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Lepanto, 1571


The sun shone brightly on the fleet as it entered the Gulf of Patras. Galleys and galleasses under the mixed command of Mediterranean Christendom gently rocked back and forth in the waves, a sea of water below them reflected by a sea of banners above, each one showing to the world the blessings of a family, city, or country in this brave endeavor. The flags of Naples, Venice, and Genoa billowed proudly in the wind, while the long, trailing banners of Doria, di Leyni, Grimaldi, and more told of the great support individual families invested in the enterprise. Belowdecks, men performed their duties quickly in anticipation of the day's events. Power and match were readied, cannon prepared for battle, and swords sharpened. Waiting patiently, the men and ships of this grand fleet stood by ready to move on the mark of one man: Don Juan of Austria.

Don Juan at that very moment was deciding his next move. The feared and dreaded Ottoman fleet had been sighted, and a conference hastily convened aboard his flagship.

“Gentlemen,” he asked, pacing about the regal captain's quarters of the ship, “Gentlemen, one and all of you, how shall we proceed? Shall we engage the Ottoman and fight for the glory of God, or shall we pull back?”

Romegas, a Gascon and Knight of Malta, was the first to respond: “What I think? That if Emperor Charles V, your father, had seen such an armada like ours, he would not have stopped until he had become emperor of Constantinople, and done so with ease.”

“You mean we must fight, Monsieur Romegas?” inquired the Don.

“Aye, sir. Let us fight.”

Captain Colonna, a Venetian, was the next to respond. Drawing himself up, he answered simply, quoting the Gospel, “'Even if I should die, I will not deny you.' Let us fight.”

Luis Resquesens, a Spaniard, dissented. Shifting about nervously in his seat, he attempted to dissaude Don Juan, stating, “Sir, should the battle be lost and God's favor not shine upon us today, we have nowhere to run to. The Ottomans, however, have haven at the port of Lepanto still, and should easily retreat to it ere we defeat them. It is a terribly risky venture you are seeking.” The Gascon Romegas sneered and whispered aside “Ah, Resquesens, considering all the possible options in true Spanish fashion.”

Hearing this, Don Juan grew stern in countenance, and told his advisers to return to their ships. One last man had to be consulted, and then and only then would Don Juan give his decision. Walking out of the quarters onto the deck, he shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned a nearby Venetian galley. Sure enough, he soon spotted the elderly commander of Venetian forces, Sebastiano Verniers. The Venetian and Don Juan had been fighting over authority throughout the fleet's adventures that year, but now Don Juan had to suppress pride, personal and national, to gain Vernier's full support. Straining his voice to be heard over the crashing of waves and creaking of wood, Don Juan shouted “O Veniers, must we fight the Ottomans?”

Vernier's voice needed not strain itself. The news of the Ottoman sack of Famagusta and loss of Cyprus still haunted Venetians, but the tale of Bragadin, a respected Venetian official, being tortured and killed at the orders of Mustafa Pasha turned their despair into a bloody lust for revenge. “We must fight,” said Vernier with steel in his voice. “We must, and cannot avoid it.”


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With a volley of cannon from the Venetian galleasses, the battle was on.

The Ottoman fleet, attempting to envelop the Christian fleet with a crescent formation and destroy the Holy League's ships from all sides, lost momentum early when a devastating series of long-range cannon volleys shattered Ottoman morale. The Christians, sensing the Ottoman panic, began breaking formation in an attempt to attack faster, causing holes to quickly develop in the Holy League's line and potentially dooming the entire venture from the start. On the far right of the Christian line, Genoese galleys began veering away from the main body of ships in an attempt to outmaneuver the Ottoman flank, a dance of cannon and sails that they would ultimately lose. On the Christian's left flank, however, a hole developed that was quickly exploited by Ottoman galleys, outflanking the Holy League's fleet and rapidly putting the entire line in danger. Only the initiative of Venetian reserves managed to save that line, and at great cost to themselves.

