The scattered fleet Prologue Don Juan de Austria , half- brother of King Philip II of Spain, glanced up towards the light blue banner with the image of crucified Christ given him by the Pope and prayed for the victory. Then, surrounded by shouts and cries of enthusiasm, he made as if he was dancing. He was twenty-four years old and he was in command of the most powerful war fleet ever put to sea by the Christendom against the Turkish. On board of the Marquesa , a ship of the League, a young Spanish fevered soldier reached his combat station watching the lifeboats: his name was Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. On board of the Real (Royal) , an arquebusier without beard and moustache and with delicate features was trying to hide his face and his tension: Maria la Bailadora (Mary The Dancer ) had dressed herself as a man to be close to her own lover. Muezzinzade Ali Pasha, commander of the Ottoman fleet, made erect on the mainmast of his flagship Sultana the white banner on which women's hands had embroidered Allah’s ninety-nine names and attributes repeated thousands of times and he took leave of his teenage children. Then he made shoot a cannon shot with blanks. From the Real , the flagship of the League, Don Juan ordered to return with real bullets. The battle of Lepanto had begun. It was October 7, 1571, Sunday. The disputed sea The way towards Lepanto had been long, tortuous, bloody and marked, from both sides, by cruelties and by excesses, by indecisions and mistakes, by victories and defeats, by successes and failures . The Ottoman fleet, every year more powerful, cruised nearly undisputed in the Mediterranean Sea, arousing apprehension and fears every time it took the sea; after Mehmed the Conqueror, the Sultans of Istanbul made no secret of aiming to Rome. The Barbary corsairs -the notorious Barbarossa and Dragut, hand in glove with the Sublime Porte- spread terror along the coasts of Italy and of southern Spain in search of booty and slaves; the Knights of St. John imitated them in the name of Christ along the coasts of Anatolia or Greece. The presence itself of the Christians in the "White Sea", as the Ottomans named the Mediterranean Sea, was in danger. At first Rhodes fell, despite the valiant defence of the Knights of St. John, then was conquered a large part of Northern Africa, finally it was the turn of Malta. Against all odds, Malta withstood. The Knights of St. John, to whom Malta was "rented" by the emperor Charles V in exchange for an annual gift of an hawk, fought with bravery; the hard rock of which the island is made deprived the Ottomans of one of their decisive weapons: the excavation of tunnels for laying mines. The Ottoman superiority in means and men crashed against the indomitable courage of the population, against the small and seemingly fragile Fort St. Elmo and against the entrenched camps of Birgu and Senglea; King Philip II, after much thinking and rethinking, sent a rescue contingent from nearby Sicily in command of the Viceroy Don Garcia de Toledo; the imminent winter season did the rest. Allegory of the Battle of Lepanto: painting ( 1572-1573) by Paolo Veronese Malta was a glorious episode for the Christian armies, but it was isolated. The war did not cease. It had never ceased. Now "hot" now "cold", now punctuated by the gunfire of the fleets or by the sudden incursions of the corsairs, now battled out on a psychological level, now fed by fears and apprehensions, by false alarms and worried questions, now suspended by ephemeral treaties, the war stretched over the Mediterranean and over the Christendom as an oppressive blanket of fog. When the Sultans had looked elsewhere - Hungary, Vienna or Persia - the waters of the White Sea had remained untroubled relatively, but when the Sultans had changed strategy and alliances, the waters of the White Sea had become red with blood. In Rome, the pope was terrified at the thought of seeing the green flag of Islam waving over the holy sites of the Christendom. In Spain, Philip II – whose nickname was the Prudent King - was taking time. He was rigging a fleet, it is true, even because the Pope was paying him a generous contribution, but, privately, he was firmly determined not to risk his precious and expensive galleys in the eastern Mediterranean in order to safeguard the interests of others. Those of Venice, for example. Formally neutral, proudly jealous of its independence and of its commercial policy, the Serenissima Repubblica ( the Most Serene Republic) was playing on two tables. While it proclaimed itself defender of the faith, it did profitable business with Istanbul; while it was evoking the Turkish danger, it was