Shadow of God (36 page)

Philippe addressed the man in Greek. “
Kalimera, philo moo
.” Good morning, my friend. “What is it you wish to tell me?”

The man hesitated. He kept squeezing his hat tighter and tighter. Then, he looked to John Buck for assurance. Buck nodded and said, “Go on, tell the Grand Master your idea.”

The man looked into Philippe’s eyes. After a few seconds he began in Greek.

“My Lord, I have spent many years fishing off the coast of Turkey, and have spent a great deal of time at the markets there selling my catch. So, I speak fluent Turkish and am familiar with their ways. I could take some of my men and circle the island. Then, with a catch of fish in the hold, I could come ashore near their camp and sell the fish at the market. They have already set up a small city filled with merchants. Mostly Turkish. But, some others. I would not be recognized as a Rhodian Greek there. I could listen and move about to learn what I can for you. After we have sold the catch, I would come back around the island, and land off shore on the north coast again, then return here.”

“Do you think you might have trouble with the blockade?”

Basilios laughed. “No, my Lord. Their navy is commanded by fools. We move in and out every night, and our small boats are nearly invisible. We can easily avoid them. And, if they stop us, we are merely fishermen with no weapons. We pose no threat to them.”

“John?”

“I think it is worth the risk, my Lord. These are brave men to volunteer for such a mission. I think we should let them try. Are there specific details you wish for them to discover?”

“Yes, actually there are. The Turks have begun a determined effort to erect an earthwork facing the Tower of Aragon. It would be good to know exactly the purpose of this structure. See if you can bring me information on this.” Philippe paused, and then said, “Very well. I thank you for your bravery. May God be with you.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” With that, the man turned and left the palace.

Jean and Melina finished boarding up the two small windows of her house. As he finished wedging the thick boards in place, he said, “I must hurry now,
Chèrie.
I’m late for my post. When I leave, bolt the door from within, and make sure you recognize the voice of anyone trying to gain entry. Remember, should the cannon barrage get nearer this quarter of town, take the girls and get under the oak table. I have placed it next to the strongest wall in the house, where it is connected to the house next door. That should give you two walls and the table as well for protection.” He took Melina in his arms and kissed her. Then he turned to the small cradle where his two babies were asleep despite the noise and the chaos outside. “They’re so beautiful,
n’est-ce pas?”

Melina smiled and squeezed his arms in response. She tried not to shed the tears that were welling up in her eyes. She was afraid to speak. She was so frightened now that she had Jean and the two girls to worry about. Finally she murmured, “Be careful, my love.”

Jean buckled his armor breastplate and reached for his sword and cape. As he placed the sword belt around his waist, the whole house trembled from the impact of a nearby cannonball. Both he
and Melina staggered from the blast, and the babies began to cry in their cradle. Melina rushed to the twins and took them in her arms. She sat on the floor next to the heavy oak table, prepared to slide underneath in case of a closer hit.

“Oh,
Mon Dieu,
Jean. What will happen to us? This is only the beginning.”

Jean knelt down and held Melina and the babies all together in his broad arms. “You must try to stay calm, my love. This will be the worst. They will try to inflict the greatest damage early on. They are hoping that we will lose faith and surrender.”

“And will we?”

“No, we will not. These Infidels are savages. It’s better that we die in battle than become their slaves. I’ve told you before what happens to those they conquer. The men are slaughtered, and the women and children taken as slaves. Death is far, far preferable to life as a slave to the Muslim.”

Melina began to cry quietly as she held her two babies. The thought of her helplessness to protect them overwhelmed her. “When you are out there fighting, where shall we find safety?”

“If the cannon fire gets to close, take the babies to the hospital. Doctor Renato will keep you safe there. The hospital building is strong, and partially protected from the cannons by the terrain. Just go there and stay. If I don’t find you here, I’ll look in the hospital next.” He kissed Melina and each of the babies. Then, he put on his cape and helmet and left the house. As he closed the door, he said, “
Au revoir, Chèrie.
Be sure to bolt the door behind me.”

And he was gone.

It was just after dark on the first day of the siege. The cannons had fired without letup since early in the morning. Miraculously, there was little damage to the city. Most of the Turkish batteries were trying to make breaches in the wall to allow the Turkish foot soldiers to storm the city. Very few of the stone balls or mortars were aimed into the city itself. The forty-foot-thick walls absorbed the shot with little damage. In fact, the only casualties that whole first day were the family killed in the Jewish Quarter early in the morning.

As the night grew dark, Basilios Carpazio and his three comrades climbed aboard their little boat, slipped their mooring, hove to, and rowed quietly out of the Galley Port into the darkened Mediterranean Sea. His mate was Nicolo Ciocchi. The two men had fished the waters around Rhodes together for thirty years. Nicolo was a big man, over six feet tall and two hundred ten pounds. Years of pulling in the heavy lines and nets had hardened both men. With them were two brothers, Petros and Marcantonio Revallo, ages nineteen and twenty-one. The boys had worked for Basilios for the past four years, and were almost part of his family.

They rowed further out into the sea and drifted with the land breeze until they were well clear of the shoreline. Then they hoisted their sail and set out for the northern coast of the island. They beat to windward for a little under an hour. When they reached their favorite fishing grounds, they dropped their nets into the sea and set about fishing just as they did almost every day of the year that the weather allowed.

