Hélène rolled over onto her back, pressing alongside Philippe and holding on to him tightly. Her dark hair was in cascades, tousled and wild. She was still wet from perspiration and now from her tears as well.
“Can’t I go to Rhodes with you, Philippe?”
Philippe closed his eyes and shook his head slowly back and forth. “C’est impossible, Chérie. Impossible.”
Hélène let go of him, and turned away once again.
Nothing is possible now, he had thought. And never can it be again. Then the candle had sputtered for a last time and the room was black.
Philippe could feel the stares of everyone around him.
“My Lord?” Bosio asked, “are you unwell? Is it the odors, perhaps?”
Philippe brought himself back to the present and moved closer to the old man. He forced his eyes away from Melina and cocked his head, as if he had not understood what Bosio had said.
The old man looked up at the Grand Master and his Servant-at-Arms, but made no signs of recognition.
“This farmer was injured while harvesting his crops,” Renato told Philippe and Bosio. “He cut his hand badly, and developed an infection that nearly killed him. Only when he was suffering from a gangrene did his family bring him from Lindos to our hospital. Unfortunately, I had to amputate the arm below the elbow. That was over a month ago, and we’ve had a stormy time of it.” He turned to the old man and said in Greek, “Haven’t we, philo moo?” My friend. The old man smiled and nodded slightly. But, there was a persistent sadness in his eyes.
“He will live now, thank God, but life will be difficult for him, I’m afraid. It’s hard to be a farmer without your right hand, and he has no family other than his aging wife. His sons were killed right here during the last siege. Now, who will care for him?”
The Grand Master stood stiffly erect. “God will care for him, Dottore, and we shall be the arms and the hands of God. Make sure that this man and his wife are well provided for, Bosio. If necessary, bring them within the city walls and provide them with shelter. Their sons died in our service. We will see that this old man and his wife do not suffer for that.”
When they reached the end of the ward, Philippe put out his hand and said, “Thank you, Dottore. I am very pleased to see what you’ve done here. Though we spend a good deal of our time in the military pursuits of the knighthood, you know that our main task on Earth is to care for the sick. Make sure that you always have enough of my knights to maintain this level of care. We will provide you with whatever you need.” Then his voice lowered, and he spoke to Renato in a tone of confidence.
“Now hear me well. As you know, we expect the Turks to attack this fortress. I don’t know when that may be, but we must be well prepared. My knights will take care of the preparations for the battle, but you must prepare for the possibility of many wounded and sick. We may well have another siege here, and I fear it will be far worse than the last one. Send now for whatever medicines you may want. Herbs, dressings. Opium. Yes, especially opium. Anything you need, have it sent for at once.”
“I will, my Lord. But, in calculating my needs, for what period of time shall I plan?”
“I think you should lay in supplies that would last you for a year.”
Renato’s eyes widened at the words of the Grand Master.
Philippe and his Servant-at-Arms turned from the ward and made their way back to the Palace.
Renato went back into the ward and found Jean cleaning instruments at a basin. Melina was with him, drying and sorting the clean instruments.
“You have met the Grand Master before, then, Jean?”
“Oui, Docteur. I have. He makes it his personal business to know every one of the knights. And since we are of the same langue, I see him often. In fact, I am one of his officers.”
Renato nodded, and began helping Melina. “And you, my dear, have you met him before?”
“Non, Docteur, I have not. I’ve seen him at the ceremonies, but we have not met.” She tried not to meet Renato’s eyes. Something in the Grand Master’s behavior had badly unsettled her. She could not explain her feelings, so she said nothing more of it.
“Yes. Quite right. There is no way that he could know all the Rhodians, is there?” Renato said.
“I suppose not,” Melina answered. She looked to Jean for help, but he continued his work without joining the conversation further.
