Shadow of God (32 page)

“Yes. Quite. But, this Tadini; he is, from what I hear, a soldier of fortune. My sources tell me he is bored in Crete. He is a military genius and a ferocious fighter. I suspect that the right person could convince him to join our side in the coming battle. They tell me he longs for battle, and could be turned.”

“And you would like me to ‘turn’ him?”

“Exactly.”

“Where is he right now?”

“He is still on Crete, in Candia, not far from the Bay of Mirabella. I have sent inquiries to see if he might be able to come of his own accord. Somehow, Trevisani heard of my offer and forbade Tadini to join us. On pain of death.”

“So, Tadini knows we want him. And from what you tell me, he seems inclined to join us. I would have only to provide a way?”

“Exactly. But, it would be dangerous for you both. If the Duke’s guard were to catch you, you would surely hang. Both of you.”

“We will not be caught, my Lord. I assure you of that. When do I leave?”

“Tonight. There is a galley in the Mandraccio with a full complement of knights. Most of them have sailed with you before. Provisions are on board. Here is a letter under my seal for you to give to Tadini. It will guarantee his wages and his rank, as well as safe conduct should he wish to leave us.” Philippe handed Bosio the papers.

“I will be back with Tadini, my Lord. You have my word.”

“God speed to you both.”

Bosio’s galley hove to just off shore, not far from the cliffs near the Bay of Mirabella. The night sky was lit only by the starlight, and the wind was light. Bosio and the knights waited on deck as the galley’s oarsmen held water. They dared not anchor, for they were poised to move in an instant. Bosio squinted into the darkness. He watched the beach in the direction of Candia.

The meeting three nights earlier had gone well. His galley had pulled near shore at Candia. He had been put ashore in a small boat and was met—as planned—by two old friends, Scaramosa and Conversalo. Bosio trusted them both with his life. In the middle of the night, they took Bosio to Tadini’s quarters. Tadini read the letter from Philippe, and without a moment’s hesitation had wrapped his arms around Bosio and lifted him off the ground. He kissed Bosio on both cheeks, and then turned to his two companions and said in Italian, “
E tu due? Son con noi?”
And you two? Are you with us?

“Of course, Signore,” Scaramosa replied, “but we cannot stay here now.
Andiamo!”
Let’s go.

“Signore Bosio. Give me three nights to gather my things and prepare for our escape. These men need the time, too. We must also make a diversion for that night, so nobody will know we are gone for several hours. That will give us time to meet you. Once we are on the galley, I am confident that your fine crew will get us safely out of here and off to Rhodes.”

He hugged Bosio again with an exuberance that he just could not contain. Two more kisses were planted on Bosio’s cheeks before Tadini let him go. “We will show those Muslims a thing or two about mining, eh? I have a new invention I am anxious to try. The Sultan will regret his little expedition, and wish he had stayed in Istanbul. This, I can promise you.”

As the galley neared the entrance into the Mandraccio, Philippe recognized the shape and the uniform of Antonio Bosio standing atop the ramming sprit in the bow, waving wildly to the small gathering on the pier. Standing next to him was the man that Philippe could not recognize but was so anxious to meet. The galley hove to, the lines cast ashore. Greetings were shouted in French and Italian. The camaraderie was contagious, and soon all the knights were greeting their brothers from the galley.

Tadini extricated himself from the embraces of the knights and turned to the Grand Master. He took Philippe’s extended hand and knelt down on one knee. He bowed his head and kissed the Grand Master’s gauntlet. Then he rose and burst into a great wide smile. “Gabriele Tadini da Martinengo,
Seigneur. À votre service.”

“Benvenuto, mìo amico.”
Philippe’s Italian was passable.

“
Si, Signore. Con tutto mi cuòre.”
Yes, my Lord. With all my heart.

Philippe turned to Docwra and the knights and said, “Leave us now. We will celebrate the arrival of these brave men tonight at dinner at the Inn of France. For now, I have great need to speak with Brother Tadini at my quarters.” Philippe had called Tadini his brother, indicating to the crowd that they had just welcomed a new knight into their ranks.

It was June 26th, the Feast of the Corpus Domini. The first ships of the main force of the Turks were expected to pass just offshore before the city of Rhodes. As the midsummer morning sun moved over the walls of the fortress, the palace gates suddenly opened, and the procession began. The Grand Master was mounted upon a magnificent charger, whose muscles rippled beneath its carefully groomed white hair. The horse was in full battle armor, his rider was
completely covered in his own ceremonial armor of gold, which glistened in the sun, making it difficult to look directly at him.

