Shadow of God (47 page)

All through the first weeks of August, the Turkish slaves labored day and night to construct the earthworks that would bring the Sultan’s cannon in position to fire down into the city. Thousands upon thousands of pounds of earth and rock were brought in from around the fortress. Turkish engineers coordinated the efforts, and Janissaries guarded the workers from the harassing sorties of the knights.

The huge ramp was sited just opposite the Post of Aragon. The mound of earth sloped gently up from the Turkish lines and topped the walls opposite the tower by more than fifteen feet. On top of the earthwork were mounted the Sultan’s finest cannons. Enormous
parties of men and draft animals had been required to drag the heavy cannons up the ramp and into position. Every hour of the day and night was spent bringing in powder and shot. The huge stone cannonballs were hauled to the top on wooden sledges, until the Turkish artillerymen were ready to begin firing down upon the knights’ gunners manning the walls. By late August, after nearly a month of siege, everything had been set in place.

Once the earthwork was completed and armed, both sides fought completely exposed. The Turkish gunners and artillerymen were in clear sight of the defenders’ guns, and the knights were exposed in their positions on the walls.

As the battle raged high in the air over Aragon, the knights from the
langue
of England, who had been helping defend the position, took a terrible beating. Most were killed, as was the Commander of Aragon, along with the Master Gunner.

The Turkish cannon pounded the walls and the tower from sunup to sunset. Huge piles of stone and earth rubble fell from the fortress and began to fill the protective ditch at the base of the wall. Slowly and inevitably, the Turkish troops moved closer to the city walls, covered by the firing from the earthwork.

At night, when the Turkish gunners could not see their targets, the knights sent slaves to the walls to repair the breaches that had been made during the day. Each day, as the sun rose over the Mediterranean Sea, the Turkish gunners would open fire and drive the workers back. Then, the cannons would begin their ceaseless pounding of the walls and more openings would appear.

Gabriele Tadini stood before the Grand Master. It was nearly midnight, and neither had slept very much in the past several days. “My Lord, we are sustaining terrible casualties. Up until now they had not been doing very much damage. But, as of today, they have become extremely dangerous.”

“Haven’t we been able to fire upon the workers on the earthworks?”

“We have, my Lord. And the Infidels have been slaughtered by the hundreds. But, the Sultan cares nothing for the lives of his men. He has tens of thousands to send in behind them. Why, he is filling
our ditches with their bodies! But we cannot trade even twenty of them for one of our knights. They have too many waiting in the rear to replace those we kill.”

“What can we do?”

“I know that you are against our making any further sorties. But, I think we need to silence their guns. I proposed to take a large contingent of mounted knights to attack the Turkish artillery. I think if we made a lightning strike, driving right up the earthwork, and returned quickly to the fortress, our casualties would be light and we could silence the guns on top.”

“Very well. How many men will you need?”

“I would take the mobile force, and knights from the largest
langues.
Perhaps two hundred mounted men.”

Philippe let out a long breath. “That’s a third of my men, Gabriele.”

“I know
, Seigneur.
But, this is a major battle and could be decisive in our defense of the city. And, I want to take one of your own knights as my second in command, Jean de Morelle?”

“
Oui. D’accord,”
Philippe said, weary and resigned. “Jean will be perfect. Send for him. He is probably at the hospital.”

“No doubt,” replied Tadini, smiling to himself.

On the night of August 19th, Gabriele Tadini gathered the mobile force of knights, as well as the contingent from the
langues
of France, Germany, and Provence. Riding out from the Post of Italy, he led his men toward the no-man’s-land between the fortress walls and the Turkish cannon. Jean de Morelle rode alongside Tadini.

“Keep our men close to the walls. I want to give our muskets and
arquebuses
a clear shot at the Turkish gunners should they try to attack us before we reach the cannon. Somehow, I don’t think they’ll leave the ditches.”

“
Oui.”
Jean wheeled his horse and rode back to pass the word to the knights, who were riding along the walls in columns of two. As the knights rode out, they crossed the ground toward the Turkish cannon. The earth was broken up by the trenches that the Turkish soldiers used for cover.

Tadini was mounted upon a huge white charger, a
grand cheval de bataille.
He approached the giant earthwork and urged his horse into a slow canter. The knights followed as the columns snaked along the base of the fortress. When the columns turned the corner between England and Aragon, Tadini increased his pace. The knights tightened their columns and joined the chase. Jean galloped his horse to the head of the column and joined Tadini. There, in the ditches, were more than a thousand Turkish Azabs guarding the ramp to the earthworks.

When the two hundred men were poised at the walls, they wheeled the columns and rode straight for the waiting Turkish troops. With his lance pointed to the sky, Tadini turned to his men and shouted, “
Andiamo!”
As a single body, the knights galloped forward and down upon the terrified soldiers waiting in the ditches.

Immediately the ground began to seethe with men scrambling across each other to get out of the way of the oncoming knights. Dirt and stones flew from the hooves of the onrushing horses. The terrified Turkish soldiers clawed their way out of the trenches and began running toward their own lines. They slipped and fell across their comrades, and bodies began to pile up in small heaps, impeding the troops trying to escape. Their commanders screamed and beat at them with their swords, but the troops continued to run.

Tadini and his knights increased their speed, trampling the fallen bodies of the enemy. The ground became muddy with the blood of the Azabs. As the knights came down upon the running soldiers, they lowered their lances and speared the men as they ran. When the Turks had been driven beyond their cannons, the knights wheeled the columns once more and rode up the incline to the waiting batteries. The heavy guns were pointed toward the fortress and could not be turned to fire upon the knights. Some of the Turks guarding the cannon scattered and scrambled down the steep embankment at the sides of the earthworks.