Finally, Renato turned to leave. He stopped at the door and said to them both, “Jean. Melina. I care for both of you. You have served me well here, and I need all the good help I can get. There is good reason for me to suspect that I will need you even more before very long. You know you have nothing to fear from me. You and Jean are a wonderful family. Your secret—if it is still a secret in this small village—is safe with me. I would never do anything to put you in harm’s way.” He seemed about to say more, but thought better of it and left.
Melina turned to Jean and said, “Does he know?”
“Who?” Jean said, looking at the disappearing back of the doctor.
“Not Doctor Renato. Of course he knows. The Grand Master. Do you think the Grand Master knows?”
“We are not the only lovers on this island. Many of the knights have women in town. As long as it does not interfere with our duties as knights, the Council and the Grand Master seem to ignore us. But, does he actually know? I have no idea. We can see that Renato has no intention of telling him.”
“I like him. He’s a very good physician. He seems to care for all the patients with equal fervor. It makes no difference to him whether they are knights or Greeks; Muslims, Christians, or Jews; he treats them all as if their lives were a precious thing.”
“I know nothing of him, do you?” Jean asked.
“Only that he was here when I first moved to the city,” Melina said. “I hear he came about eight years ago. That he was a Jew, and has converted to Christianity. The Latin Church of the Knights, I think. No family here. But, I don’t know where he came from.”
Jean said, “I have heard him speak fluently in French, English, and Greek. I have also heard him speak Turkish to some of the patients here, but I don’t know if it is good Turkish or not, since I don’t speak it myself. He seems to have traveled a lot before he came here, though. He has spoken of things in Spain and Istanbul. And a lot about Greece.”
“Well, he has been very kind to the two of us. I like this work. He has even paid me for my time with food, and a few things I might need at the house. He’s a fair man.”
They finished cleaning up in silence. Just before the evening bells, they left the hospital together and walked back to the street where Melina lived. Renato watched them from his window as they disappeared around the corner of the winding street. He nodded, and smiled to himself. Then he went back to his new anatomy book.
Philippe stood at attention on the balcony of the palace. He was flanked by the Piliers of the eight langues. The Knights of Justice were lined up to his left, and the Knights of Grace were to his right. All the remaining knights of high rank, including the Chaplains of Obedience and the Servants-at-Arms, stood on the wide open staircase that led to the large courtyard below. D’Amaral and his servant, Blasco Diaz, stood apart at the very edge of the massive stone staircase.
The main force of the knights, some five hundred in all, were lined up in front of each Auberge in full military dress. Their usual black capes were replaced with scarlet battle surcoats bearing the eight-sided cross of St. John in white, both front and back. They wore black leather boots, and their broadswords hung almost to the ground from their left hips. Each carried his black steel helmet under his right arm, and wore chain-mail gauntlets that reached above the elbow. At their sides were oblong, leather-covered shields that came to a point at the ground.
The knights stood at attention in perfect rows at the entrance to each Auberge. When they were all assembled for the review by the Grand Master, the Street of the Knights looked like a military parade ground.
In the Loggia bet
ween the Street of the Knights and the Palace of the Grand Master were gathered the mercenaries and the remainder of the militia of Rhodian Greeks organized into separate fighting units. In all, three thousand armed men stood ready to defend their island fortress from the more than one hundred thousand Turkish troops of Suleiman’s army that were now traveling across Asia Minor.
At the Grand Plaza in front of the Palace, the citizens of Rhodes were gathered; another three thousand women, children, and aging men who sought refuge within the city walls. When the army and the crowd were fully assembled, Philippe moved to the front of the balcony. The crowd became silent, though most would not be able to hear what he said.
He spoke slowly in French. “Knights of St. John. People of Rhodes. You all are aware of why we are here. An army of Muslim Turks is preparing to invade this island that we call our home. The knights of our Order have lived here with you for more than two hundred years, serving the poor and the sick. We have fought off many small and large armies in the past. We will do so again. Though our numbers are not as great as that of the Muslim, we are well prepared for what they might do. Our fortifications have been strengthened. Supplies have been stored. Our knights are superior warriors to the hoards that the Muslim emperor brings with him. We have burned or destroyed all sources of food and shelter that are outside the city walls. For many of you, that will mean a hardship when this is over. But, after we have defeated these Turks, all of us will work together to restore our island. To restore your homes and your lands.”
