Shadow of God (30 page)

“Shah-Suwar Oghli Ali Bey, my Lord,” Ferhad extended his hand palm up, and bowed toward the first head, as if introducing two strangers, “and his three sons.” Ferhad and his Janissaries knelt down on one knee, and bowed low in the dew dampened grass. “At the service of my Sultan.”

Suleiman told the men to rise. He instructed his page to bring some gold coins and reward the Janissaries. “Feed these men,” he ordered. Then he turned to Ferhad and said, “Come, my Pasha, we will celebrate your return with breakfast in my
serai.
You will be tired and hungry, I’m sure.” Ferhad bowed his head again, and followed the Sultan into his tent.

The armies continued along the remaining two hundred miles to their embarkation point near Marmarice, within sight of Rhodes some twenty miles across the water. The huge armada of over three hundred ships and one hundred thousand men would require several more weeks to disembark and set up their camps on Rhodes. Then, when all was in place, they would await the arrival of their Sultan, Suleiman, and the siege of Rhodes would begin.

The Island of Rhodes
June, 1522

On the eighth of June, just after dark, the sentries on the rampart of Italy looked to the northeast, where they saw signal flares. There was no pattern or code. From the distance, the flares seemed to come from the Turkish coast near Marmarice across the water. This was the narrowest point between Rhodes and the Asian mainland. Only twenty-four miles of open water separated the knights from the armies of Suleiman.

The news of the flares was brought to the Grand Master at once. “Send three galleys, with full fighting complements of knights. Take no chances. Approach as if to battle. These might be our own ships in trouble. Or it might be a trap to test our mettle.”

The guards left, and spread the word. Within an hour, three galleys left the Mandraccio and headed north. Before dawn, the three galleys were back. No shots had been fired. No fighting engagement made. The captain of the small task force ran up the small hill from the Mandraccio. He entered the fortress through St. Paul’s Gate, and made his way left along the Street of the Knights. The narrow, cobble-stoned street was still dark and wet as he hurried under the imposing walls of the Inns. At the Inn of Provence, he turned right and made his way to the Palace of the Grand Master. He saluted the knights on guard, and took the main stairs two at a time.

Philippe was waiting in the anteroom of his quarters. With him was Thomas Docwra. Both men were restless and visibly ill at ease. The captain was winded from his run. He still wore his fighting armor. His outer cape was wet from the salt spray and the light rain. He bowed, and pulled from his black cloak a rolled parchment, tied and sealed with the
tu
ra
of the Sultan, Suleiman.

Philippe knew this seal well, as he had seen it when he had received Suleiman’s Letter of Victory. He knew before even opening it that this letter would be more direct. The Sultan had already issued the formal warning required by his religion. The
Qur’an
required that notice be given and time allowed for the enemy to surrender before an attack. That time was well past.

He took the letter from the captain and motioned to the table where a late dinner and wine had been set. “Help yourself, Captain, while I see what the Sultan has in store for us.”

“Thank you,
Signore.
This message was delivered to us at sea. The flares had been sent up by the Sultan’s galleys a mile off shore. No trouble finding the hulk in the dark for all the stink of it. By God, they’re heathens! I think they delivered this letter off shore so that we would not see what forces they had on land. But, I can tell you that the fires that burned in their camps numbered in the thousands. This is no small raiding party. This is a major invasion,
Signore.
”

Philippe nodded silently, broke the seal, and removed the silk ribbon. He tossed the ribbon into the fire, and read aloud:

The Sultan. To Villiers de L’Isle Adam, Grand Master of Rhodes, to his knights, and to the people at large.

Your monstrous piracies, which you continue to exercise against my faithful subjects, and the insult you offer to my Imperial Majesty, oblige me to command you to surrender your island and fortress immediately into my hands. If you do this, I swear by God who made heaven and earth, by the four thousand prophets which came down from heaven, by the four sacred books, and by our great Prophet Mohammed that you shall be free to leave the island, while the inhabitants who remain there shall not be harmed. But, if you do not obey my order at once, you shall all pass under the edge of my
invisible sword, and the walls and fortifications of Rhodes shall be reduced to the level of the grass that grows at their feet.

Philippe handed the document to Docwra, who read it slowly again. “This son of a whore doesn’t know what he’s up against!” Docwra said.

“Indeed, he does not, Thomas,” Philippe said calmly. “Make preparations as if the attack were to come at once. We will send no reply. That may buy us some time, for if we reply to this…this obscenity,” pointing to Suleiman’s letter, still in Docwra’s hand, “he will set out at once. Instead, let him wait for our reply. Surely he will hope for an easy victory by our surrender. He has not forgotten the losses suffered by his great-grandfather. Unless he is truly insane—which I doubt he is—he will want to take an easy victory from us. While he waits for our reply, Thomas, go out this very moment and declare martial law on the island. Send word to whomever is still outside the walls to hurry here at once and bring whatever weapons, food, and clothing they may have. Leave no food or shelter out there that might give comfort to our enemy. For, it’s possible that we may not leave this fortress again for many months to come. Alert the knights that we shall meet before dawn to make our final plans to defend the city. And I shall see that the final strengthening of the defenses is carried out as speedily as possible.”

