The Dream and the Glory

Chapter One ~1798-2

Cordelia looked at him in surprise and he continued,

“Can you possibly be the freckle-nosed little cousin I remember storming at me in a passionate rage because accidentally I had shot one of her doves?”

“Mark!” Cordelia exclaimed. “Cousin Mark!”

“I see you have remembered.”

He put out his hand and she laid her fingers in his. Mark Stanton, she thought incredulously, was the last person she would have expected to see at this moment, for they had not met for at least nine years.

The Earl of Hunstanton turned from his contemplation of the sea and then he gave a shout of delight.

“Mark!” he cried. “How splendid that you are here! I had no idea you were in the Mediterranean.”

“I was far more surprised to hear that you require my services,” his cousin answered. “I have often thought of you in England, safe and secure at Stanton Park, but now I learn that you wish to visit Malta.”

“Not visit,” the Earl corrected him quickly. “I am to be a Knight, Mark. They have accepted me! ”

For a moment the blue eyes looked astonished and then Mark Stanton put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“I remember you saying when you were a boy that that was what you wished to be. But I thought perhaps it was one of those things that you would forget as you grew older.”

He paused to add with a twinkle in his eye,

“Or find yourself side-tracked by more alluring amusements.”

“This is not in the nature of an amusement, Mark,” the Earl responded a little stiffly. “I wish to dedicate myself to the service of Christ and how could I do it better than by being a Knight of St. John?”

Cordelia, watching their cousin, thought that he was about to reply somewhat frivolously, but instead he said with what she thought was a beguiling smile,

“Suppose we sit down and you tell me about it?”

His words made her remember her manners.

“Will you come into the salon?” she asked. “It is very hot out here and I am sure that the servants have refreshments ready for you.”

There was wine, which was poured into large crystal glasses engraved with the British Coat of Arms, and there were small cakes, sandwiches and other delicacies that were always provided at the Palazzo Sessa.

They seated themselves on comfortable satin sofas that embellished the huge salon where Lady Hamilton performed.

There was a piano where she was accompanied while she sang duets with the King and there were several of Sir William’s priceless Etruscan vases which she stood or knelt against to become in that moment as classical and memorable as the vases themselves.

Mark Stanton was looking at Cordelia and the expression in his blue eyes made her feel shy.

“Tell me why you are here – ” he began, only to be interrupted by the Earl.

“Am I to understand from what you said when you arrived,” he asked, “that you can take us to Malta?”

“I have brought my ship into Port for a small repair,” Mark Stanton replied.

“Your ship?”

“I speak as the Captain of it. It is actually the property of a Knight.”

“A ship of the Order!” the Earl exclaimed excitedly. “Do you hear, Cordelia? Mark has a ship here at this moment in which he can carry us to Malta! ”

Cordelia looked at her cousin and he said,

“I am afraid you will have to wait a day or so. The Turks have made a hole in the hull, which must be repaired before we can go any further.”

“You have been in an engagement?” the Earl asked. “What happened?”

Captain Mark Stanton smiled.

“What do you think? We took a number of prisoners and a valuable cargo.”

David Hunstanton gave a sigh of sheer happiness.

“Another blow against the Infidel!” he said. “How I wish I had been with you!”

“It was not a very glorious victory,” Captain Stanton said with a mocking note in his voice. “The Turkish ship was smaller than ours, but he did try to disguise his nationality.”

“Why should he do that?”

‘The Great Powers have made a number of Treaties and contracts with our traditional enemies,” Mark Stanton explained. “At one time every boat licensed in Malta was allowed to attack Moslem shipping.”

“And quite right!” the Earl interposed.

“The Order,” Captain Stanton continued, “provided the basic facilities on the island for vessels of many nationalities apart from their own. In return all the booty was sold in Malta and the Order took ten per cent of the proceeds.”

“It sounds very commercial,” the Earl commented doubtfully.

“The Knights of St. John are heroes not saints!” his cousin replied and now there was no mistaking the laughter in his voice.

Cordelia glanced at him quickly.

She fervently hoped that he would not tease David or indeed argue with him about his determination to be a Knight.

They had gone over the whole idea so often, they had endured a great deal of opposition from their relatives, but nothing and nobody, she knew, would divert her brother from his intended course.

‘I could not bear to have it discussed all over again,’ she thought to herself. ‘Besides it upsets David.’

“Now things are very different,” Mark Stanton was saying. “French ships trading in the Levant are immune from attack by the Knights of St. John even if they are carrying Turkish goods. The Turks make every effort to acquire French passports.”

“But you still sail along the African coast?” the Earl asked quickly.

“We do,” his cousin agreed, “and we never cease in our efforts to rescue Christian slaves.”

“Are there still thousands in Algiers and Tangier?” Cordelia asked.

“I am afraid so,” Mark Stanton replied. “But you will find an enormous number of slaves in Malta as well.”

Cordelia looked startled and he added,

“Malta was at one time one of the biggest slave markets in Europe. Two hundred slaves or more are still captured almost every year. The Sultan buys back a large number of them at one hundred louis a time! ”

“I am not interested in slaves,” the Earl interrupted, “although I understand that they are part of the booty. But tell me about your ship. How can you be the Captain of one that belongs to the Order if you are not yourself a Knight?”

