“And for that we are all grateful, Gabriele.”
Tadini sat quietly nodding. He kept his eyes fixed on the tiny bells. He willed them to move; to vibrate from a minuscule tremor in the earth. But, there was nothing but silence. The bells would not move for him.
“How are Melina and the little angels, John?” Tadini whispered, breaking the tense silence in the cave.
“As well as I can hope. Melina is strong, but she works too hard. Too long. Ekaterina and Marie are fine. They are the only ones in the city getting absolutely fat.” Jean laughed. “Only they sleep through the noise and the blasts. It’s amazing. When this is over, I’m sure nothing will awaken them. But, I’m worried about Melina. It’s nice for her to have a new friend in Hélène. They’ve become very close in just a short time. Hélène looks after the babies from time to time when Melina is busy.” He paused, thinking for a moment of the right words. “She is in awe of the doctor, Renato. Á la folie! She tells me he does miracles in there. He seems never to sleep or rest as long as there are patients who need his care. And, there is a never-ending supply of casualties. Apparently, he’s very well educated. Seems to know all the latest from the doctors of the East and the West. Makes no distinction, I’m told, between Christians and Muslims; Jews, Greeks, and Turks. They’re all the same to him, people who need his help. Wouldn’t do for a knight to behave that way. But, I suppose it’s appropriate for a doctor.”
Tadini listened to Jean, but did not take his eyes from the bells.
Jean looked at the Italian engineer. He realized that he knew almost nothing about Tadini, except that he seemed brave beyond reason. Apparently, Tadini had wanted to be a doctor. But, the fortunes of war had intervened and his career took another path. Nothing seemed to frighten the man. On the walls, he carried out his duties in the face of terrible danger. Always skillfully, always calmly. In the tunnels he showed no fear either. His breathing never accelerated. With a sword in his hand, he waded into the enemy with a fury and disdain that had become a legend among the other knights. His behavior after the attack on the earthworks was already a legend.
But, who is he? He never speaks of his family. Never talks of the past. Only the siege. The tunnels. The battles.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Jean strained to hear digging. But, there was nothing. Then, after a few minutes, a little bell began to ring. It was a tiny ring, but Jean jumped at the sound of it, banging his head on the ceiling of the tunnel. More little bells began to chime.
“Quick! Out! Out!” Tadini whispered as he lit a phosphorous match. He reached out and touched the flame to the long fuse coming from the directional charge set against the far wall. Then he pushed Jean ahead as they scrambled from the tunnel. “Vite! Vite! Vat-en! Va-t-en! It’s going to blow soon, Jean. You don’t want to be here. Ni moi, non plus!” Me neither!
The men scrambled from the tunnel. Just as they emerged from the opening a tremendous blast rang in their ears. Tadini jumped up and down and slapped Jean on the back. “Eh bien! Now you are, vraiment, a counter-miner! Truly.”
Ismail heard the little bells. He had been backing out of the shaft to make way for the sappers who would set the charge. After crawling back about ten feet, the ringing registered in his ears. He stopped. He had no idea what the tinkling sound meant. None of the Turks had seen Tadini’s invention. Those who were close enough to hear the tolling of the little bells never survived long enough to tell anyone about it. Ismail thought it might be something wrong with his ears, too many blasts, too near. He hesitated for a moment, and then tried to turn in the tight space so he could crawl out faster. He didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong.
He scrambled along on his knees, shouting ahead of him. Within only a few yards, his way was blocked by another miner facing him in the tunnel. The men became entangled in the darkness as they struggled in the small space. Panicked shouts filled the air. What candles remained were accidentally snuffed out in the confusion.
As the tunnel became darker, the confusion increased. Miners further down the line did not know what was happening ahead of them. An oil lamp was overturned and began a small blaze. In the tight space, the little fire turned into a major catastrophe. The oil burned poorly in the oxygen-deprived atmosphere, and black smoke replaced the dusty air. Ismail and his fellow miners began to cough and choke on the fumes. Those men on Ismail’s side of the fire began to scramble for the fortress walls, trying to escape the fire and the fumes. The miners fleeing from the interior crawled headlong into the others. A pile-up ensued, and miners were fighting each other for space. The quality of the air plummeted and a panic of suffocation overwhelmed the men. Soon the tunnel was completely clogged with a writhing mass of humans, moving nowhere at all.