Then in a solemn voice he declared, “There must be no thought of surrender, for death is far preferable to a life in chains. God Almighty will see that we will prevail.”
Then, the Grand Master raised his arm and signaled for the procession of the knights to begin. He stood with several of the higherranking knights: Thomas Docwra, Antonio Bosio, and John Buck at his back. Thomas Scheffield, Seneschal of the Grand Master, stood off to one side. The knights assembled in front of their Inns began to march in columns of four toward the Palace of the Grand Master. They proceeded along the Street of the Knights to the Loggia, and then into the plaza in front of the palace. The mercenaries and Rhodian Militia fell in behind the knights. Soon the square was packed with men at arms greeted by the cheers of the citizens assembled along the Palace walls. Voices in Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, and English rebounded off the stone walls. Prayers were murmured quietly by old men and women who had not forgotten the bloodshed and horror of the siege of 1480.
“Well, Thomas? Antonio? This is an army to be reckoned with, is it not?”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Antonio Bosio.
Philippe turned to Thomas Docwra, who had remained silent. There was a slight smile on Docwra’s lips; almost a smirk.
“What is it, Thomas?”
Docwra let out a small laugh. “This is indeed a mighty army, my Lord. In fact, if we stay here long enough, it might equal the armies of the Turk!”
Philippe smiled, but Bosio looked puzzled. “What are you saying, Thomas?” Bosio asked.
“Unless my eyes deceive me, those knights of the langue of Germany and of Auvergne have already marched by us twice!”
John Buck remained quiet, but a smile appeared on his lips as well.
Philippe interceded quickly.
“Yes, yes, Thomas. But, no more of this. I thought the sight of a few extra knights on display might hearten the spirits of the people. A show of force is all the better if the force is large.”
“Yes, but….”
“Enough. These people need all the strength that we can give them. A small deception such as this will harm no one. Let us finish with these ceremonies, and return to the real preparations.”
Üsküdar, Turkey
June, 1522
In the fields outside the walls of Istanbul, the morning mist was just burning off. The summer was beginning to show its strength. It took only an hour or two for the daylight to warm and dry the air. Motes of dust rose and hung in the stillness, kicked aloft by the movement of men and animals.
Barges and caïques were making hundreds of trips back and forth across the Bosporus, ferrying men, horses, and tons of supplies from Istanbul to Üsküdar, a mile away across the water. The energies of tens of thousands of men and women were concentrated on the building of a temporary encampment in preparation for the coming battle at Rhodes.
The Sultan’s tents were erected first; strong, sturdy, white, red, and blue tents of heavy felt and sail canvas, supported by huge center posts as thick as a ship’s mast. The tents provided shelter and comfort in even the most extreme climates. Along with their functional structure, the tents were also decorated with hangings and paintings fit for a museum. Some had several rooms, and many carried regimental banners. There were carpets on the floors and kilims hanging on the interior walls. Instead of camp cots, there were divans and thick beds for the ranking officers.
The Vizier’s tents ringed the Sultan’s. Janissaries surrounded the Viziers’ circle. The remainder of the military spread out in concentric rings. Courtiers were at the periphery with the tradesmen, as were the food markets and supply wagons.
One man’s serai stood between the Grand Vizier and the Sultan. This was the tent of Moses Hamon, for the Chief Court Physician was always placed close to the Sultan. The dozens of other military physicians were camped near the field hospital at the edge of the Janissaries’ camp.
In front of Suleiman’s pavilion, the Janissaries erected the Imperial Bunchuk: the Sultan’s war standard with its gold crescent and seven black horses’ tails. The banners of the various regiments were hoisted into the air, and one by one the elements of the Sultan’s armies appeared.
