The Dream and the Glory Read online

  “I would like, if it is no trouble, to go to the shops,” Cordelia answered. “I suspect that my brother will be too busy to visit me.”

  “I am sure he will,” the Countess replied with a smile. “Novices find their time fully occupied. It is only when they have taken the vows and finished their ‘caravans’ that time lies heavy on their hands.”

  “How many Knights are there here in Malta?” Cordelia asked.

  “About four hundred,” the Countess replied, “but of those two hundred are French.”

  “As many as that? And the rest?”

  “Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Bavarian and German.”

  Cordelia did not say anything, but she could not help feeling that if the rumours of war with Bonaparte were to be believed it would surely be extremely difficult for the French to fire on their own countrymen.

  But she told herself that she was being needlessly apprehensive when she walked with the Countess through the narrow crowded streets and climbed the long flights of stone steps overhung with balconies brilliant with flowers.

  Everything seemed so peaceful that the mere idea of warfare of any sort in this glorious island seemed ridiculous.

  Besides it was impossible not to be impressed by the massive fortifications, which had been called ‘bulky mountain-breasted heights’ and the sharp-pointed bastions of St. Elmo, the glacis and the heavy drawbridge of Porte des Bombes.

  The shops were even more entrancing than they had seemed on the first day she had visited them.

  She bought a small present for her hostess, which delighted the Countess, and an ancient sword set with jewels that she thought would please David.

  She wondered if she should buy anything for Mark, in fact she longed to do so.

  Then she thought that it might seem a little forward to give him a present and that no doubt his kiss, the magic of which still lingered on her lips, had not meant as much to him as it had to her.

  And yet, she told herself, a kiss could only be perfect if two people felt the same.

  Although she was very ignorant about love, she knew with some inner conviction that would not be denied that Mark had been moved when his lips touched hers.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’ she told herself a thousand times during the day.

  After a light luncheon they all retired for the customary siesta, when the whole City went quiet and even the song of the birds seemed muted.

  The Countess went to her bedroom to rest, but Cordelia lay on a chaise longue in the sitting room, which looked out onto the garden.

  The shades were half-drawn and the room was dim and cool.

  She closed her eyes, but she did not sleep. She was thinking of Mark, remembering how handsome he was and how she had in fact, she recognised now, loved him before they left Naples.

  She had thought that he annoyed her and that she disliked him.

  But she knew, after they had talked together in the garden and he had been so understanding and explained all that had perplexed her, that her heart had gone out to him.

  ‘Can there be another man like him?’ she asked.

  So strong, so masculine, so essentially a man, and yet so understanding and gentle that it would have been impossible not to trust him and do anything that he asked of her.

  She prayed for him and felt that her prayer winged its way across the sea.

  She could imagine the St. Jude speeding over the white crested waves and the pirate ship with its broken mast vainly trying to escape.

  Although he would take prisoner the crew of cruel and usually brutal Moslems, Mark would show them the magnanimity and the kindness that the Chaplain had spoken about.

  ‘I love him – he is everything that a man should be,’ Cordelia told herself again. ‘And he behaves like a Knight even if he has not taken his vows.’

  She knew, as she mused about it, that she was glad he had not done so and the thought that he was free brought the colour to her cheeks and her heart beat a little faster.

  Suddenly there was the sound of voices outside.

  She could hear the Count speaking loudly in what seemed an agitated manner and a moment later the door of the sitting room was thrown open and the Countess appeared followed by her husband.

  One glance at her hostess’s face made Cordelia sit up quickly on the chaise longue.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What has happened?”

  “The French!” the Countess exclaimed.

  Wide-eyed, Cordelia looked at the Count for confirmation.

  “It is true, Lady Cordelia,” he said. “The French Fleet has arrived!”

  “What do they want of Malta?” Cordelia asked in a low voice.

  “Water, I expect,” the Count replied. “In fact I have been told that a launch from Bonaparte’s ship L’Orient is already entering the Grand Harbour.”

  Cordelia gave a little sigh of relief.

  “That does not sound as if they intend to conquer the island.”

  “No, indeed,” the Count agreed, “but I understand there is an alert.”

  “Find out all you can,” the Countess pressed him, “and if you think it is safe, Lady Cordelia and I will go on the roof to look at the ships.”

  “I cannot imagine that you will come to any harm there,” the Count replied, “but you must keep out of the streets. There is sure to be a certain amount of panic amongst the poorer people in the town and the mere name of Napoleon Bonaparte is enough to send the women into hysterics!”

  He walked from the room as he spoke and Cordelia rose from the chaise longue.

  “I suppose there is no – chance of my seeing David?” she asked.

  “If there is an alert,” the Countess replied, “they will all be at their dispositions for defence.”

  She gave a little sigh.

  “My husband has said for years that Malta needed new guns. Many have been repeatedly painted to look like new, but they have only been used for ceremonial purposes.”

  “In Naples they talked of little else except war and Napoleon Bonaparte's ambitions,” Cordelia said. “It seems odd that the Knights are not more prepared.”

