“Looks as if we have a few more broadswords to stand with us,” Philippe said to his lieutenant, John Buck, who had appeared at his side.
“Yes, my Lord. But,” he said squinting into the darkness, “they look a little young to me.” He pointed at the five knights following behind Bosio and added, “That last one there looks no more than a lad.”
“Aye, John. But, so were you and I when we first dipped our swords in blood. There has to be a first time for everyone.” Buck nodded silently.
Philippe and Buck continued to watch as the small procession moved off the stone wharf and began the ascent into the city. Several knights and Rhodians stayed behind to unload what Philippe hoped would be more powder and supplies for his city. Then, as the little band was lost to view, Philippe and Buck climbed down from the walls and returned to his desk at the palace. He was at his desk, looking over the endless lists of supplies and armaments, when there was a knock at the door.
“Entrez,” he said without looking up.
Antonio Bosio entered the room and removed his helmet and gloves. He tossed his cape over a chair, and rushed to the Grand Master. “Sire,” he said.
Embracing Bosio, Philippe exclaimed, “I heard that you gave that damned Cortoglu a good stiff kick in the arse.”
Bosio laughed. “Indeed, my Lord. Indeed, I did. I’m only sorry I do not have his head to mount on our battlements. But, as you said, his position as Kapudan is more to our good, lest the Sultan replace him with someone competent.”
“Yes, yes. He serves us well. He’s a fool, to say the least.” Then in a serious voice, “And of your mission?”
“That, my Lord, did not go as well. In a word, I bring you very little of what you asked for. I managed to find four more knights and a handful of mercenaries. Also, I obtained what provisions my money could buy. Some food. Some gunpowder. Nothing more. Both Rome and Naples made long speeches; shed some tears for our plight; then sent me away with their prayers and good wishes. I’m sorry, my Lord. I could do nothing more.”
“Don’t worry, Antonio. I know if you were turned away, no man could have done better. We will do with what we have, and to hell with all the princes of Europe.”
Philippe waited for Bosio to leave. But, Bosio stood there, moving from one foot to another like a small boy.
“What is it, Antonio?”
“My Lord…I may have exceeded my authority, but…” He continued to fidget.
“What is it man? Speak!”
“My Lord, I have brought more than I told you. Believe me when I say that I tried to refuse…but, it was just no use.”
“What is this, Antonio? Get to the point.”
Bosio stepped back toward the door and said something to one of his aides. Philippe couldn’t hear the words. He strained forward and moved in front of his desk. Bosio stepped to the side as a young man entered the room, dressed in the battle cloak of the knights. A broadsword hung at his side, nearly touching the floor as he stepped tentatively into the room. He held his head low, and did not meet the Grand Master’s eyes.
What’s this…?” Philippe began, puzzled. But, he stopped as the knight looked up and swept his hat from his head. Hélène’s wavy black hair fell to her shoulders as she looked into Philippe’s eyes.
Philippe turned toward Bosio, who had already slipped out of the door. He looked back at Hélène, who had dropped her hat to the floor and was standing there unsure of what to do.
Philippe could find no words to say what he felt. He crossed the room in three great strides, grabbing Hélène in a fierce embrace, pressing her to him. He brushed her broadsword aside, bringing her body still closer to his. The lovers held each other tightly, Philippe’s face buried in Hélène’s hair; her face pressed into his chest. The scent of her hair and her skin…it had been so long.
At last he pulled back enough to look into her dark eyes, yet never releasing her from his strong grasp, as if in doing so she might disappear. He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “How? How did you do this?”
“The knights in Paris learned that you were sending a ship for more men. I heard it from one of the women. A knight’s woman…” She lowered her eyes momentarily. “Then when I heard the ships would come no further than Rome, I made my way there by coach…”
“Hélène, you might have been killed. France is a shambles. It’s too dangerous for you to travel like that.”
“Everyone tried to stop me, but I knew that I might never see you again. This was the only way.”
