It is really difficult for us to talk about the Battle of Lepanto. This is because in the content we bring you, we always try to add that extra something that can give depth to the subject. For many of the events we have told you about so far, it is easy to find material on the web, either in Italian or in Venetian, but it is often presented as a mere curiosity, if not in a folkloristic way.
As Third Venetia, we have always tried to give the Venetian identity its due, giving it depth and a thread that spans the millennia and connects everything we tell you. We may sometimes stray into the realm of 'esotericism', but if it makes the reader think, it is a risk we are happy to take.
And so October has come and we are compelled by our mission to talk about the most famous naval battle in history, in which the Veneti Secondi - The Serene Republic of Venice - played a leading role alongside their bitter adversaries against an enemy that had become too powerful and arrogant not to be confronted.
How can we give new insights on a subject that has already been discussed, as academics and amateurs have already spilled rivers of ink and recorded terabytes of video and film?
We have decided to present a narrative of the Battle of the Curzolari, as Venetian historians have always called it, by an "ultras" of the subject: the Genoese journalist and writer Arrigo Petacco. What follows is our English translation of his book, “The Last Crusade”.
Pius V founds the Holy League
After the Cypriot city of Famagusta fell on August 4, 1571, news of its capture did not reach the powerful naval force of the Holy League—dispatched to its aid—until two months later, by the time it had just passed Corfu. It was now October 4, and a two-month delay was excessive, even by the standards of the time (a fast frigate could cover the route from Venice to Constantinople in twelve days). This delay seemed suspicious, as were the weak justifications that stalled the fleet's departure from Messina. Furthermore, the formation of the Holy League itself had been a long and difficult process, hindered by the disputes and rivalries among its members. Pius V had to exert his full authority, even threatening excommunication, to convince the Christian princes to join the League.
This Pope, to whom we owe the fact that Europe is not entirely Protestant—or worse, entirely Muslim—was Antonio Michele Ghislieri, the son of a poor muleteer from Bosco Marengo in Piedmont. He joined the Dominican order at a very young age and became known as a fervent preacher and relentless persecutor of heresies and abuses. He lived in constant penance, surviving on a diet of eggs and vegetables, and owned only two cassocks, which he washed occasionally. His personal journey is marked by countless "purifying" pyres. He was also the protagonist of several remarkable adventures on both land and sea, including being captured by pirates, who eventually released him because he was too thin to be of value.
Surprisingly elected Pope in 1566 under the name Pius V, after a succession of aristocratic and simoniacal pontiffs held responsible for Martin Luther’s sacrilegious rebellion, Antonio Ghislieri took a hardline approach to reforming the Vatican. He expelled corrupt prelates and, without hesitation, kindled more "purifying" pyres beneath those who preached "false doctrine." He imposed on the entire Curia a life of austerity unlike anything ever seen before. "The Apostolic Palace," reported the scandalized Venetian ambassador, "has become a monastery under this Pope." Every vestige of the old secular life was swept away.
In those years, everyone in Rome was gripped by the looming threat of both Islam and the Lutheran Reformation, and Pius V was obsessed with these twin dangers. Determined to face the Church’s two great enemies with puritanical severity, he pursued a dual strategy. While the Dominican Order, to which he belonged, used iron and fire (primarily fire) to stamp out Lutheran heresy, Pius V meticulously crafted a diplomatic network to form a Holy League capable of fielding a fleet to repel the Turkish threat. His emissaries traveled to every court, engaging in a rigorous work of persuasion, offering lucrative tithes and indulgences, but also wielding threats of excommunication and dire divine retribution.
Naturallt, Venice - embroiled in the Cyprus War and with its colonial empire at stake -was the first to join the new crusade. Philip II of Spain, however, was more hesitant. As usual, el Rey prudente was reluctant to risk his prized galleys for the sake of Venice, but as a devout Catholic he did not dare defy the Pope. Austria and Poland instead withdrew with apologies, while France, limited itself to offering diplomatic mediation, as it enjoyed cordial relations with the Ottoman Empire.
