Shadow of God (69 page)

Suleiman sat in the newly constructed stone
serai.
All his Aghas and Ibrahim were with him. The fire had dried out the dampness in the air, and the room had a cozy, welcoming air about it. Piri Pasha was comfortable for the first time in several weeks. His arthritis was plaguing him in the damp cold weather, and every movement had been torture. Even Qasim Pasha and Bali Agha, the most fit of the Aghas, admitted to suffering from aches and pains more than usual.

Piri explained the events of the past few days. “Majesty, our envoys have not even been allowed into the gates of the city. The Genoese, Monile, delivered your offer, but he was not allowed in. The second time he went to the gates, they fired upon him. I’m sure they only meant to humiliate him, but I don’t think he’ll go back.”

Suleiman tapped his fingers on the quilted arm of his chair. “When they humiliate my envoy, Piri, they humiliate me. It will not
do
to humiliate me.”

“No, Majesty, it will not.”

“And the Albanian? Was he received?”

“He has only just returned to the camp, Majesty. He, too, was rebuffed before he could deliver his message.”

The Aghas sat in silence. They were all happy to have the Sultan focused on the failure of the diplomatic envoys and not the military missions.

Suleiman leaned forward and placed his elbow on his knee. He tucked his chin onto the palm of his hand and tapped his forefinger against his upper lip as he concentrated on his thoughts. “Must I slaughter every man, woman, and child on this accursed island in order to be free of these Christian knights? Must blood fill the ditches and fire burn their city to the ground? Have I not done as Allah directs me? Do I not conduct my war as the
Qur’an
instructs me? Do I not follow the words of the Prophet, may Allah bless his eternal soul? What more can I do?”

None of the Aghas so much as raised an eye toward the Sultan. None wanted the privilege of offering advice. Piri backed away from Suleiman and returned to his seat.

Suleiman stirred in his throne. He looked up and scanned the faces of his Aghas. “There will be no more general attacks. The loss of life is too wasteful now for the results we gain. Achmed Agha, keep your sappers and miners burrowing and undermining the walls. We can, at least, continue to make the city crumble beneath the enemy’s feet. And the bombardment. I want our cannon to fire ceaselessly into the city and against the walls and towers. Never should the knights have a chance to rest. Never should they sleep without the constant fear of one of our balls smashing into their dreams. I want the people of Rhodes to rise up against the knights and demand their surrender. I want them to open the gates and welcome us into the city as their salvation, rather than their conquerors.”

The Aghas bowed and acknowledged the will of the Sultan. All murmured assent, and backed out of the room.

The Grand Master sat in the Council Chamber of the Palace and prepared to receive the delegation. With him were the Piliers and the Conventual Bailiffs of all the
langues.
The Greek Bishop, Clement, and the Latin Bishop, Balestrieri, were in attendance as well. Tadini sat along the wall with several Knights Grand Cross.

When the entire Council was seated, Philippe gaveled the meeting to order. It was with great reluctance that he had agreed to convene his knights. On the surface, he declared that he could not
spare so many of his officers from the battlefield. But, in reality, his heart had already told him what he was about to hear.

Bishop Balestrieri bowed to the Grand Master. Philippe nodded for him to speak. The Bishop rose from his place and walked to the center. He was used to talking to large groups of people, and made eye contact with every man in the room.

“My Lord,” he said addressing Philippe, “brothers-in-arms. The time has come for me to speak to you for the people of Rhodes. We have asked much from them these nearly five months, and they have responded beyond all possible expectations. They have suffered grievously, and they have fought and died alongside the knights. They have lost fathers, mothers, and children. We are a small community, and so there is now no person on this island who has not been touched by the hand of Death.”

Balestrieri paused, and let his words settle into the hearts of the knights. “Yesterday, a deputation of citizens came to see me and Bishop Clement. Though they were very afraid of what might befall them if they were perceived as entertaining treasonous thoughts— they have not failed to see the body parts displayed upon the battlements—they are more afraid of what will happen when the Sultan’s armies force their way into the city in a massive assault. They have heard that there have been envoys sent by the Sultan to allow us to surrender with honor. They have told me that the knights care more about the honor of the Order than the lives of the citizens. Though they would not say it to me, my Lord, I fear that if the Order is not prepared to make peace with the Sultan, that the citizens are prepared to make a separate peace.”

The room was completely silent at these words. Philippe’s face reddened, and several of the knights began to shift in discomfort in their seats. Philippe held his temper in check. But Balestrieri was talking of overt rebellion. Dangerous talk.

Balestrieri continued. “My Lord, the Order has been on this island for over two centuries. Your bonds to these people run deep. Their destiny is yours. And, though you may not care to admit it, your destiny is theirs. You have a grave responsibility to these people. They have gone far beyond any bounds of devotion to you in
this fight. Do not, my Lord, ask them all to perish in a battle that cannot be won. They are not knights. Do not ask
them
to perish for
your
honor.”

Tadini moved from his place along the wall. He tried to walk without using the cane that he now carried in place of his makeshift crutch. But, his knee was too unstable, and his wounds too fresh. After only two steps, he staggered, prevented from falling only through a quick rescue by young Valette. He recovered his balance, pulling his elbow from the grip of the knight. He leaned on his cane and spoke from the side of the room. Philippe motioned toward an empty chair, but Tadini shook his head.