“
D’accord, Seigneur. Tout de suite.”
Yes, my Lord. At once. As Docwra turned to go, he paused and said, “One more thing, my Lord.”

“Yes?”

“There is a Florentine ship’s captain by the name of Bartoluzzi. He is here in Rhodes, and I spoke with him about the possibility of a prolonged siege. He had a suggestion that we might want to consider.”

“And that was?”

“Well, he noted the large number of ships moving in and out of our ports. He suggested that we commandeer some of them and turn them into fire ships. That we load them with explosives and send them out among the Turks
before
they are debarked on the island, to
set as many of their fleet ablaze as possible. He even offered to lead the attack with his own ship. We might severely damage their supply line and decrease the numbers of men that we have to face on shore.”

“Thank you, Thomas. And thank Captain Bartoluzzi for his idea and his brave offer. I have given a lot of thought to whether we should engage the Turks on the water. There is no question that we have the superior fleet in terms of skill and seamanship. We could do great damage in a conflict at sea. But, the numbers here are so overwhelming in terms of ships and men set against us that even if we were to strike them in a surprise attack, I fear the loss of lives and ships would, in the end, be too much for our small force.”

Docwra nodded.

Philippe continued. “A good idea, Thomas, but I think we should conserve our limited supply of men and powder for a more certain battle behind our walls.”

Docwra nodded again. He left the anteroom and sped from the Palace. Philippe turned to the captain and said, “Finish your meal. I think this may be the last hot, unhurried dinner you will eat for a very long time.”

The captain, unable to contain himself, gulped down the remaining food and wine and, with a bow, hurried from the Palace.

Philippe was alone for the first time in many days. The comings and goings of his staff, the preparations, the battle plans, and the interminable details had all conspired to leave him barely a minute to himself. The sudden emptiness of the room and the unusual quiet bore down on him with a heaviness that caught him by surprise. He slumped into his great oak chair, rubbing his eyes. He moved his papers to the side and stared down at the ancient oak table, dark and scarred with age. He tried to close his eyes and rest, but sleep would not overtake his thoughts. Again his mind wandered—as it had almost every hour of his waking days and nights that were not fully occupied with the business of war—back to Paris; back to his rooms across from
L’Isle de la Cité.

He had been standing in the darkness, staring at the flying buttresses of the great cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris, then
almost four hundred years old. The great stone edifice was shrouded at its base with the light mist coming off the river, a few orange lights flickering at the rear of the building. It had been…how long? Ten months?
Could it be only ten months?
he asked himself. It was the night the message had come from Rhodes. He had been elected the new Grand Master. The night had been calm, and it was after midnight when Hélène came to him. She often came late at night, when the chances of being seen were least. Sometimes she could stay through the next day, holding every moment together as if it might be their last.
Ten months!
he told himself.
Surely not.

And when would he see his Hélène again? Another ten months? Ten years? Ever? What was she doing now? This moment. Was she with another man? Would she wait for him on the slight chance that he would return? Philippe could not follow the thought through to completion. Each time he pictured her—her young and lovely body—in the arms of another. Sometimes a stranger. Other times he would see her in the embrace of one of his knights. He would squeeze his eyes shut, as if denying himself vision could possibly erase the image in his mind. And, of course it never did.

His first meeting with Hélène had been so innocent. Nothing could have told him. Nothing could have warned him. Only the feeling in his chest, and the unfamiliar sensation in his groin when he saw her for the very first time.

Philippe was walking through the
Jardins
one early April afternoon. The Parisians had flocked to the streets with the first taste of warm weather. The winter had been particularly severe, with spring gray and damp day after day. As he moved among the groups of families out for a quick break from their toils, he was drawn most strongly to the couples walking quietly in the bright warmth of the day. His heart felt heavy with the knowledge that he was destined by his vows to God to forever walk alone. For all the camaraderie and honor inherent in his knighthood, there was still an emptiness that he could not ignore. On days such as these, he could not deny his yearning for the physical and emotional connection with a woman.

Hélène had been sitting near a fountain, tossing small pebbles into the water. Her eyes never left the water as she watched the ripples spread and disappear. Philippe stopped to stretch his back. He looked up at the sky, and let the sun warm his face. When he resumed his walk, he saw her sitting alone. She had dark eyes, nearly black in the bright sun; long dark hair hung down in loose curls over her shoulders. She was slender, and, even sitting, Philippe could see that she was rather tall. Philippe guessed her to be about twenty-five years old, though he would later learn that she was nearer thirty-five. She was perched on the edge of the fountain, with her legs tucked back under her. On the ground just behind her was a woven basket with some bread and fresh vegetables. Philippe was torn between his powerful instincts to walk nearer and introduce himself, and the knowledge that his knight’s vows of celibacy made such a meeting improper; impossible that it could lead anywhere. But, how he wanted to taste the sweetness of just a few moment’s innocent conversation with this lovely woman.