Shadow of God (72 page)

Philippe gave his horses to the Sultan’s servants. He told his knights to wait outside the
serai. “
I’m quite safe here. The Sultan would never dishonor his word by violating my safe passage.”

Philippe was led into the waiting room next to Suleiman’s reception chamber. The coal brazier had been burning all night long, so the room was dry and warm. Philippe shivered, as if expelling the cold from his body. He opened his cloak and noticed that there was mud spattered on the hem from the long ride through the wet countryside

After an hour, Philippe was growing stiff from sitting in one place. His knees and thighs were sore from the unaccustomed ride.
He shifted uneasily in his seat, but he would not allow himself to show his impatience by pacing about the room. At length, a servant entered, carrying a long white robe in his arms. He motioned to Philippe, and spoke a few words of Turkish. Philippe could not understand the man, but it was clear that garment was a present from the Sultan.

He stood to take the garment, but the servant held it back. Another servant had entered the room, and helped Philippe remove his muddied surcoat. Only then did the first servant unfold the gift from the Sultan. Philippe was shocked at the opulence. The present was a floor-length robe and caftan of gold brocade, with a heavily quilted lining. The servant moved behind Philippe and helped him into it. As he shrugged the heavy robe onto his broad shoulders, he was amazed at the exactness of the fit. How could the Sultan’s tailors have guessed his size so well? It was a frightening thought. There was something else. Something about the robe was different, and it took a minute for Philippe to discover what it was. The robe was as warm as if he had been sleeping in it. The servant had
heated
the garment so that the Grand Master would not have to slip on a cold silk robe. The Sultan, he realized, must
always
have his clothing heated for him.

Philippe made a cursory bow to the servants, and then again found himself alone in the room. Soon, slippers were brought to him, his dirty boots removed from his feet. At the end of another hour, a tray of food and drink were placed before him. He felt as if he had been imprisoned in luxury. His instinct was to show his contempt for this imperial rudeness and leave the
serai
. What galled him most at the moment was that Suleiman had placed him in such an
impossible
position. Philippe was being bribed with the trappings of opulence and comfort. Here he sat, before a warm fire, in a silk robe and slippers. His own boots and surcoat were gone, God knows where. This was comfort that he had not experienced since the siege had begun. And, he was enjoying it even though the overall effect was insult.

After the second hour had passed, a page entered the waiting room and motioned for Philippe to follow. The Grand Master rose, following the man to the inner chamber.

Ibrahim was standing, and bowed to the Grand Master. “
Bonjour, Seigneur. Bienvenue. Je vous en prie…”
and he pointed to the
divan
that had been placed opposite the Sultan. Philippe looked at Suleiman, who had said nothing, but had not taken his eyes from Philippe’s. The Sultan was dressed in a golden brocade robe and slippers similar to those he had given to Philippe. But, Philippe saw immediately that the Sultan’s slippers were just noticeably finer; the stitching more perfect, the quilting thicker. The throne upon which Suleiman sat was made of intricately carved dark wood, and upholstered with silk brocade. Even after so many months in the field, there was not a spot of dirt anywhere to be seen. He stared into the dark brown eyes. Those eyes, and Suleiman’s famous hawk-like nose, drew his attention away from the rest of the Sultan’s face. Philippe realized that in all these months, he had not seen so much as a picture of his enemy, the Sultan. He was confused, for now that he was staring into Suleiman’s eyes, he lost whatever preconceived ideas he had carried in his mind for all these months.

The room was fully carpeted in a rich silk; there were cushions all along the walls. Philippe walked to the
divan
, and sat down. The placement of the throne had been carefully planned. What was immediately apparent was that this interview would be conducted with Philippe having to strain his neck to look up into the eyes of the Sultan.

After Philippe was settled, Ibrahim sat on a set of cushions next to Suleiman. He, too, was slightly higher than Philippe. Philippe looked around the room for the interpreter. No one was in sight. The three men were the only people in the room. Since he knew no Turkish, Philippe had no choice but to wait for the Sultan to begin.

Neither leader took his eyes away. Ibrahim, too, sat and stared at the Grand Master. But, Philippe never acknowledged Ibrahim’s attention. He kept his eyes fixed upon Suleiman’s.

Suleiman finally broke the silence. “Philippe Villiers de L’Isle Adam, welcome to my
serai,”
he began in Turkish. Philippe cocked his head. He wanted to look around for the interpreter, but he would not take his eyes from Suleiman. It was Ibrahim who spoke. In barely accented French, he began to translate the words of the Sultan.

Philippe bowed and replied, “It is my honor to be here, Majesty. And, I thank you for your generous gifts and your hospitality.”

“I am sorry that circumstances have forced us to meet under such conditions. In other times, we might have been allies; we might have fought together. But, it is not the will of Allah or his Prophet, Mohammed, blessings be upon Him.”

Philippe nodded. There was, he realized, no appropriate reply. Suleiman continued, with Ibrahim just a few words behind. As he translated, Ibrahim maintained the same pace and inflection as the Sultan, the same nuances rendered into nearly perfect French. “I also must pay my condolences for the deaths of so many of your knights and your people. It has been a tragic siege, costing the lives of so many fine young men.”

“
C’est vrai
, Majesty. I only hope that this will be the end of the killing, though I know that the dying will go on for some time to come.”

Suleiman nodded. “But, such is the fate of all princes, of all leaders. Sooner or later, the realm is lost; cities are lost; lives are lost; nothing but Allah endures forever. Your men have made a gallant, if futile, defense of your city. In the end, it was inevitable that we should prevail. No one will ever doubt your valor or your commitment to your cause. When I raise the siege, your honor will remain intact.”

“Thank you.”