“The ship I am commanding at the moment is the private property of Baron Ludwig von Wütenstein of the Anglo-Bavarian League, which I imagine you yourself are joining?”

“Yes, of course!” the Earl exclaimed.

“The Baron is only twenty-one,” Captain Stanton went on. “As I expect you know already, David, a Knight cannot be in command of a ship until he is twenty-four and has done four ‘caravans’.”

There was no need to explain to Cordelia, who had heard her brother talk of it so often, that a ‘caravan’ was a cruise in the galleys lasting at least six months.

These ‘caravans’ ensured that every Knight had experience of practical Naval matters and had resulted in the Knights of Malta being recognised as the finest and most experienced Naval Captains in the world.

A Knight was not only a valiant fighter, dauntless and with a spirit of adventure that commanded admiration wherever he went, he was also so knowledgeable at sea that the Knights were greatly in demand as instructors.

“My ship, the St. Jude,” Mark Stanton was explaining, “belongs to the Baron and as the Order is at the moment short of vessels they welcome Knights who will provide their own.”

“Perhaps that is something I can do later,” the Earl suggested with glowing eyes.

“I see no reason why not if you can afford it,” his cousin answered.

“It is certainly an idea and one that did not occur to me before,” the Earl said. “When can I see your ship?”

“Any time you wish,” Mark Stanton replied. “But, as I have only just arrived here, I would like, if you will allow me, to talk to you both for a little while before we go to the dockyard.”

“Yes, of course,” David replied, while Cordelia with a smile explained,

“David dislikes Naples and is longing to reach Malta. He grudges every moment that we must spend in this beautiful City.”

“And you?” Mark Stanton asked.

“It’s so lovely that I feel at times I must be dreaming!”

He sipped his wine before he said reflectively,

“When I want to think of somewhere lovely and peaceful I remember Stanton Park.”

The Earl rose to his feet.

“I will go and get ready so that when you are prepared to show me your ship I shall not keep you waiting.”

“I am in no hurry,” Mark Stanton answered.

The Earl, however, moved quickly across the polished floor with its magnificent Persian rugs and Cordelia said with a smile,

“I am so glad you have come. David has been eating his heart out for fear that he would not reach Malta in the next few days.”

Mark Stanton was still for a moment and then he said slowly,

“Have you really thought this over sensibly? David is not yet of age, is he wise to give up his English way of life?”

“I beg of you not to argue with him,” Cordelia replied. “This has always been his vision and his dream and nothing you or anyone else can say could dissuade him from the conviction that he has been called to the service of God in this special way.”

Mark Stanton did not answer and after a moment she went on,

“I cannot tell you how nervous I was that he might not be accepted. It would have been a blow that he would never have recovered from.”

“I see no reason why he should not have been accepted.”

“We certainly have the requisite eight quarterings to prove our Nobility and the Stantons are a Catholic family. But I am sure that one of our relatives who lives in Rome was trying to persuade His Holiness the Pope to refuse David’s application. In fact he more or less said so when he was in England.”

“Have you any idea why he should do that?”

“He thought that David was too young to know his own mind and that he would doubtless fall in love and regret that he could not be married. I think he also resented so much of the Stanton fortune going to Malta.”

“I should have thought that those were all strong and valid arguments,” Mark Stanton remarked.

“It is not your place to try to interfere!” Cordelia retorted.

Even as she spoke she knew that it sounded rude, but she had a feeling that she must protect her brother from this large somehow overwhelming cousin.

She did not know why she felt that way, except that she remembered Mark had always upset her when she was a child.

He had teased her and since he was so much older she had been a little afraid of him. What was more, she admitted to herself, she had been jealous.

David, two years her senior, had been a close companion and she had imagined that he was happy in her company when he was home from school.

The moment Mark appeared, however, he had run after him, fagged for him and found his company infinitely preferable to that of his small sister.

“I think I have every right to try to stop David doing this,” Mark said. “In fact I am the one person who should do it.”

“Why should you think that?” Cordelia asked and now there was no doubt of the hostility in her voice.

“Quite simply because I am his heir!”

Cordelia looked at her cousin in a startled fashion.

“Are you? I did not realise that?”

“Unless David marries and has a son,” he replied, “I shall on his death inherit the title. A very unlikely contingency, seeing that I am eight years older than he is.”

He paused and then went on,

“At the same time, although undoubtedly I would be defrauding my son, if I ever have one, I consider that I should point out to David the disadvantages of his becoming a Knight of St. John.”

Cordelia rose to her feet.

“I beg of you to do nothing of the sort. David has suffered quite enough criticism and opposition and interference by people who quite frankly should mind their own business!”

“Which, of course, includes me?”

“We did not expect to find you here,” Cordelia pointed out. “It is just by chance that you should have come into Naples at this moment and be the Captain of a ship that is proceeding to Malta. All I can beg you is that you will carry us as if we were ordinary passengers and not relatives.”

“You know that is impossible,” he replied. “Quite frankly, Cordelia, I am delighted to have such distinguished passengers and, may I say, one such lovely relative.”

“And yet you intend to harass David and make him unhappy?”

Mark Stanton rose slowly to his feet. There was, Cordelia thought, an athletic litheness about him that she would not have expected in such a big man.