When the knights reached the cannon, they set fire to the wooden carriages supporting the heavy guns. The carriages crumbled as they burned and the cannon toppled over, rolling into the
earth or down the sides into the ditches. Several of the fleeing Azabs were crushed to death beneath the massive tumbling cannons.

Turkish artillerymen who remained at their posts were cut to pieces by the swords and lances of the charging knights. Some rose to fight and died. The rest ran and were trampled or beheaded by the swords of the knights’ cavalry.

With the guns destroyed and the Turkish soldiers fleeing in panic, Tadini set fire to the stores of powder, regretting as he did so that he could not carry the precious gunpowder back into the fortress. He wheeled his horse and led his small army back down the slopes toward the walls. As they neared the bottom of the incline, a small force of Turkish Azabs suddenly appeared in front of Tadini. His horse reared at the abrupt appearance of this wall of men. Tadini tried to regain control. As he struggled with his reins, his lance fell to the ground. Tadini reached for the falling weapon and lost his seat on the horse. The horse, unbalanced by the sudden shift in weight, staggered to the right. Tadini lurched in his saddle, his boot slipping from the stirrup. He realized that he had no chance of staying with the horse, and leaped from the saddle, landing on his side in the hard rubble of the earthworks. As he struck the ground, his chest armor prevented a serious injury to his ribs. But he landed on his right arm, and the combined weight of his body and the unyielding surface of the armor smashed into his elbow and upper arm.

He struggled to free himself as the Azabs closed in on him. He rolled to his left, but the pain and numbness in his right arm and hand prevented him from getting to the saber dangling from his left hip. In an awkward movement, he rotated his left wrist inward and tore the saber from its scabbard. He steadied himself and faced his attackers.

There were six Azabs, lined up abreast in front of him. His horse had gotten to its feet and was stamping back and forth behind Tadini. As it had been trained to do, it kicked its hind legs out at the approach of Azabs from the rear. Slowly the line of men formed into a crescent and closed in on the Italian engineer. Tadini assessed his position. There was no way he could fight his way through all
six, and he knew he had to prevent an encirclement. He backed into the side of his nervous horse and felt for the saddle leather without taking his eyes from the enemy. He knew he had no chance to regain his mount. With only his left hand still working, they would cut him down as soon as he had one foot in the stirrup.

Tadini stood erect, looking directly into the eyes of the Azab officer. He smiled and lifted his chin in the officer’s direction. He raised the saber, now held in his left hand, its point aimed between the eyes of the man in front of him, and said in perfect Turkish, “So, who will be the first to die?”

The Azab officer stared at Tadini in utter disbelief. Tadini lunged forward without warning. His saber made a soft swish as it moved through the air. A crimson streak stretched from the officer’s left ear down across his neck and into the collar of his tunic. Blood poured from the wound, and bubbles of air mixed with the blood. The man looked surprised, but as he started to speak, no sound came from his lips. Only a red froth and ever-enlarging crimson bubbles issued from the front of his neck. He staggered back and forth for a moment, and then vacantly stared at his men. As he fell forward, he looked back at Tadini, but the knight was no longer there. At the very moment the Azab’s face smashed into the dirt, Tadini had slashed the neck of another Turk and was about to run his saber through the chest of a third. But his time was running out.

The remaining Azabs had regrouped. Their fury exploded in one burst of energy. The three rushed Tadini, who had fallen back to the flanks of his horse. He knew it was over. Still, he smiled again at the onrushing men. He had killed two of them, and could surely take one more with him as he died on the swords of the remaining three.

He crouched low and picked his target. He would feint for the chest, and then decapitate a Turk with a backhanded slash. He raised his point and aimed at the middle of the three men. If he missed his target, he would take another. He would die in the company of his enemy.

As he looked into the eyes of the target, his saber was knocked from his hand. A terrible pain shot through his arm, and the
weapon dropped into the earth. Tadini looked up. He wanted to look into the eyes of the man who was to kill him. But, instead, his visual field was filled with a blur of brown. The men rushing at him dropped back, as a gloved hand grabbed him under his left armpit. There was more pain from his armor digging into his chest as he was lifted from the ground. Only then did he realize that the arms holding him were those of a knight on a horse. He flew through the air, borne aloft at the side of the battle stallion, and after a few feet was suddenly released.

Tadini fell to the ground on his face. He looked up, wiping the blood and dirt from his eyes to see what was happening. There were the men who had attacked him. In the dust and the screaming, he could see his own horse skittering wildly about, and Jean de Morelle sitting upon his rearing charger. Jean’s saber was slashing the air, making for the back of a running Azab. The two others lay in the dirt, trampled to death by Jean’s horse. After a third slash missed the back of the fleeing soldier, now well away, Jean returned to Tadini.

Jean jumped from his horse and ran over to where Tadini was sitting in the dirt cleaning the debris from his face. “Gabriele. Are you all right?”

Tadini shook his head and tried to rise, but his right hand was still numb and weak from his fall. Jean took him by the left arm and pulled him up. Without a word, the two rushed to their horses. Jean helped Tadini into the saddle, handed him the reins, and then swung himself up onto his own mount. The horses circled for a moment before calming down. Then, the two men raced off after their retiring army of knights.

Tadini raced ahead of Jean, trying to regain command of his troops. Jean pulled alongside, spurring his horse as hard as he could. As they approached the main body of the knights, the pace slowed. Tadini shouted to Jean. But Jean could not hear him because of the musket fire now scouring the terrain behind them, the knights on the walls covering their retreat.