Nonetheless, Venice and Spain, the two dominant Mediterranean Christian powers, were sufficient to organize an impressive fleet. Alongside them, the Papal States, the Knights of Malta, Genoa, Florence, and Savoy also pledged support to the League. This alliance of Christian princes, optimistically described as "perpetual," was formally ratified in Rome before the Pope on May 25, 1571. It called for the assembly of a large fleet under the supreme command of the 23-year-old Don John of Austria, the natural son of Charles V and half-brother to Philip II. He was supported by papal admiral Marcantonio Colonna as his lieutenant. In addition to the usual military and civil provisions, the alliance also included "moral" rules established by Pius V. The first strictly forbade the presence of "beardless men, pages, and women" aboard the ships to avoid "corrupting the spirits of the servants of the faith" (though one woman, Maria la Bailadora, managed to follow her lover disguised as an arquebusier). Every crew member received a rosary, a personal gift from the Pope, and dozens of friars were distributed among the ships, authorized to hear confessions and absolve all sins, except those related to "chastity and religion."
On September 16, 1571, the Christian fleet departed from Messina, cheered by a massive crowd. It consisted of 207 ships: 105 Venetian, 80 Spanish, and the rest from smaller allies. The fleet carried 28,000 soldiers and arquebusiers—11,000 from the italian states, 8,000 Spaniards, 3,000 Germans, and additional contingents from other allies. Supporting them were 13,000 sailors and 43,000 oarsmen, making up more than half of the 84,000 participants in this monumental endeavor.
The League triumphs at Lepanto
At dawn on Sunday, October 7, 1571, the most formidable fleet of galleys ever assembled by Christendom sailed into the Gulf of Patras, their prows facing east, battling against the wind. The ships, maintaining a steady course at close intervals, formed a horizontal line several miles long, with a shorter vertical line formed by the vanguard and rearguard squadrons intersecting the middle.
At roughly the same time, an even larger Ottoman fleet of over 300 ships sailed from the small Gulf of Lepanto into the Gulf of Patras, their prows pointed west. The wind, now in their favor, filled their sails and spared the rowers from exertion. The Turkish fleet had arranged itself in a concave arc, resembling a giant crescent. Though symbolic of their respective religions, their formation was likely a coincidence.
The night before, after a heated debate with his captains, Don Juan, the commander-in-chief of the Christian fleet, had resolved to cease delaying and pursue the enemy, whose presence in these waters was known. His decision had been spurred by the blunt urgings of the Venetian commander, Sebastiano Venier, who was eager to engage the Turks. The grumpy seventy-five-year-old Venier, weary of the Spanish allies' stalling and reluctance—especially since news of the fall of Famagusta reached them—pressed for immediate action. The Spaniards had judged the campaign too risky and futile with the end of the sailing season approaching, as winter would halt all naval warfare. For Venier, however, the time was not up yet: his Venice was bleeding more and more every day, the corsairs were threatening its possessions in the Adriatic, and it was therefore absolutely necessary to seize the last opportunity to teach the Turks a hard lesson before the season’s end forced them to hibernate.
Don Juan, despite his captains' misgivings, listened to Venier. Driven by a youthful fervour, the 23-year-old prince was indeed ready for action, and he bit the bullet, unlike the men Philip II had put on his tail to dampen his enthusiasm. "Señores, ya no es hora de deliberar, sino de combatir!" ("Gentlemen, this is no longer the time to deliberate, but to fight!") he declared firmly, and even the most hesitant yielded to his command.
On the evening of October 6, a similar situation unfolded aboard the Sultana, the flagship of the Ottoman fleet. Alì Pasha, the young Ottoman admiral, had been instructed by the Sultan to spend the winter in the small Gulf of Lepanto and wait until spring, but he too had to bite the bullet. Despite the objections of the corsair Occhiali and his lieutenant Pertev Pasha, Alì Pasha ultimately decided to set sail and confront the Christian fleet, whose movements had been reported by spies near the Curzolari Islands.
