Shadow of God (50 page)

The bombardment of the ramparts of Auvergne had been particularly brutal. Suleiman had concentrated his cannons there for most of the day. Achmed Pasha’s guns roared throughout the morning and afternoon. By nightfall, the walls had taken a severe beating. Yet, no breach had been made in the massive stones.

“Their guns along the rampart are decimating our miners,” Achmed said. “We have to silence them if we are to keep the men digging toward the wall.”

Mustapha Pasha twisted his thick, black mustache. He looked grim in the failing light.

Achmed stared up at the wall. “My miners are suffering murderous fire,” he continued. “The knights are using both
arquebuses
and matchlock rifles from what we can see. They are raining down shot upon the workers in the ditches without letup.”

Mustapha merely nodded. Then he looked behind Achmed and immediately straightened up. He brushed off his uniform and straightened his hat. Achmed turned to see Suleiman approaching their position. He was with Ibrahim and Piri Pasha. All three were mounted and guarded with a large escort of Janissaries. The horses were jittery, reacting to the loud reports of the cannon and the small-arms fire. Though out of range and immediate danger, the position was close enough to appreciate the furor of the blasts.

“
Salaam Aleichum,
brother-in-law.
Salaam Aleichum,
Achmed Pasha.”

Mustapha and Achmed bowed and said almost in unison, “
Aleichum salaam,
Majesty.” They nodded to Piri Pasha and Ibrahim. The
riders dismounted, and three pages appeared from the ranks to lead their horses away. Suleiman walked up to Mustapha and turned to view the scene.

From their vantage point, the leaders could look down into the ditches that were still being dug by the miners. Achmed waited for Mustapha, as Commander-in-Chief, to brief the Sultan. But, the
Seraskier
remained silent. Finally, Achmed offered, “Majesty, we are slowly extending the ditches and the tunnels. But, at a terrible cost in lives. Our men are suffering greatly. The losses have been worse here than anywhere. And much greater than we anticipated. There have been times when the bodies fill the ditches and hinder the escape of our own men. They slip on the blood of their brothers in their rush to find cover.”

Suleiman listened in silence. There was a resignation in his face. He turned to Mustapha and said, “Have we any remedy for this?”

“Some, Majesty. We have made some cover for the workers. We constructed shields of animal hides stretched over frames to cover them from the view of the gunners. They offer no real protection from the shot, but at least they do not allow the gunners on the walls to actually see our diggers. But, the knights have found some way to discover where our men are digging. They have blown up several of our tunnels just before our sappers were placing the charges. The tunnels collapse and the men are buried. The walls still stand.”

The five men stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and stared at the walls. For a while nobody spoke. They seemed to be waiting for word from the Sultan. Suleiman nodded toward the city. “We have no choice but to persist. We cannot leave this island until the walls fall and our soldiers can enter the city. As awful as it is, we will have to use all our manpower until we can make a breach.”

Suleiman turned to Mustapha again and continued. “Keep the tunnels moving toward the bastion here and increase the bombardment and the tunneling against the Post of England. These are the best chances we have to make a breach. Our spies tell us that England is weak and poorly defended. So, increase the number of men and cannon working against that wall. There will be no letup. We
will fire upon them day and night. They will have no rest. If nothing else, we might just spark a revolt by the citizens themselves. The people of Rhodes might stop this war from within the city. I cannot think that they love the knights. Perhaps they would rather have us as their rulers.” He turned now to Ibrahim and said, “See what we can find out from inside the city.”

Suleiman signaled to his pages, and the three horses were brought out. The men mounted and turned to continue the review of the battle positions. Mustapha slammed a fist into his left palm and glared at Achmed. Achmed met Mustapha’s eyes, but did not utter a word. As he was about to leave, Mustapha saw several of the miners running from the ditches as the fire from the walls intensified. He drew his scimitar and went screaming after them. He raged and shouted, until the slaves’ fear of him exceeded their fear of the gunfire from the knights. Mustapha barred the exit from the ditch with his massive frame, striking the slaves across the chest and back with the flat of his blade. He screamed obscenities at them and spit in their faces. Finally, there was order, and the slaves returned to the ditches and the tunnels. And the guns continued to fire.

Suleiman had stopped to walk among the troops dressed in his battle gear. Piri Pasha accompanied him. Ibrahim went ahead to prepare for the Sultan’s arrival: to order a bath be heated and food set out for his dinner. Mustapha went with Ibrahim and the two sat in the main reception chamber waiting for the Sultan’s return.

They sat on cushions against the wall, lounging in relative comfort for the first time since the siege had begun. It was September 30th, and Rhodes had been under attack for sixty-four days. The Sultan’s armies were weary and depressed. By now nearly every man had lost a comrade, and the disposal of the bodies of the dead became a major task. Ibrahim drank from a jade goblet, while Mustapha removed his armor and sword.

“Come rest, Mustapha,” Ibrahim said. “It is time to take leave of this war for a little while.”

Mustapha’s brows creased and his mouth turned down, accentuated by the curve of his great mustache. “My men are lying
wounded and dead in the damnable trenches and tunnels; how am I to relax?”

“You are
here
, are you not? Why did you come, if not for a short rest?”