“But, we must move on to the realities of this ‘peace.’ We must spell out, in detail, the terms. They are these:

“You will send me twenty-five knights, including several of high rank—perhaps Knights Grand Cross—to be held as hostages until the surrender and the debarkation are complete. They will be treated with courtesy and respect, I assure you, as has your Fra Antoine de Grollée, who is at the moment in the company of Achmed Agha. Also, you will furnish twenty-five hostages from among the prominent leaders of the Rhodian citizens. They, too, will be protected by my word.”

Philippe said nothing; he continued to stare at the Sultan, even as Ibrahim spoke the words.

“I will send a small force of four hundred Janissaries into the city to maintain order and assure the peaceful evacuation of the city.” Philippe tried not to smile at the Sultan’s suggestion that four hundred Janissaries was a small force.

Suleiman continued. “The rest of my armies will withdraw the enceinte to a distance of one mile from the walls, and wait there until the evacuation is complete.

“My personal word will safeguard the lives and well-being of the knights and the citizens. The Knights of the Order of St. John Hospitaller shall be free to depart in safety and with honor. If your fleet is not capable of the task, I shall furnish seaworthy ships to take you as far as Crete. You will have twelve days from now to leave.”

Suleiman paused while Ibrahim caught up with him. He waited for Philippe to absorb the details. Then he went on. “My word will protect the lives and the property of the citizens in
every
regard: they may return and keep their own homes. For five years hence, there will be no taxation. This will allow the time necessary for rebuilding the city and restoration of commerce. The citizens will be free to leave or to stay; to adopt Islam, or to keep their religion, Greek or Latin. They may change their minds, and have up to three years to leave, taking their possessions and their wealth.”

When he was finished outlining the terms, Suleiman leaned back on his throne and folded his hands. Philippe took this as the signal that the terms had been delivered. He leaned forward on the
divan
and said, “Majesty, your terms are more than fair. You have left me and my Order our honor, which above all else—even life, itself—we treasure. The citizens of Rhodes, I am sure, have nothing to fear from your armies. Your word is beyond question. I would like to celebrate the Christmas Midnight Mass tonight in our Church for the last time before our departure. It would be my pleasure to receive you in the Palace of the Grand Master two days after Christmas, on the Feast of St. John the Baptist.” The irony was clear to both Suleiman and Ibrahim.

Suleiman looked at Ibrahim, as his friend translated the words of the Grand Master. When Ibrahim was finished, Suleiman turned back to Philippe and said, “The honor will be mine.”

When Philippe returned to the outer room, his cloak had been returned, cleaned and pressed…and heated. His boots had been cleaned, and a small defect had been repaired. When he pulled them on, he smiled that they, too, had been warmed.

On the feast day of St. John the Baptist, Suleiman and Ibrahim mounted their stallions, and, in full ceremonial dress, rode out from the
serai
at Mount Saint Stephen and into the city. The two moved down the slopes with an escort of one hundred Janissaries and Sipahis. As they crossed the open fields and neared the city walls, the citizens appeared along the battlements to see the coming of the Sultan. The path through the trenches had been further cleared since Philippe’s trip to see Suleiman. The smell of death still hung in the air, as it would for months afterward. But, Suleiman and Ibrahim passed the bodies of their soldiers without turning their heads.

As the large escort reached the Gate of St. John, Suleiman signaled his party to a halt. “Dismiss the guard.”

Ibrahim looked at Suleiman and hesitated. He saw that the Sultan was determined, and turned to the officer in charge. “Dismiss the guard. Wait for us at our lines.” He looked back to the Sultan.

Suleiman said, loud enough to be heard by everyone in earshot, “My safe conduct is guaranteed by the word of the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and that is better than all the world’s armies.”

The Sultan and his friend turned their horses and rode in through the gate. Once inside the walls, Suleiman dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting knight. The streets were lined with curious citizens, who had waited hours in the cold wet morning to catch sight of this almost mythical leader of the Ottomans. They were there to see the man whose will would determine the future of their lives. The knights might leave Rhodes to settle their Order elsewhere, but for most of the citizens, life under Muslim rule was only days away.

An escort of Knights Grand Cross was waiting just inside the gate. The Sultan seemed a mere youth to many of the older, warhardened knights. Suleiman was dressed in a simple caftan of white
and gold. His slender body and youthful face belied the immense power wielded by this twenty-six-year-old man. With Ibrahim as his interpreter, Suleiman moved among the waiting knights. He stopped along the way, and turned to one of the knights from the
langue
of France. “I have come to see your Grand Master,” he said, “and inquire as to his health.” The knight was so surprised at being addressed with such informality by the legendary Sultan that he merely stared, jaw open, saying nothing.

Tadini witnessed the exchange and smiled. He and Prejean de Bidoux led the way. The knights walked ahead, in full battle gear. They wore helmets and chain mail; their swords were sheathed, but they held their fists at the ready near the hilt. They were now protecting their own honor by guarding their conqueror. When they reached the Street of the Knights, the crowds had to be held back by the mercenaries and the surviving one hundred fifty knights. The procession entered the
Collachio
. When they arrived at the Palace of the Grand Master, two junior knights took the horses and led them into the courtyard, while Suleiman and Ibrahim were escorted to the grand staircase. They ascended together, with Tadini in the lead. No words were spoken.

Philippe waited for the Sultan in his great room. He quickly rose to greet Suleiman, who was led to a large oak chair. He sat next to Philippe while Ibrahim waited near the doorway with the knights. When Philippe began to speak, Ibrahim moved closer to translate. Philippe had his own interpreter present, but the conversation with Suleiman on Mount Saint Stephen was so successful that Ibrahim was allowed to continue.

“Sultan Suleiman Khan, it is an honor to receive you here in my palace. You do us a great honor by your presence.”