eagerly awaiting the galleons returning from the Golden Horn, laden with silks and spices; while it pretended to tremble for Malta or for besieged Rhodes, it paid a heavy tribute to the Sultan to keep Cyprus. Venice had behaved in this way for centuries. The eastern Mediterranean was its sea, its store, its treasure chest. Philip II had other thoughts on his mind and, if anything, he was looking at Algiers or Tunis. Two very different attitudes and two very different conceptions seemed irreconcilable. Not infrequently, in addition, the general interest was subordinated to particular interests. Most of those who rented their galleys- now to the king of Spain, now to the highest bidder- seemed to care more to preserve them than to give or to win battles . About Gianandrea Doria, a very expert Genoese sailor, but also a ship owner, strange voices were heard after the defeat that he suffered in Djerba in 1560. It was said -and maybe rightly- that he had fled in order to preserve intact the ships of his property. This reputation followed him up to Lepanto , and in Lepanto became, in the eyes of many combatants , a clear certainty. The battle seen by a painter of the era. For his part, the pope had other troubles, starting with the measures that had to be taken against the Protestant Reformation. Under attack at level of faith, pressed on the ground by the Ottoman Janissaries and at sea by the Barbary pirates, the Christendom lived in a perpetual state of uncertainty, swinging between mystical impulses and uncontrollable terrors, between desire to be levied and frustrating helplessness, between Te Deum and sombre ceremonies of atonement. Sometimes the unthinkable happened. Allied with the devoutly Catholic king of France, for example, the Ottomans had devastated the coasts of Liguria for a long time and had reached the town of Pisa. Some time before, Haradin Barbarossa had ravaged the coast of Naples, had penetrated inland and had tried to kidnap the beautiful Giulia Gonzaga, Countess of Fondi, to bring her as a gift to the sultan. The raid had not been successful, but so much boldness had led to believe that everything was coming to a head. Then something changed. The wind began to turn when an uncompromising monk, Antonio Ghislieri, ascended the throne of St. Peter, under the name of Pius V . Of humble birth (his father was a mule- driver), determined, relentless, stern, the new pope lived for the faith and through the faith. He spoke freely right from the start: stop hesitation: the Sultan fire has to be fought by Christian fire. That wind was not the Roman ponentino . That wind was the bearer of a wind storm, a raging wind which would have blown in Madrid and Venice and finally it would have reached the still waters of the Golden Horn. And that wind will become even stronger when, far from Rome, in Spain, the Moriscos of Alpujarras will rebel to Philip II and, in the White Sea, the Turks will rise the sails of their fleet in front of the Venetian Cyprus. Lepanto, the mother of all battles, fed itself and grew by virtue of these events. The Sublime Porte had changed tenants. Selim had replaced the great Suleiman and, some time before him, Mehemet Sokolli (or Sokollu) had been elevated to the office of grand vizier. The two were different characters . Selim was an alcoholic , had a weakness for women and no intention to lead the armies at war. Sokolli was an old fox, an experienced politician, quick to understand the circumstances and try to turn them to his advantage. The former - remained sole heir - had ascended the throne without the ritual of the fratricide, the latter had received the charge after the natural death of his predecessor. If the Sultan had no rivals – when he ascended the throne, his brothers were strangled in order to avoid possible future disturbances to the kingdom- the other had too many rivals. Especially at court. Given the situation, the caution was a duty, the cunning a talent, the shrewdness a necessity. And Sokolli did not lack either the one, nor the other ones. The Sultan had more than a duty. Ascended the throne , for example, he had to celebrate the event by bringing the war against the infidels in order to increase his domains. He had to celebrate by a military victory, in other words. It was a kind of obligation to which even the reluctant Selim could not escape. But where to go? To Malta? Given the previous experience, it was unwise. And, then, why not Cyprus? Cyprus was Venetian and Venice, as we have seen, was paying a tax to the Sublime Porte. It was worth it: the island was too important for the trades of Venice and the tax, although expensive, was largely cushioned by the proceeds.