“I came to have a few words with my brother-in-law,” he said, emphasizing the bond between him and the Sultan.

“And what do you hear from Ayse?” Ibrahim said, referring to Mustapha’s wife, Suleiman’s sister.

“She was well the last I heard. About two weeks ago I received a letter from her, and from my little boys.”

“I am glad. I have just received this letter for the Sultan,” Ibrahim said, holding a small packet in the air. “He should be glad to receive it. It bears the seal of his first lady, Gülbehar. Though she can’t write, I am sure it is full of news transcribed by one of her slaves.”

“Mnnnnhhh,” Mustapha said, as he slid down onto a cushion.

The men sat a while in silence, eating and drinking the light snacks set out in the
serai.
Finally, Mustapha said, “You’re close to our Sultan, Ibrahim. What plans does he have for this campaign? It is going so badly that there is little hope for a speedy and conclusive end to it. Does he plan to withdraw when the winter weather arrives?”

“I think he is determined to stay as long as it takes.”

Mustapha did not answer this. He just stared at Ibrahim. Ibrahim sensed some measure of scorn from Mustapha for Ibrahim’s own position in the royal household. Before Mustapha could speak, Ibrahim leaned forward and, in an almost menacing tone of voice, said, “Although I am the Sultan’s slave, whatsoever I want done is done. On the spur of the moment I can make a stable boy into a Pasha. I can make men rich. I can make men poor. The Sultan is no better dressed than I am, and what is more, he pays all my expenses, so that
my
fortune never decreases. He trusts his power to me, with things both great and small, and I can do with it as I like. I am not a Pasha, nor even
Seraskier.
But do not trifle with me, Mustapha. We are on the same side now. Your scorn for my position will not serve you well.”

Mustapha’s remained completely immobile. He said nothing and his face betrayed no feeling. But, in his chest his heart raced, for there was no doubt of the threat implied in Ibrahim’s message. Mustapha would have killed another man on the spot for such insolence. But the truth in Ibrahim’s words could not be denied. Before another exchange could begin, a messenger entered the room and signed a message to Ibrahim. Ibrahim’s ability to understand and reply to the Sultan’s sign language only served to underscore the strong position held by the Captain of the Inner House.

“The Sultan is here,” Ibrahim said after the page had left.

The two men stood and waited for Suleiman.

Within a few minutes, Suleiman appeared in the doorway, followed by three of his pages. The Janissaries stationed themselves outside the room, while the pages helped the Sultan out of his military dress. When Suleiman was comfortably dressed in a white silk robe, he motioned to Ibrahim and Mustapha to be seated. The three men took their places on the bounty of cushions. Fresh dishes and drinks were brought and served in silence.

When the servants were gone, Suleiman said, “Gentlemen, there is a line, once crossed, that can never be crossed again. History has told us this many times. We are at such a line now. We will not leave this island until all the knights are killed and the city is under my control.” Neither Ibrahim or Mustapha responded to the Sultan’s statement, for it was not a question to be answered, but a royal decree to be obeyed.

Suleiman was silent for another moment. Ibrahim and Mustapha too remained quiet. Then, the Sultan rose and gestured to the two men to follow him. “It is time for prayers, my friends. Tonight Allah and His Prophet will receive our obedience and our submission. Let us pray that He will smile upon us in what remains of this battle.”

Rhodes
September, 1522

Philippe sat at the great oak table with his officers. They had finished a late lunch and were assessing the damage to the city. Tadini was speaking. “My Lord, I have reinforced the ramparts as best I can. The gunners on the walls have been deployed to fire on the approaches and the trenches that the Turks are using for cover.”

“How, Gabriele?” Philippe asked in a tired monotone.

“I’ve placed my best marksmen on the towers and rooftops overlooking the approaches. They have been fitted with a new quick-aiming device for their muskets. When the miners appear from beneath the cover of the carcasses they have been using, my men can destroy them at will. The Turks are blinded by the sun as they emerge and it takes a moment to find their way. In that moment, we have them in our new sights. I have also mounted batteries of heavy and light cannon together. They cover the approaches as well. As long as our knights stay within the confines of the walls when they repel attacks, my gunners are free to fire an enfilade at will, without danger of hitting the knights. But, it is critical that we do not give chase in the heat of battle, for then the knights would fall under our own guns before we could cease fire.”

Philippe turned to John Buck and said, “See that the order is given, John. Make sure it is sent to all the
langues.”

“I will, my Lord.”

Tadini went on. “The mining continues. They have poured thousands of men into the ground. I think that nearly every foot of our walls are undermined with their tunnels or mines. They have set off a number of mines without effect. The ventilating shafts that I’ve dug have allowed the blast to go harmlessly into the air in most cases. And, we have used the mine-detecting bells to good effect. We have been able to detonate our charges and kill them in the holes before they can plant their mines. But, this is terribly dangerous work. We have had one accident. I was not there, so I do not know exactly what happened. It seems there was a great explosion beneath the walls of Provence. My men were all killed along with the Turkish miners. I don’t now if the Turks set off their blast too soon and killed themselves and my listeners, or whether my men set off our counter-mine, igniting the Turkish charge, killing everyone as well. But, these things are bound to happen.”