  “Let us pray that they will not have to fight,” the Countess exclaimed, “because I cannot help feeling that experienced French soldiers, who have been victorious in so many campaigns already, will be formidable opponents.”

  When they reached the flat roof of the house, Cordelia could only echo what the Countess had said.

  From the rooftops they had a spacious view of the sea. It was covered for miles with ships of all sizes whose masts resembled a huge forest.

  It would have been a magnificent sight if it had not been so threatening.

  There was no doubt that Bonaparte's Fleet contained the finest and newest Men-o’-War and amongst them it was easy to distinguish a superb three-decker, L’Orient, the Flagship in which he travelled.

  Cordelia and the Countess looked at the Fleet for some time, but they said very little.

  With grave expressions on their faces they went downstairs to await the Count’s return.

  When he arrived, he looked extremely worried.

  “What has happened? Tell us what you have discovered,” the Countess asked him before he could speak.

  “I was right,” he replied. “Officers from L’Orient have asked the Grand Master to admit the Fleet for water. Von Hompesch has convened a Council for six o’clock and I am told by a friend in the Palace that the members will urge the Grand Master to enforce the regulation that only four ships can enter the Harbour at once.”

  “Surely, then it will take a very long time to supply the whole Fleet?” Cordelia said.

  “That is what my friend thought,” the Count replied. “And he pointed out that, if Bonaparte would agree to such a stipulation, it would allow time for the British to appear.”

  “The British?” the Countess exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “But we understood that they were blockading Toulon. Surely the French cannot have defeated them
in battle?”

  She spoke in such an agitated manner that the Count put his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “Don’t distress yourself, my dear, there has been no battle. My friend learnt from the Officer who came from L’Orient that the French Armada slipped out of Toulon when Nelson was watering his ships off Sardinia!”

  He smiled a little wryly as he added,

  “I was told that the French are delighted at having hoodwinked the British and are laughing about it rather like schoolboys who have escaped their Master’s vigilance.”

  He paused before he added,

  “The size of the Fleet is certainly intimidating. I am told that L’Orient alone carries a thousand men and one hundred and twenty guns.”

  The Countess gave a little cry and he finished,

  “She has also six hundred thousand in sterling aboard.”

  The Count did not stay long and it was two hours after dinner had been served before he returned again.

  As he had anticipated, the Council had, with only one dissenting voice, that of a Spaniard, urged the Grand Master to enforce the regulations.

  “Are you sure that General Bonaparte will accept such a ruling?” the Countess asked in a worried voice.

  The Count did not answer and Cordelia knew that he was calculating how long it would take to water so many ships.

  *

  It was impossible to sleep that night.

  Cordelia found herself rising again and again to walk around her bedchamber, worrying about David and worrying too in case Mark on the St. Jude had run into the French Fleet.

  She thought it was unlikely because Napoleon’s ships had sailed in from the North while Mark would have turned South towards the coast of Africa.

  At the same time she had a horrifying feeling that a great drama was being played out around her and no one could be certain of the outcome.

  It was at dawn that Cordelia heard the sound of gunfire.

  She dressed herself hastily and hurried downstairs to find the Countess and learnt that the Count had already left the house to find out what was happening.

  “I was sure, Lady Cordelia,” the Countess said, “that Bonaparte would not wait so long for the water he requires.”

  “I was sure of it too,” Cordelia replied. “If only we could know what is happening.”

  “We are not to leave the house,” the Countess told her. “My husband left strict instructions that we were to stay here behind closed doors.”

  This, Cordelia thought, was harder to bear than anything else.

  They could hear the noise in the streets outside, but they did not dare to disobey the Count and could only wait apprehensively, shuddering at the intermittent sound of gunfire.

  “What is going on?” the Countess asked again and again.

  When finally the Count appeared, she ran towards him with a cry, flinging her arms around him.

  “You were so long and I was so afraid,” she exclaimed. “You are safe?”

  “Quite safe,” the Count replied. “But the whole place is in confusion and panic.”

  “What has happened?”

  “As I expected,” he replied, “Bonaparte has landed his forces on the island.”

  The Countess gave a scream.

  “I understand five Battalions of Infantry landed at dawn in St. Julian’s Bay,” the Count went on. “They were opposed by gunfire from the Malta Regiment, who quickly retreated into Valetta.”

  He paused before he continued,

  “I am not quite certain what happened next, but I was told that a number of French troops came ashore at Marsa Scirocco unopposed under the command of General Marmont, who cleared our sharpshooters from Wignacourt’s Aqueduct.”

  “But surely the Knights are fighting?” Cordelia asked breathlessly.

  “It is difficult to be certain how much fighting there has actually been,” the Count said in a tone that Cordelia felt was almost apologetic.

  “There are large parties of Maltese soldiers behind the earth ramparts outside the walls of Floriana,” he carried on quickly. “I was told that the French were checked and that the Auvergnat Knights led a sally over the drawbridge of the Porte des Bombes.”