The Janissaries were the first to assemble in the camp, setting their tents in the usual defensive perimeter about the Sultan’s Household Guard. Their encampment was precision itself, and nowhere could a visitor find the slightest scrap of garbage or disarray of any kind. It was a far cry from the armed camps of the ferenghi, which would reek with excrement within days of encampment.
The daily martial drills of the Janissaries approached, as closely as possible, the real conditions of battle far more than those of any army in the world. The violence was realistic, and injuries were commonplace. The tabip were very busy treating the wounds sustained in practice. When the troops were not at their drills, Suleiman insisted upon complete silence in the camp, just as in the Palace.
At the center of each Janissary regiment was a massive copper cooking pot nearly as tall as a man, and the regimental banner. The cooking pot was the symbolic assembly point of each regiment, as cherished as the regimental colors. The men would gather there to receive their meals and to greet their officers. The fine food that was provided for the Janissaries was legendary. Even the ranks of the officers were named after the kitchen positions. Sergeants were Head Cook, and corporals were called Head Waiter. So important was the place of the regimental cooking pot in the campaigns of the Ottomans that it became the rallying point for rebellion as well. Traditionally, when the Janissaries had serious grievances to air, the men would topple over the cooking pot and spill their dinner onto the earth. This was their way of expressing displeasure with the decisions of the Aghas or even the Sultan, himself. The act was a declaration that his fiercest soldiers would no longer eat the Sultan’s fine food. The military power of ten thousand highly trained and armed men gave the Sultan and the Aghas cause to pay close attention.
Though fed richly in the war camps, in times of continuing battle or forced march, the Janissaries reverted to a meager diet. They carried leather sacks of flour, salt, and spices. Twice a day, they would mix this with water and eat it uncooked. The mixture swelled up in the stomach, and relieved their hunger even if it provided little in the way of nutrition. They carried a small ration of butter and dried beef to supplement the meals of spiced flour before going into battle.
The Sultan’s Household Cavalry was a force of Sipahis heavily armed with lance, bow, and sword
. In contrast to the armies of the knights, who depended upon the weight and mass of their broadswords to crush and overpower the enemy, this cavalry used the slim, razor-sharp steel of their curved scimitars to slash their way through the battle lines. Instead of the shock techniques of the massive attacks employed by western armies, the Sultan’s troops relied on precision and perfect coordination to cripple the enemy before the kill.
From the Crimea and Ukraine came the fierce horsemen of the Tartar Khans. Each led a string of stout, rugged ponies clad in richly woven saddle cloths. The men appeared too large for the small animals, but the appearance belied the strength and endurance of these short-legged beasts. Each man was armed with the short thick bow, with designs inherited from the days of Ghengis Khan. Any of these men could match the most deadly feats of battle of that legendary army from the steppe of Asia. This light cavalry was used as an advance raiding party to pin down the enemy and return with intelligence as to their numbers and deployment. Their reputation was so fierce, and their coming was so feared, that enemy armies would often disperse and flee before a single arrow was fired.
Arriving after the Tartars came the Sipahis, led by Beylerbey, Qasim Pasha, the Provincial Governor of Anatolia in Asia Minor. Their strategy was to ride as one huge mass of man and horse into the center of a line of infantry. Then, just when it appeared that they were going to strike at the center of the enemy force, they would unleash a huge barrage of arrows while still at full gallop. The arrows would rain down from the sky like hail, and inflict serious damage on the defenders. Holes would appear in the enemy ranks where there had once been a solid phalanx of soldiers. The Sipahis would finish the battle by cutting down the remaining troops with their scimitars, in a furious charge of their horses.
Finally, Ali Bey, the Agha of the Azabs, arrived in the war camp. The Azabs were the marine irregulars, who, as in many armies of the time, would serve as cannon fodder for the Sultan. They would attack the enemy on foot, rushing into the breaches in the defensive walls created by the Sultan’s artillery bombardment. Their strength was in their numbers, and they were expendable. All too often their bodies served as stepping stones for their brothers-in-arms, the Janissaries.
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