At dawn, the two fleets sighted each other, allowing ample time to prepare for the impending battle, thanks to their slow speed of no more than four knots. Aboard a fast felucca, Don Juan surveyed his entire formation. Holding aloft a cross, he saluted the commanders, then addressed the crews, exhorting them to battle and promising certain victory through God's grace, along with freedom for the convicts who fought. His words were met with resounding cheers from all sides.
Upon returning to the Real, Don Juan gave the order to lower all flags and banners, save for the banner of the Holy League—a gift from the Pope—which was to remain raised on the flagship throughout the battle. There was even time for Mass. Kneeling on the decks, the crews received the consecrated host from the Capuchin friars. Immediately afterward, ample supplies of wine and hearty food were distributed to "all men of war, captains, and oarsmen" to bolster their spirits for the upcoming conflict. Due to the headwind and the nervous officers, there were some stragglers in the formation, prompting Don Juan to let slip a few "holy imprecations" (blasphemy was strictly forbidden; two Spanish and one Genoese sailor had been hanged for such offenses).
In preparation for the battle, the Christian fleet had divided into three formations. At the center was Don Juan's squadron, whose galley had hoisted the banner of the League (a blue damask cloth with the crucifix in the centre, the papal arms at the bottom, the Habsburg arms on the left and the Venetian arms on the right, linked by a chain from which hung the coat of arms of Don Juan of Austria). Flanking him were papal admiral Marcantonio Colonna and Venetian admiral Sebastiano Venier. The central squadron, identifiable by blue banners, comprised mostly Spanish galleys mixed with those from the Papal States, Savoy, Tuscany, and Malta. On the left wing, flying yellow banners, was the Venetian squadron under Agostino Barbarigo, sailing close to the coast to block any enemy ships from outflanking them. Offshore on the right wing, marked with green banners, was a squadron of Spanish and Genoese galleys under the command of Gianandrea Doria.
The Turks, too, had prepared for battle. In the centre, the Sultana of Ali Pasha had marched forward, flying a special green banner from Mecca on the flagstaff. It read in gold letters: 'To the faithful divine protection and ornament of worthy endeavour. Allah protects Muhammad'. Around the inscription, the women of the harem had embroidered the name of Allah 29,900 times.
The right horn of the Ottoman formation, facing Barbarigo's squadron, was commanded by the Egyptian Mehemet Saulak, a famous privateer better known as Scirocco, while the left horn, facing Doria, was entrusted to the Calabrian privateer Occhialì.
The Genoese 'secret weapon…
Turkish ships outnumbered Christian ships by about a third, but were inferior in terms of artillery and personal firearms, as the Turks still preferred bows to the arquebuses. The Christians, on the other hand, had two "secret weapons" that would prove decisive in battle. The first, though not technically a weapon, was a strategic innovation: the removal of the rams, which had been used to ram enemy ships since the Punic Wars when Caius Duilius had first implemented them to defeat the Carthaginians. Gianandrea Doria, having already removed the rams from all his galleys, persuaded the allied fleet to adopt this new tactic. Initially, the Venetians resisted, being proud of their traditional gilded rams, but Doria ultimately convinced them with a logical argument that, though complex, can be summarized as follows.
With the advent of artillery, the rostrum (or ram), though useful for ramming due to its elevated position, had become a hindrance to the effective use of the lancetta cannon—the primary weapon on each galley. The lancetta, so named because it was fixed to the bow along a rail that ended at the mainmast (which was padded to absorb recoil), could only fire straight ahead, limiting its targeting options to wherever the ship was pointed. It fell to the helmsman’s skill to align the galley with the target for an accurate shot. However, when closing in on the enemy, the rostrum obstructed the cannon's line of fire, preventing it from firing directly at the deck of the opposing ship. At this point, captains would typically revert to ramming. Yet, it was undeniable that a well-placed cannon shot at close range would inflict far more damage than a bronze ram, which, once lodged into the enemy ship’s hull, would immobilize the galley and prevent further maneuvering.
In hindsight, this practical solution might seem obvious, like Columbus' egg, but Doria had to work hard to convince the more traditionalist captains to accept this innovation.