“My Lord, forgive me for what I must tell you. But, you would want only the truth from your loyal knights.” He looked around the room, and then returned his eyes to Philippe. “The enemy is
already
inside the city. The numbers are few today, but growing every new day. They are above the ground. They are in the tunnels. They have crossed each new
enceinte.
They have crossed our inner retrenchments. I would fight next to you with my last breath if that is your wish. But, when you make your decision, know well that our city is beyond…
salvezza…”
Tadini snapped his fingers, struggling for the right French word. “Salvation. Yes, beyond salvation.” He shrugged, and lowered his eyes. Then, he hobbled back to his place and leaned against the wall once again.

Philippe waited for Tadini to return to his place before he spoke. “
Mes Frères. Mes amis. Mes Chevalières. Mes citoyens
. I have heard what you say, and what you say is true. But, I have taken an oath to God, to Christ Almighty, that I would defend to death the honor and the position of our Order. And all of you here have taken that same oath. We, as knights, have lived our lives by that oath. We are all sworn to die in the service of Christ. The Holy Fathers here among us,” he said inclining his head toward Balestrieri and Clement, “have taken their own oaths in a different form. But, it is all the same. I am prepared to fight on, here in our home of two hundred years, until every drop of blood has seeped from our veins. Better to die in battle with honor than to surrender to the Infidel and live as slaves.”

Several of the knights rose from their places and cried, “Here, here!”

Philippe put up his hand, and continued. “If you will follow me to the battlements once more, I will lead you. If only we knights fight to the end, then so be it, and damned be the Rhodians who would become slaves of the Sultan. But, if you will deny your oaths to God, Jesus, and St. John, I don’t know what to think.” With those last words, the Grand Master sat back wearily on his seat and waited for a response. In his heart, he wanted overwhelming affirmation by the knights; he wanted to rush from the Palace and end it all with his brothers in one last glorious battle on the walls of Rhodes. And with Hélène dead, there was little more to lose.

Breathing and the rustling of battle capes were the only sounds now. The knights stirred in their places; whispered words were exchanged. But, if Philippe were waiting for the call to arms, it did not come. Finally, a silence prevailed, and Fra Lopes de Pas, from the
langue
of Aragon, rose to speak.

He moved to the center of the room and waited until he had Philippe’s attention. De Pas began in Spanish, but after only a few words, he started again in French. “
Mon Seigneur
,
mes amis, Chevalières de St. Jean
,” he said formally. “Everything we have heard here this morning is true. No false words were spoken. Our chances for victory over the enemy are gone. But, if the end must come, if we must go down to defeat, then we should guard that we do not make the enemy’s victory all the more splendid by our deaths. When all human hopes are gone, a wise man surrenders to necessity. There is no dishonor in that. The Spartan mother said to her son, ‘Come back
with
your shield, or
on
it.’ And Sparta is no more. No matter how praiseworthy our death might be, in the long run, it will be more damaging to the Holy Religion than our surrender. For, if we live to fight another day, then we have another chance to gain the field and to prevail. There will be no such chance if we all lie dead upon these ruined walls.”

Philippe stared at de Pas. The glow was gone from Philippe’s eyes. As the knights considered de Pas’ words, there was a clamor at the door. The guards rushed to see what was happening. The Master
of the Guard unlocked the big oak doors. Twelve men dressed in rags burst into the room. They scattered, off balance at the sudden opening of the big doors. Embarrassed by their own cries, they collected themselves into a knot at the center of the hall. One man, hat crumpled in his hands, stepped forward. He looked around until his eyes met Philippe’s. He straightened up to speak. His voice was choked, and it was all he could do to hold back the tears.

“My Lord,” he began, bowing his head, and looking now at the floor. “My Lord…we…we have been sent here by our neighbors. We…we have heard that you are meeting to discuss the fate of the city; that there have been deputations…emissaries…from the Sultan asking for our surrender. For
your
surrender. The people are afraid you will not accept them. My Lord, our supplies are gone. Some of the people are starving to death. The army is slain. The knights are slain. No help will come from outside. We have no shot, no powder, scant water. The dead litter our streets. There is disease….There is…”

The others moved in behind their spokesman and began to talk at once. They sobbed and wailed; tears flowed, hands were wringing. The same words echoed in Philippe’s ears. “No food…no soldiers…all dead…it is over…over…over.”

Philippe looked into the eyes of the deputation. Then he looked about his room full of knights.

Not a soul breathed, not an eye moved from the Grand Master. De Pas and Tadini looked away, for they could not bear to see this man, so fearsome in battle, diminished this way.

Philippe sat back in his chair. His hand swept across his face, he raised his body to its usual erect posture, and, in a voice barely audible, said, “
D’accord
.” I agree.

Rhodes
December, 1522

The Aghas gathered in Suleiman’s
serai,
happy once again to be warm and sheltered from the weather. The mood was lighter now, as word from the spies had reached the Sultan that the Rhodians were on the verge of rebellion. The Grand Master, he heard, was under intense pressure to surrender.

“What other word do we have of the conditions within the city, Piri Pasha?”