“But Antonio…He should never have let you board my ship. He knows the danger. He…”
She placed her fingers across Philippe’s lips, and as he kissed them, she said, “My love, it wasn’t his fault. I snuck aboard in the night. Actually it was easy. There was so much loading and preparation that no one noticed one more knight carrying supplies. I hid among the stores until we were well out to sea, and then I went to Antonio. He was furious, and he wanted to put me ashore at once. But, by then we had sailed beyond any safe landfall, and he could not spare the time to take me back. He just didn’t know what to do with me.”
“Where did you stay for the rest of the voyage?”
“In Antonio’s cabin.”
Philippe flinched, but Hélène continued, “No, my love. Antonio stayed above decks for the rest of the voyage, bless his heart. The weather was awful, poor man. He brought me my meals himself, and he dressed me in this disguise. I think few if any of the knights knew I was there. He gave me these clothes and brought me straight here. To you.”
Philippe smiled. “You know how much I love you, but you’ve picked a bad time to come. The Turks are determined to slaughter every one of us. Though I love you for coming to me, I must find a way to get you safely back to Paris.”
Hélène stepped back, releasing herself from Philippe’s embrace. “I’m not leaving you, Philippe, so I’m not leaving Rhodes.”
“But, we may not be able to hold out very much longer. I’ve got to get you away.”
“Philippe. Hear me. I’m staying here with you. I may not be able to fight with that thing,” she said pointing to the broadsword on the floor, “but I can help. I can feed the wounded, or better still, I can help care for them. Surely you need help at the hospital?”
Philippe looked at her and was silent. He took a deep breath, “Of course you can. And how could I stop you anyway? I’ll introduce you to Renato, the doctor, and Melina, his nurse. There’s a great deal for you to do.”
Hélène stepped into Philippe’s arms again and hugged him closely. She sighed into his chest. “I love you, Philippe.”
Philippe just breathed her familiar scent again, and said nothing.
Philippe lay with his head on Hélène’s lap. It was nearly dawn and the battlefields were mercifully quiet. Hélène ran her fingers through his hair, combing and caressing the long white strands with her nails. Both were still naked and happily exhausted. It seemed like years to them—another lifetime—since they had made love in her Paris apartment. In some ways, for the moment at least, it was quieter on Rhodes than it ever was in the noisy streets of Paris.
“It would be so nice,” Hélène said, “never to leave this room again. I could stay here forever.”
Philippe nodded, the back of his head pressing on her soft abdomen and thighs. “If only it were possible.” There was sadness in his voice this time; a resignation that Hélène had never heard before. “Rhodes was once a paradise. This island has been our home for over two hundred years. You and I could have been happier here than even in Paris.”
“You’re speaking as if it’s all past, Philippe. As if you have already lost.”
Philippe didn’t answer, but reached up, his eyes still closed, and gently caressed Hélène’s breasts. She shivered slightly and smiled at his rough touch. His hands were coarse and hard from hours of holding his sword in training and battle. Still, he tried to be as gentle as he could. She took his hands in her own and pressed her lips to them. Then sh
e placed them back on his abdomen where they had been.
Philippe smiled and said, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Those are the hands that may yet save these poor people.”
“There are many out there who say these are the hands of the man who condemns this city to destruction.”
“Why?” she asked with real disbelief. “You and your knights are the only ones standing between them and the Turks. Why should they blame you?”
“This is a Greek island. Though we’ve been here for over two hundred years, we are still the outsiders to them. Les autres.” The Others. “They will never see us as one of them. Rhodes has been occupied by different people for centuries. Only the Rhodian Greeks remain constant. When we go, they’ll still be here, and a new conqueror will rule them.”
“You said when we go, Philippe. Is it that inevitable?”
“No. Not yet. Perhaps not even in this siege. The Sultan, we hope, still leads a ‘Summer Army.’ We can only pray that if we can hold out until winter, he will pack up and go back to Istanbul as his great-grandfather did forty years ago. And then again, he may not. He seems very determined to destroy us.”