...and that of the Venetians
The second secret weapon was the galeazza, an innovative warship designed by Venetian senator Andrea Badoaro. It was a floating fortress, nearly twice the size of a standard galley, at around 80 meters long, with three masts and 25 rows of oars on each side, each row manned by seven oarsmen. Due to its immense weight, the *galeazza* was cumbersome and had to be towed by two galleys, but its formidable armament made up for this: around 70 artillery pieces were distributed along its perimeter, some of which fired iron balls weighing up to 40 kilograms.
The Serenissima provided six galeazze for the Holy League, all commanded by Francesco Duodo. As the battle neared, Duodo positioned them strategically in front of the three main Christian squadrons, two for each.
The traditional galley, which saw its final glory at Lepanto before being replaced by larger sailing galleons, was not much different from the ancient Roman triremes, apart from its *lancetta* cannon. Primarily designed for boarding enemy ships, it measured between 30 and 40 meters, with a lightweight hull and a rectangular frame extending from the sides. On either side of this frame were 25 to 30 rowing benches, each oar manned by three rowers. A typical galley carried around 150 rowers, making up more than half its crew. These vessels had one or two masts with lateen sails to harness favorable winds, but their artillery was limited to the *lancetta*, making frontal assaults their only real tactic.
Turkish galleys were quite similar but had taller decks and retained their rams, though their higher-mounted cannons were ineffective at close range, hitting only the masts and rigging. The Ottomans also relied heavily on smaller, faster vessels like hulks and xebecs, which, due to their superior maneuverability, posed a serious threat during battle.
Most of the men aboard both fleets' galleys were slaves, forced to row in cramped conditions, with less than 50 centimeters of space to move. However, while the Turkish ships were almost entirely crewed by Christian slaves, the galleys of the League, especially those of Venice and Genoa, also included a significant number of *buonavoglia*—free men who volunteered to row. These volunteers provided a crucial reserve of manpower that could be converted into fighting forces when needed.
A cannon shot begins the battle
The sun was already high when the various commanders gathered on the Real for the final war council left the flagship to join their respective captains on board the fast palisades. It was at this moment (a fact that made one cry out for a miracle) that the wind, which until then had been blowing in the Ottomans' favour, suddenly turned. The triangular sails of the Turks drooped, while those of the Christians swelled. It was then the enemy's turn to use their oars.
Meanwhile, the two armies drew closer together, and by midday they were within cannon range. On the Christian galleys, everyone was ready for battle. Pikes, hatchets and iron clubs had been placed within reach of the 'good guys' to be used at the crucial moment of the melee. It was at this point that Don Juan, having lowered the sails that would now be in the way, ordered the musicians to play the 'gagliarda', an electrifying dance, to fire up the crews already intoxicated by the abundant libations. He himself, with his masters on the bridge, woven a dance that was imitated by the crews, who relieved the tension by dancing and singing.
On the Turkish ships, too, kettledrums, horns and drums were sounded, and frenzied dancing broke out. Meanwhile, Ali Pasha had drawn up the battle plan and issued the final orders, and each commander was to act according to the circumstances. However, everyone was to move towards the pre-determined targets, taking care not to overrun the flagship, which had moved to the front and would be the first to open fire. At midday, the Sultana fired the traditional challenge cannonade, which was promptly answered by a cannonade from the Real, signalling that the challenge had been accepted. The battle began.
Shrouded in a thick curtain of smoke from the cannonade (which was cleared on the Christian ships by the curious method of burning bundles of broom impregnated with aquavit), the two formations fired at each other from a distance for a few minutes, then the Turkish ships increased the pace of their rowing, aiming at the targets. Alì's central squadron against Don Juan's, Scirocco's subcoastal squadron against Barbarigo's, while on the outer side something incomprehensible happened that would later give rise to fierce controversy.