  “It was successful?” Cordelia questioned.

  “I am afraid not,” the Count answered. “And General Marmont himself captured the Standard of the Order.”

  “I cannot believe it!” the Countess cried. “Surely our troops could not allow that to happen?”

  “You must understand that these are only rumours, my dear,” the Count explained. “I have heard the reports that have reached the Grand Master at the Palace. But no one will know for some hours whether or not they are true.”

  “And what is the Grand Master doing?” the Countess asked angrily.

  The Count looked uncomfortable.

  “You must tell me,” his wife said insistently.

  “Many of the leading people in the City and a number of the nobles are meeting to aver that they have no confidence in the Order’s powers to defend us. They wish to pass a resolution calling on the Grand Master to come to terms with Bonaparte.”

  “No! No!” the Countess cried. “It is too shaming! It would be a disgrace that will go down in history. You cannot, you must not allow yourself to be a party to such a resolution.”

  “I must do what my conscience tells me is right,” the Count retorted with dignity.

  He patted his wife’s arm in an effort at reassurance and then said,

  “I only returned so that I could tell you what was happening. I must go at once to be with our own people and help them determine what is best for Malta.”

  “Be strong, please, my dear. Be strong!” the Countess begged.

  “What with?” the Count asked bitterly. “I have been told that the powder for the guns has been found to be rotten and the shot defective!”

  The Countess gave a cry of sheer horror.

  “The streets are full of our people,” he went on, “cursing the French and the Grand Master at the same time and imploring the Saints to preserve the island. I have been told that the French Knights have refused to fire on their countrymen.”

  “It might have been expected,” Cordelia murmured.

  But when the Count had left the house and the Countess wept, she found it hard to keep her self-control.

  Equally she knew that nothing could be gained by collapsing or becoming as panic-stricken as those who were in the streets outside.

  ‘David will expect me to be brave,’ she told herself.

  She knew too that she could not bear Mark to think her a coward.

  “Should we not cut up some linen for bandages?” she suggested to the Countess. “If there are wounded, bandages will be very necessary and perhaps the Hospital will not have sufficient supplies.”

  As if she was glad of something to do, the Countess agreed at once.

  She produced some linen sheets, which they cut into strips and rolled neatly, putting them in baskets so that they would be ready as soon as they were required.

  It grew later and later, but there was no sign of the Count and finally the Countess insisted that Cordelia should go to bed.

  “You can do nothing now, Lady Cordelia,” she said, “and, if our services are required tomorrow, we shall be of little use if we are heavy-eyed and too exhausted to be of any assistance.”

  It was common sense, Cordelia thought, and finally she allowed herself to be persuaded to go to her bedchamber.

  Perhaps because her anxiety had left her more exhausted than she realised she actually slept for some hours.

  At dawn she dressed again and crept quietly down the stairs so as not to arouse anyone else in the household.

  She had reached the hall when she heard a knock at the front door.

  The Count’s establishment was not large enough to include a nightwatchman and it was so early that Cordelia was certain that the servants were not yet awake.

  The knock came again.

&nb
sp; Although she was certain that the Countess would think it somewhat reprehensible, Cordelia drew back the bolts on the door and turned the heavy key in the lock.

  Outside she saw Vella.

  Her heart gave a frightened leap. Then she opened the door a little wider and he stepped into the hall.

  “What is it?” Cordelia whispered. “Has anything happened to his Lordship?”

  “I came to you as soon as I could, Mistress,” Vella began.

  “What has happened?” Cordelia asked.

  She knew even as she spoke by the expression on the servant’s face what he had to tell her.

  “The Master is dead!”

  With an effort Cordelia opened the nearest door and entered a sitting room. She sat down on a chair feeling as if her legs would no longer hold her. Then with her eyes on the face of the Maltese she said quietly,

  “Tell me what – happened.”

  “The Master was very brave,” Vella said in a low voice. “He was with two Auvergnat Knights who attacked the French over the drawbridge of the Porte des Bombes.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “I was with him, Mistress, and, while some of the troops were reluctant to put up any opposition, the Master was insistent that they must fight.”

  Cordelia could almost see David with the light of a visionary in his eyes, exhorting the soldiers and being determined to oppose the French.

  “The French boats laden with soldiers drew nearer the Port, Mistress. They were led, I understand, by General Marmont himself.”

  Almost before he could say the words Cordelia knew what had happened.

  “There was some crossfire,” Vella went on. “Then the General made to capture the Standard of the Order.”

  Cordelia drew in her breath.

  “It was then that the Master would have rushed at him with his sword.”

  “What happened then?” Cordelia whispered.

  “The General raised his own sword to defend himself, but one of the soldiers in the boats shot at the Master and hit him in the chest. He fell backwards and as he fell he cried, ‘for Christ and for the Order!’”

  Cordelia felt the tears come into her eyes and impatiently she brushed them away.

  “Where is he now, Vella?”

  “I had to wait until nightfall, Mistress, to find someone to help me, but I have taken his body to the Church of St. John.”