“Oh, my love…” Hélène said. She slid down alongside Philippe, holding his muscular body against her cool skin. With her fingertips she traced the hardraised scars of his many years in battle
Philippe felt her tears on his neck. He knew why she was crying, but he could not talk. His mind was focused on the danger she would face in the coming months, and he was afraid that if he tried to speak, he, too, would begin to cry. Instead, he touched her hair and her back, and ran his fingers gently as he could over her body.
“Philippe,” she said quietly after a long silence, “do you think it’s time for you and your knights to leave…to give up Rhodes?”
Philippe didn’t answer, but rolled onto his back and released her from his grip.
“I’ve heard there have been terrible losses,” she went on. “On both sides. I could see the bodies from the walls when we came up to the fortress. And the smell. Oh, Philippe…so much death…so many wounded. Yours and the Turks. Can it be worth it?”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said quietly. “We cannot surrender to the Sultan. If we do there will be still more carnage, more death and dying. The Rhodians will become his slaves; their women—yes, you too—will be taken into his harem; and all my knights slain. Is that what I should do?” His voice had begun to rise, and Hélène was frightened by his tone.
She said, “But, if you were to surrender…to offer to leave in peace, without further battle? Surely he would want you to leave without more loss of his soldiers. He would want to return home before the winter sets in?”
Philippe raised his hand, his palm open, telling Hélène that this conversation was over. He sighed and closed his eyes. Then he moved still closer to her and took her in his arms again and held her tightly, not speaking another word.
In the early light they made love again and fell asleep uncovered on the damp rough sheets. Philippe woke first and slipped quietly from his bed. He covered Hélène’s body with the rough blanket and dressed. As he was leaving, Helen’s head rose from the pillow and in a voice still hoarse from sleep she called out, “Philippe?”
Philippe returned to the bed and knelt. “Good morning, my love. Stay here a while. I’ll send you some clothes and breakfast. Then, when there’s time, we’ll go to the hospital. You were right. The hospital is just where I need you. And…it’s probably the safest place in Rhodes right now.” There was no more talk of surrender. Philippe kissed her and left.
Hélène put her head back on the pillow and fell quickly asleep, a smile still on her lips.
As the sun touched the horizon once more, the knights on the battlements waited and watched.
Rhodes
September, 1522
Suleiman sat in the shade of the afterdeck. His royal galley plowed through the light seas under both oar and sail. Mustapha and Piri Pasha sat on either side, while Ibrahim paced the deck. The captain of the galley stood next to the helmsman and kept his eyes averted from the Sultan.
On the prior evening, word had reached Suleiman that at least one galley had broken the blockade. This, of course, meant that the ship had also been allowed to leave Rhodes sometime earlier as well. The Sultan shook his head wearily as he wondered what to do with this Cortoglu.
“I will not stand for such incompetence,” he said. “This is the second time the knights have made fools of us! It was bad enough that they could run the blockade totally unknown when they left Rhodes the first time. But, to come back and attack the very galley of the naval Chief-of-Staff! This is too much!”
Ibrahim and Mustapha had not uttered a word, but stared at the ground hoping that the Sultan would not act in haste. In fact, he had already ordered his galley prepared and had sent for a small detachment of fifty Janissaries.
Both Ibrahim and Mustapha, at great risk to themselves, had pleaded with him.
“Please, Majesty, do not depart tonight. It is so much more dangerous in the darkness,” Ibrahim had reasoned.
“He’s right, my Lord,” said Mustapha. “Wait until morning. There will be less chance of a sortie by the knights, and you can still punish this pirate fool.”
In the end, Suleiman relented. Ibrahim and Mustapha stayed with the Sultan until late into the night. They both felt that he needed the comfort of close friends more than he needed consultation from his Aghas.
The Sultan ordered a midnight meal, and the three men sat on cushions on the carpeted floor. Suleiman was still seething over the ineffectiveness of his cannon against the knights’ stronghold. The three men ate in silence. They took a short break from the constant conversation of war and strategy. Only after their dessert had been cleared did they return to the subject.