It has never been established who took the initiative first, but the fact is that both Gianandrea Doria's and Occhialì's troops suddenly took off and moved away from the centre of the battle, rather than facing each other. Gianandrea Doria later defended himself by claiming that he had followed the enemy to prevent a possible outflanking, but according to the Venetians he had instead moved away first, having been advised to do so by the cautious king, who was notoriously jealous of his galleys. The question remained unanswered, but it is not certain that the two cunning sea wolves did not read each other's minds. Indeed, they were the only ones to emerge unscathed from the bloody clash.
Meanwhile, the Turkish ranks to the centre and right of their line had become frenzied. The shouts of the torturers whipping the oarsmen, the beating of the drums, the thunderous "Allah Akbar!" (Allah is great!) reached even the League galleys, which had waited virtually motionless for the clash. From now on, everything would depend on the quick reflexes of the chiefs.
However, before coming into direct contact with the enemy, the Turks had to get past those six clumsy boats lying in a forward position, and this was the first mistake made by Ali Pasha. Convinced that they were pontoons that could easily be boarded, he ordered his fleet to ignore them and head for the centre of the Leghorn formation. The rearguard would take its time to wipe them out. That was what the Christians expected. Indeed, as soon as the Turkish ships began to pass through the gaps between galley and galley, they unleashed a hellish fire from the side, bow and stern, disrupting the enemy's formation. Many units sank, dragging with them the wretched oarsmen chained to their oars, while the shipwrecked men were pelted by the arquebusiers' fire.
The Turkish galleys, although in disarray, continued to advance against the Christian fleet, which was still in order. Alì Pascià, who had recognised the Real, positioned in the centre with the captains of Marcantonio Colonna and Sebastiano Venier on its flanks, launched his Sultana against the Christian flagship, while Pertev Pascià's galley hurled itself against Colonna's captaincy. Don Juan stood motionless on the stern deck, anxiously awaiting the moment of impact. At the forward positions, the gunners waited for his order to open fire. Along the sides, the harquebusiers of the Tercio di Sardegna blew on the fuses of the arquebuses to keep the embers burning. Clinging to the shrouds and around the masts, other men were ready to launch the harpoons, explosive piñatas and containers of quicklime. Others had already spread tallow on the decks to make any attackers slip. All the crew wore rope harnesses. At the last moment, even the 'good men' had abandoned their oars and taken up arms, in imitation of many of the Christian convicts who had been promised freedom in the event of victory.
A few minutes later, the battle broke out and the Real was the first to be hit. The Sultana rammed her prow, allowing the janissaries, armed with their powerful double-curved bows, to leap onto the deck of the enemy ship. However, the attack was stopped by the Sardinian arquebusiers, who, having created huge gaps with a deadly discharge and not having time to reload, had resorted to the "cap" to use the arquebus as a white weapon (the bayonet had not yet been invented at that time and the "cap" consisted of a sharp awl inserted into the barrel).
During the fierce hand-to-hand combat on the Christian flagship, Marcantonio Colonna, who had accelerated his rowing, had managed to board the Sultana on the left flank, but at the same time Pertev Pasha's galley had attacked him on the right, breaking through a part of the rembata. Forced to defend himself, Colonna was unable to bring help to Don Giovanni. Sebastiano Venier, on the left of the Real, also tried to rescue the flagship, but he too was blocked by a clever stratagem devised by the Turks. While the Venetian captain was rowing at full speed towards the Royal, a fast Fusta had crept under the left oars of the Venetian captain, breaking the rhythm of the rowing and forcing them to stop.
Meanwhile, the Sardinians had reloaded their arquebuses and, aided by their discharges, other armigers had not only repelled the janissaries, but had in turn jumped onto the Sultana and forced their way under the mast. A series of attacks and counter-attacks followed, with reinforcements from other galleys that had moved astern of their flagships joining in on both sides. In this tangle of ships, the battle raged on. The Turkish archers fired swarms of arrows, sowing death among those unprotected by their armour, while the Christians responded with blunderbusses, bows, crossbows and, where possible, engines and cannons loaded with 'machine-gun fire' (i.e. pieces of lead, scrap and chained balls).
