celle qui a décimé les galères du Turc, tous les braves de Constantinople et de Galata.’

From a sixteenth-century Cypriot ballad, translated by Hubert Pernot





Chapter 1


The Sultan of the Ottomans


Soleyman’s titles resounded through the high Council chamber like a roll of drums:

Sultan of the Ottomans, Allah’s deputy on Earth, Lord of the Lords of this World, Possessor of Men’s Necks, King of Believers and Unbelievers, King of Kings, Emperor of the East and West, Emperor of the Chakans of Great Authority, Prince and Lord of the most happy Constellation, Majestic Caesar, Seal of Victory, Refuge of all the People in the whole World, the Shadow of the Almighty dispensing Quiet in the Earth.

His ministers, admirals, and generals prostrated themselves and withdrew. It was the year 1564, and Soleyman the First, Sultan of Turkey, was seventy years old. He had just taken the decision to attack the island of Malta in the spring of the following year.

His had been a life of unparalleled distinction from the moment when he had succeeded his father, Selim, at the age of twenty-six. Known in his own country as the Lawgiver, and throughout Europe as Soleyman the Magnificent, he had truly earned these appellations. He had reformed and improved the government and administration of Turkey, and had made her the greatest military state in the world. He was unequalled as a statesman, and was a poet in his own right.

If the Turkish people for these reasons called him ‘The Lawgiver’, the people of Europe for their part had good reasons for conceding to him the respectful title of ‘The Magnificent’. His conquests alone justified it, and Europeans have always lavished more respect upon conquerors than upon lawgivers. In the course of his Sultanate, Soleyman had added to his dominions, Aden, Algiers, Baghdad, Belgrade, Budapest, Nakshivan, Rhodes, Rivan, Tabriz, and Temesvar. Under him the Ottoman Empire had attained the peak of its glory. His galleys swept the seas from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, and his kingdom stretched from Austria to the Persian Gulf, and the shores of the Arabian Sea. Only at the walls of Vienna in 1529 had his armies faltered.

At the age of seventy, with so many resounding triumphs behind him, it might have been expected that the Sultan would wish to take his ease and watch the decline of day over the Golden Horn. But to Soleyman in his old age there remained only the desire for power, the ambition to extend his conquests. Even if he had not been ambitious himself, those who surrounded him would never have allowed him to rest.

‘So long as Malta remains in the hands of the Knights,’ wrote one of his advisers, ‘so long will every relief from Constantinople to Tripoli run the danger of being taken or destroyed…’ ‘This cursed rock,’ wrote another, ‘is like a barrier interposed between us and your possessions. If you will not decide to take it quickly, it will in a short time interrupt all communications between Africa and Asia and the islands of the Archipelago.’

It was forty-two years since Soleyman, in the prime of his life and at the head of a vast fleet and army, had driven the Knights of St John from their island fortress of Rhodes.