The Piliers of the eight
langues
who rode behind the Grand Master were also dressed in their finest battle armor. The Piliers were the senior knights in each
langue
, and held traditional posts in the Order. Docwra, himself of the
langue
of England, was the
Turcopilier
, or Commander of the Light Cavalry. As he moved along the Street of the Knights he passed the
Auberges,
the Inns, of the other
langues
. At the Inn of Italy, the Admiral of the Fleet moved alongside Docwra. Then as they passed the Auberge de France, the Pilier who served as Hospitaller joined their ranks. The three moved on and were joined by the Marshal from Auvergne and the Grand Commander from Provence. As they approached the
Loggia,
the open court at the end of the Street of the Knights, they were met by the Grand Conservator from Aragon and the Grand Bailiff from Germany. The seven men walked quickly in a tight knot through the
Loggia
, where a number of knights were drilling and preparing for the coming war.

As the day progressed, they would grow distinctly uncomfortable in their heavy hot outfits. But, for the moment they were a splendid spectacle that gave heart to the citizens of Rhodes.

Five hundred knights followed on foot, dressed in their scarlet battle surcoats with the white crosses of St. John on the left front breast and in the center of the back. They carried their broadswords and battle shields as they filed past the crowds gathered in the city. Within the walls of the city, the town was bursting with people and animals. Nearly the entire population of the island had sought refuge from the oncoming Turks, bringing with them farm animals and pets, food and household provisions. Many side streets were blocked with carts and supplies. Dogs wandered the alleyways looking for food and for their lost families.

In spite of the crowding and the discomfort, the knights and the citizens were happy to proceed with the festival day. They needed to show themselves, as much as the Turks, that they were not afraid.

As the Grand Master proceeded past the crowd at the entrance to the
Collachio
, the Convent of the Knights, trumpets announced his passage and drums marked the time of his march. At a signal
from within the Street of the Knights, the highest windows of all the Auberges of the various
langues
were thrown open, and hundreds of flags began to wave in the morning sun. The yellow lilies on a blue background marked the Inn of France; golden lions rampant were flown from the Inn of England. All the
langue
s displayed their colors, the crowds cheering the display of each in turn.

In the procession, the knights marched by country. There were only nineteen knights from England on the island, and they formed their own small phalanx. Their force of only nineteen knights, led by
Turcopilier
John Buck, was combined with the knights from Aragon. Throughout the history of the Order, the Knights of Provence had traditionally taken on the defense of the most dangerous outposts. On Rhodes, they would continue the tradition with the defense of the vital Tower of St. Nicholas. The French fielded the largest body of knights, with over two hundred of them marching behind the Piliers.

As the knights passed the entrance to the city, they received blessings from their spiritual leaders. In a show of solidarity, the Latin Bishop, Leonardo Balestrieri, and the Greek Archbishop, Clement, stood shoulder to shoulder making signs of the cross and murmuring prayers for the knights and their city.

As the parade left the city, the crowds followed them through the outer streets and into the nearby countryside. From across the blue water they all could see the massive armada that was heading their way. Hundreds of ships of war under full sail were plowing a white foam on the water’s surface. By noon, the Turkish ships were clearly in view, and it would be hard to find anyone on Rhodes who did not resonate significant fear at the sight of this enormous battle armada. In a few moments, the brave knights, the citizen militia, and the mercenaries realized the pitiful size of their own army compared to the hoard of men and supplies that was bearing down on their island home.

As Suleiman’s fleet passed the tip of the island and began their turn southeast to their debarkation point at Kallitheas Bay, a deafening roar filled the air. Many of the citizens thought they were under attack, and ran for cover. Horses shied, and the riders struggled to maintain control. Then smoke appeared on the wind,
coming from the battlements of Fort St. Nicholas, which guarded the mole at the end of the Galley Port. When all eyes turned there, the knights and the Rhodians could see a second volley fired from their city at the Turkish fleet. They began to cheer and throw their hats into the air. A few people could see the splash of the cannon shot landing well short of the ships in the choppy seas. The Turks knew to keep out of range, and the knights at the fort knew they could not reach the ships. The knights wanted only to show the Turks what welcome was in store for them. For their part, many of the Turkish sailors had heard stories of the destruction that the knights’ cannons had inflicted upon the Turkish fleet in 1480. Rather than responding with cannon fire, the Turks bombarded the Rhodians with music. From the shores, the knights and the citizens of Rhodes could just make out the sound of trumpets and drums; of bosuns’ whistles and tambours; of cymbals and pipes.

Then, as if to accentuate and complete the picture of the Turkish fleet, a terrible smell began to reach the island. At first, the people began to look about them for the source, for it smelled like an overflowing sewer. The knights who had experienced battle against the Turkish galleys realized at once where the smell had come from. The onshore breeze had brought to Rhodes the dreadful odors of the Turkish galleys themselves. For, the slaves that manned the oars were chained to their places, their excrement puddled in the scuppers of the ships they rowed.

Then another sound made its way to the shores. Carried across the water, amid the trumpets and the drums, was heard the rhythmic crack of the galley-master’s whips as they snapped the air over the backs of the slaves at the oars.