Venier's Achilles' heel
Sebastiano Venier, who had freed himself from the fusta that was preventing him from rowing, attacked the Sultana on the right flank, but could not get his men on board because Pertev Pasha's galley, which had separated from the papal captaincy, had boarded him on the other side. Armoured from head to toe (the old Venetian wore felt slippers because of the calli), the Venetian led the fight, moving across the decks with surprising agility. His advanced age prevented him from wielding a heavy broadsword, but he was adept at pelting his enemies with iron marbles thrown by the crossbow bolts reloaded by his nephew Lorenzo. The janissaries, who had spotted him because of his rich armour, pelted him with arrows, which nevertheless flashed against his armour. Finally, an archer, more cunning than the others, spotted his 'Achilles' heel' and shot an arrow into his defenceless right foot. Though crippled, the old man continued to lead the battle.
While the battle raged around the two flagships pinned down in the bow, it also raged below, where Agostino Barbarigo's squadron had managed to thwart Scirocco's attempt to outflank them. But the fight was unequal: no less than eight galleys had boarded Barbarigo's, and another seven had boarded his nephew Marino Contarini's, which was not far away. Fortunately, some of the galleys of Marcantonio Querini, the veteran of the Famagosta, came to Contarini's aid and the battle became more even. For two hours, however, the battle raged on, and then something unexpected happened. Some Christian oarsmen, chained to the oar of a Turkish galley, somehow managed to free themselves and, taking advantage of the confusion, freed their other unfortunate companions. Soon after, a hundred men, galvanised by their unexpected freedom, suddenly emerged from the holds swinging axes and chains. The survivors attacked their former masters from behind, who were all killed. It was these unexpected reinforcements that turned the fight around.
At the same time, Antonio Canale's galley had also come to Barbarigo's aid, having boarded Scirocco after blowing a large hole in her port side. Realising that he was doomed, the Egyptian pirate threw himself and some of his men into the sea in an attempt to swim to the nearby shore. However, recognised by the freed slaves who had joined the Venetians on their captured galley, Sirocco was fished out and immediately beheaded.
The battle was over and Barbarigo, apparently refreshed, lifted his helmet to look around. It was a fatal mistake: a lurking janissary aimed an arrow at him, striking him in the right eye. He survived only a few hours: just long enough to learn of the Christian victory.
Meanwhile, the battle continued. A large wooden island had formed around the Real and the Sultana, on which the combatants faced each other, jumping from one edge to the other. In the meantime, the arquebusiers of the Sardinian Tercio had reached the rear castle of the Sultana, where Ali Pasha, surrounded by his loyal janissaries, continued to put up desperate resistance from behind a rudimentary barricade. It was swept away by Filippo Venier, another nephew of the old Sebastian, with machine-gun fire. During the final assault, an arquebus bullet hit Alì Pascià, who fell face down on the oarsmen's benches, where a Venetian 'buonavoglia', who was trying to free them, was ready to kill him; he then cut off his head and stuck it on a spear to throw it triumphantly at Don Giovanni's feet.
The Janissaries were the last to give in. Jerome Diedo tells us:
“They fought with such obstinacy that many of them, lacking offensive weapons, turned to cedars and oranges and tried to insult ours with them, some of whom, in mockery and derision, sent the cedars and oranges back to them. In many places, towards the end of the conflict, so much fighting had taken place that it was laughable to see it. From the edge of the sea, they could see perhaps eight miles of sea scattered, not so much with branches, masts, oars or other such broken things, but with an innumerable number of bodies that made it all bloody.”
The last of the defenders were killed and the Sultana was finally captured. Some men climbed onto the rigging to lower the precious banner of Allah. In its place, a banner with the cross of St George was hoisted, signifying that the Ottoman flagship had fallen. Shortly before, Pertev Pasha's galley had also been captured, but the Turkish commander managed to escape on board a small boat with a renegade from Bologna, who shouted in Italian: "Non tirate! Do not shot! We too are Christians!”