Barbarigo, brave Barbarigo! Seeing the hole on the Christian fleet's left, the Venetian captain Barbarigo had directed his own ship to plug the hole and ward off the Ottoman galleys. The oarsmen belowdecks strained themselves to their limits as the Venetian galley flew forward to help, only to sail to their doom. By his initiative and speed, Barbarigo's ship had been the first to reach the hole in Christian lines, and the first to square off against the Ottoman ships. The Turkish fleet, for its part, had tried its best to capitalize on the Christians' weak point, and charging into the hole Barbarigo discovered he was alone against eight Ottoman vessels. Still the Venetian held his resolve, and to the deadly fire of eight Turkish galleys the sole Venetian ship stood its ground.

Fire from the right of them, fire from the left of them, fire from all around pounded on the Venetian galley, the smell of sulfur and the flash of cannon from all sides creating a small Hell on earth for the vessel. Stone cannonballs smashed against the sides of the ship and splintered into deadly shards, slaughtering crew and splashing gore over all the decks like a thundering tempest of human flesh and blood.

The Venetian relief ships only delayed the inevitable. Even with backup, Barbarigo's galley was still in the thick of battle. The Venetian captain himself was in full plate armor to better protect himself, but when he pulled up his helmet's visor to better see the Ottoman fleet, an aide warned him of oncoming Turkish arrow volleys. Laughing, “I'd rather be unprotected and see the Ottoman fleet then blind and armored!” Barbarigo was struck immediately thereafter in the left eye with an Ottoman arrow amd killed instantly.

All throughout the battle scenes like this played out over the course of the day. The center-right was mauled by Ottoman warships until the arrival of Spanish reserves, but too late to save six Christian galleys that had been boarded. It is said that onboard one of those vessels, the Capitana, the only reason the Maltese captain of the vessel managed to avoid being killed by the oncoming Turkish boarding parties was through the direct intervention of God Himself. On the far right wing of the Christian fleet, it was only through the timely arrival of Juan de Cardona's reserves that the Genoese contingent wasn't completely destroyed.

Slowly but surely, though, victory appeared to be within the Holy League's grasp. An Ottoman sally was pushed back on the left, a feint on the right defeated, a ship here sunk, a galley there captured. A Spanish attempt was repelled once, twice, but on the third time managed to board the Ottoman flagship Sultana. The carnage was terrible, with arquebus and sword clashing in a blinding field of smoke and sulfur. Don Juan himself was with the boarding party, bravely leading from the front as man fought against man.

During a brief lull in the fighting aboard the Sultana, one of the boarders cried out, “There, sir! Look! Is that not Ali Pasha, the Ottoman admiral himself?” Sure enough, at the stern of the Sultana the Ottoman commander himself appeared, brandished a scimitar and roaring encouragement at his men. The boarding Spaniards bellowed derision and insult at him and pressed forward all the more, intent on finishing off the man. “After him, men!” bellowed Don Juan, waving a sword about above his head, “After him! I want that heathen alive, do you hear me? I want him al--”

The roar of cannon from a nearby galley drowned out the Don, and for a minute afterwards the Spaniard choked on the sulfuric fumes of used gunpowder drifting across the battle. By the time he had regained his breath and readied himself to bellow orders once more, a cheer had already risen from the stern of the ship, and several boarders returned to the Don, grinning.

Held up by the leader of the group was the severed head of Ali Pasha, commander of the Ottoman fleet. The battle was over.


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The cost of Lepanto would be dear to all involved. The Ottomans had lost a prized naval commander and a good portion of the navy itself, while the Holy Fleet suffered so many losses that it could not fully capitalize on its victory, letting the Ottoman remnants escape to fight another day.

Many brave men died that day. Genoese, Venetian, Neapolitan, and Spaniard alike suffered from the bloodshed, and too many ships had been sunk, too many officers killed. While Barbarigo's death may have been the most dramatic, his death would not have the deepest impact on the League and on Europe.

No, that honor was reserved for Alexander Farnese, son and heir of the Duke of Parma. Fighting onboard one of the Genoese ships on the right flank, Farnese had been slain when a shard of cannonball had penetrated his skull, slaying him almost instantly.

It would not even be Italy that would be most affected by his death, but instead it would be a small and muddy land thousands of miles away to the north that would feel his absence most of all...
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