Mustapha was the first to speak. “My Lord, we will need to shift the emphasis of our attack. Clearly, cannon alone will not win this battle. We know that it is not for lack of skill that we have failed to break into the stronghold. Our master gunner, Mehmet, has great experience in these matters. He has never failed us before, and if he cannot penetrate the walls with his guns—and these are the finest cannons in the world—then it will be more because of the strength of the walls, not the weakness of the attack.”
Suleiman nodded wearily. “Yes, brother-in-law. You’re quite right. Mehmet is a great artilleryman, as was his father, Topgi Pasha. They are a family of talented fighters.”
Suleiman turned to Mustapha. “But, surely our miners will make it possible for me to get my Janissaries into the city. They sit in their camps just waiting for the chance.”
Ibrahim said, “I think that we need to keep up the barrage of cannonballs, my Lords. These may not break into the fortress, but they will distract the knights and keep them busy. That will take the pressure off the miners and sappers. For, they’ve only just started and have sustained terrible losses. They are totally exposed almost constantly to the arrows and gunfire from the towers.”
“Indeed,” Suleiman said. “I think we will keep up a heavy artillery attack no matter what happens.” And then, almost visibly, Ibrahim and Mustapha could see the shift in the Sultan’s mind-set. They knew at once that he was back to the subject of Cortoglu. “Damned him, if I will not have his head for breakfast. And the Kapudan as well. The Admiral, Pilaq, should have been there to assure the blockade along with Cortoglu.”
The Sultan’s night was long. The three slept little, and as soon as the sun was up, the Sultan sent for his servants. Suleiman was bathed and dressed, then went to morning prayers. Ibrahim and Mustapha returned to their own tents for a change of clothes, a bath, and prayers as well. Then, after a light breakfast, the three rode with their guard to the temporary port at Kallitheas Bay and boarded the waiting galley.
The Sultan’s ship hove to alongside Cortoglu’s flagship. Though Suleiman had not sent word of his visit, Cortoglu seemed prepared for trouble. Ibrahim could see t
he pirate chief standing on the high afterdeck in the shade of a sail. Next to him was Pilaq Mustapha Pasha, Kapudan of the fleet.
When the ships were tied off, a ramp was secured between the galleys and twenty-five Janissaries immediately hurried aboard the flagship. Next, Ibrahim and Mustapha Pasha crossed to the other ship. Finally, the Sultan made his way aboard.
The remaining twenty-five Janissaries followed closely behind Suleiman and took up positions between the crew and their Sultan. When the soldiers were in place, there was a complete wall of armed men separating Suleiman’s party from the sailors aboard Cortoglu’s ship. Inside the protective ring were Suleiman, Mustapha Pasha, and Ibrahim facing Cortoglu and the Kapudan, Pilaq.
Cortoglu shifted uneasily. He liked neither the look on the Sultan’s face nor the heavily armed bodyguard that accompanied him. Normally, the Sultan could take a small guard and depend upon the Azabs—the Sultan’s marines—and the sailors on board the galley to ensure his safety. It was an insult to Cortoglu’s security that the Sultan came so heavily protected with his own guard. As the corsair would soon find out, it was more than an insult.
Most of the damage from the night’s battle had been cleared, though several burned areas still showed on the deck. Somehow, even in the fresh sea air, the smell of charred wood and burned flesh lingered.
Suleiman ignored the cushioned seat that had been hastily brought to the afterdeck when his galley was sighted. He stood facing the two naval leaders. His eyes bore into Cortoglu’s, making the pirate look away. Cortoglu sensed what was coming next.
“Cortoglu! You are worse than a fool! You are completely incompetent, and I must wonder why I did not listen to my Aghas when they protested your appointment as Reis of my naval fleet. You have these two men to thank,” and he gestured to Ibrahim and Mustapha, “that I did not come last night. For had I arrived here then, your head would be adorning the bowsprit of this ship even now.” Cortoglu winced. “Instead, you will be bastinadoed in full sight of your crew.”
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