The great Christian victory
But what had happened on the high seas where Gianandrea Doria's and Occhiali's crews had met? While the Genoese was manoeuvring his thirty-five galleys off the coast, the Calabrian corsair, who had more than forty galleys, encountered the captain of the Knights of Malta, who, with a few other galleys, had gone to fill the gap left by the Genoese galleys. Seeing this, Occhiali did not want to miss the opportunity to take revenge on the hated knights who had made his life so difficult. The ensuing battle was fierce. Thirty-five knights, commanded by Pietro Giustiniani, a prior of the Order of Malta, fought to the death, as was their custom. Only three survived, presumed dead, among them Giustiniani himself, pierced by seven arrows. Occhiali, triumphant, took possession of the hated banner of the Knights of Religion and then took the Maltese captain with Giustiniani on board, conveniently chained even though he was dying. However things turned out, and he had already realised that they were going badly, Occhiali would have taken the coveted trophies to the Sultan.
In this moment of grave crisis, Gianandrea Doria, who had witnessed the clash from afar, manoeuvred to split Occhiali's forces and then threw himself against the corsair's ship, forcing him to flee after dislodging the bulky Maltese galley he had taken in tow. This was then recovered by the Spanish captain Juan Ojeda, who found Giustiniani wounded, chained, but still alive. Around him lay the bodies of thirty-two knights and around three hundred Turks. Having lost his prey and his most important prisoner, Occhiali was left with nothing but the Maltese flag, which he took as a tribute to the Sultan, and all his galleys, the only ones left afloat after the battle. As a reward, Occhiali was later appointed captain of the Turkish fleet.
The sun was setting and the greatest galley battle in history was over after four hours of fighting. As Aldo G. Cimarelli writes, Christians from different countries and social classes had fought in it. Spanish knights had been joined by Italian nobles, sailors by land soldiers, convicts by 'buonavoglia' and adventurers by humble Capuchin friars. Even the friars had taken up arms and fought with religious fervour. One of them, who had slashed his way through a large number of 'infidels', when he was able to return to Rome, apparently feeling a twinge of remorse, knelt before the Pope to ask for penance. “But you do not need penance -Pius V comforted him with a fatherly gesture- but a blessing!”
After the battle, it was possible to count the losses inflicted and those suffered. Of the Turkish fleet, only Occhiali's 40 galleys had escaped. The others, about 180, were captured or sunk. Between 25,000 and 30,000 Turks had been killed and 10,000 taken prisoner. The League had lost a total of 14 galleys (10 Venetian, one Maltese, one Genoese, one Piedmontese and one Papal). The dead numbered about 7000 (of whom 4800 were Venetians) and the wounded about 5000. The number of Christian slaves freed was enormous: about 14,000, of whom 10,000 were Italians. The magnitude of these figures alone is enough to give an idea of how great and bloody the historic battle of Lepanto was.
The Venetians had thus paid the highest price, but this was not taken into account when the spoils were divided according to the carats agreed before the battle. In defiance, Sebastiano Venier refused to take part in the victory celebrations on the Perla, which was captained by Gianandrea Doria and had not so much as a scratch on it. A chronicler also reported Venier's bitter comment: 'The fighting, the dead and the wounds fell to us, and the spoils to the others'. It was the first sign of the return to the internal rivalries of Christendom that would lead to the rapid decline of the Holy League.
The news of the great Christian victory reached Europe only at the end of October and was celebrated with great pomp in all the piazzas and churches. Pius V personally intoned the Te Deum in St Peter's, while the introverted Philip II greeted the announcement with royal indifference. Since it was All Saints' Day and he was attending Mass, he did not want to receive the anxious Venetian envoy until the rite was over. After reading the message, he simply commented: "Don Juan has been very exposed...".
Even the ineffable Grand Vizier Mehmed Sokolli greeted the news with aristocratic sarcasm: The Christians,' he commented, 'by destroying our fleet, have only cut off the Sultan's beard, while we have cut off his arm. The Sultan's beard will grow back, but the arm (i.e. Cyprus) of the Venetians will not.
After this lost battle, however, 'Lepanto' is replaced in the Islamic lexicon by 'Singhin', meaning 'defeat'.
Any idea where I might be able to buy the English translation of Arrigo ‘s book, “The Last Crusade”?