A few hours before dawn, they pulled in their nets for the last time. Their small boat was nearly full. With the load secure, they came about, and ran before the wind back to the northern tip of Rhodes. They circled the city and headed toward shore to the south of the harbors. They put ashore at the beach just behind the encampment of Piri Pasha. There, the small army of merchants had already set up a market and a thriving trade was going on. Tools and clothing were being repaired. Off-duty soldiers were buying rations to eat, and enjoying some time near the water. There were artillery crews as well as small groups of Janissaries and Sipahis tending to their weapons and their horses. The merchants came from all over the Mediterranean. There were Turks, Arabs, and Anatolians. Even some Egyptians and Persians had made the journey. The conversations were in every language, and voices bargaining for price broke loudly into the black predawn air.

The four men loaded the fish into wicker baskets and began ferrying them up to the marketplace. They set the baskets down, and while Marcantionio stayed to sell the catch, Basilios and Nicolo wandered together in the crowd. Basilios had the best command of
the Turkish language, though Nicolo could get by in Turkish heavily accented with Greek.

The others began to mingle with the crowd, buying a few items to eat and drink from the stalls along the beach. They would sit at tables and slowly sip from their cups while they listened to the conversations of the Janissaries and the Sipahis.

After about an hour of casual information gathering, Basilios said, “This is not enough. We need more specific details. I think we need a few of these soldiers to come back with us and tell the Grand Master directly what the Muslim plan is.” He raised his bushy black eyebrows and smiled at Nicolo.

Nicolo looked at Basilios out of the corner of his eye, and then smiled at him as well. He nodded his head and finished his drink. The two men began to mingle again with the crowd of soldiers along the beach.

“We will need to lure them to the boat. I think they’ll be less suspicious if I’m alone. They’ll be braver if they are not outnumbered. Go back and get Marcantionio and Petros.”

Nicolo went and got the boys. Basilios moved in among the soldiers. Three Janissaries were sitting on a rock drinking from leather bottles. They seemed a little drunk. Alcohol was forbidden to the Muslims, but many of the soldiers drank when in the field. This was especially true of the Muslim
Devshirmé,
who were forced conversions from Christianity, as were nearly all of the Janissaries.

Basilios moved closer to the men without looking at them. He sat down on the sand with his back to the soldiers. He reached into his coat and pulled out a long dagger. This was a new weapon, an armorpiercing dagger, inlaid with gold and reinforced in the center of the blade. It was much longer than the usual knife carried by fishermen, but shorter than the curved scimitar of the Janissaries. It had proven itself a good tool and a fine weapon on more than one occasion.

He began to polish its blade, whistling quietly as he worked. He never looked at the men. He overheard them talking about their war. When they stopped, it was clear from the conversation that they had noticed the knife. They spoke in Turkish, and Basilios understood every word.

“An odd knife, that, isn’t it?” one of the men said in Turkish. There was some low murmuring, and then Basilios heard the thump of two feet hitting the sand. He was alert and tense, preparing to fight if the young soldiers decided to try and take the knife from him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the shadow of the Janissary moved closer over the sand. Then, a voice said to him in Greek, “What have you there, old man?”

Basilios did not turn his head to answer, insulting the Janissary in his own way by speaking without looking at him. “It’s a knife. Surely a Soldier of the Sultan can see that.”

“Speak civilly to me,
old man
. You speak to a Janissary of the Sultan.”

Basilios turned and rose. He towered over the young man, who stepped back, laying his hand on the handle of his scimitar. No fuss would be made if he killed this fisherman on the spot. A perceived insult to his Sultan would be sufficient cause.

Basilios bowed his head and took his cap off. He was much taller than the young soldier, and fifty pounds heavier; fifty pounds of muscle. He held his hat in his hands and slouched to make himself less threatening, as he spoke deferentially to the Janissary. He never looked at the others who were still sitting on the rock. “Forgive my rudeness,” he said, “but I did not know who was talking to me. I’m sorry.”

The Janissary relaxed his grip on the scimitar and moved closer. “So what kind of knife is this? It is neither sword nor knife, but somewhere in between. A bastard!” He laughed, and his comrades laughed as well. They were laughing at Basilios, but Basilios remained calm and subservient.

“It was made especially for me, sir. It’s useful when you’re faced with a sword but can manage to get in close. I can reach a man’s throat with this, while the sword becomes useless at close range. Yet, I am still out of reach of my enemy’s short knife. It can also pierce armor! See the slit down the middle—this groove is reinforced.” He lowered his voice, and spoke as a conspirator. “It has proved its value a few times already.”

“Let me see it. Hand it to me.”

Basilios pulled away and pretended to be afraid of giving over his knife.

“Hand it to me!”

He gave the knife to the Janissary, who seemed impressed with it. The soldier made several sweeps through the air and then tossed it to his friends. They, too, seemed impressed.

Basilios heard the soldiers bantering in Turkish about killing the old man and keeping the knife. Basilios crouched fractionally lower and prepared to strike. He said, in Turkish, “I have more of these at my boat. I could sell them to you very cheap.”