The blast tore through the mineshaft. On the knights’ side of the tunnel, the explosion vented through the vertical shafts and blew harmlessly into the air. The main charge shot outward horizontally away from the walls and smashed the miners flat. Several men further down the line were caught by the full force of the blast and were killed as well. The remaining miners felt the shattering blow, and then realized to their horror that the worst had happened. As the flames seared their flesh, the roof fell in, crushing some to death beneath its immense weight. The remainder were buried alive, burned and slowly suffocating in the black grave that they, themselves, had dug.
Ismail felt the blast. Heat seared his face and sucked the breath from his chest. He tried to wipe the dirt from his eyes, but the earth poured down around him, binding his arms to his sides. The wet, thick soil wrapped his body and squeezed the air from his lungs. He opened his mouth to cry out, but the dirt rushed in before he could utter a sound. Involuntarily, he inhaled deeply to answer the call screaming for more air, but he only sucked the heavy, wet earth into his lungs.
Then Ismail saw the hot bright sun over his farm in the hills of Bosnia; he smelled the freshly cut hay and waited for his sister to bring him a cool drink of water.
Jean shook the dirt from his cape and wiped his hand across his face to clear the sweat. He left a streak of mud from his left cheek to his right. Tadini laughed and grabbed the hem of Jean’s cape. “Here, amico, let me help you.” He wiped the dirt from Jean’s face and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Good work, eh? Now take a few minutes to see your wife and the babies. Then come back and we’ll blow up some more Turks.”
Jean nodded and smiled. “I think I’ll do just that, Gabriele. But, I may stay at the hospital and help Il Dottore. I think he needs my help more than you.” The two knights shook hands and turned in opposite directions. Jean began his walk from the walls of Provence through the Jewish Quarter to the Hospital within the Collachio. Tadini stayed to survey the negligible damage to his walls. Satisfied, he turned to see where else he might be needed.
Jean reached the hospital in a few minutes. The streets were emptier than they had been when he entered the tunnels with Gabriele, some hours before. He mounted the wide staircase and went directly to the ward. There were crowds of people waiting to be seen by the doctor and his assistants. Knights and citizens lined the corridors, crowding into every space. There were some groans and crying. But most of the people silently, resignedly, waited their turn. Nobody protested when Jean pushed his way to the front and walked into the ward. He saw Renato immersed in treating the wounded. A knight was on the table and the doctor was wrapping a dressing around the young man’s head. Blood covered the floor, and several knights were moving back and forth in the wards bringing more supplies to the doctor.
Jean’s chest tightened. He saw one of the knights from his own Langue de France lying on the table. It was a man he had known since he, himself, had joined the Order. Now, the knight lay there, his leg covered in bloody rags. Jean watched with a sad heart as another knight heated a cauldron of oil over the coal brazier. It could only mean that the doctor was preparing to take yet another limb from one of the brave knights. This time it would be from a close friend of
Jean’s.
Just as Jean was about to ask for Melina, Renato looked up from his work and saw him standing in the ward. He motioned toward Melina’s room, then tilted his head sideways and closed his eyes. “Elle se dors, Jean,” She’s sleeping.
Jean made his way through the bodies and the debris and gently pushed open the wooden door. He felt a great lump in his throat as he saw the peaceful scene. Melina was fast asleep in a makeshift bed on the floor, her back propped on a pillow against the stone wall. Ekaterina and Marie were in her arms, their faces flushed from the warmth of the small room. The three angels of his life were safe. He sat on the floor, and quietly removed his armor. He placed his broadsword against the wall and removed his gauntlets. Jean covered Melina with the woolen blanket. He rolled up his cape and made a pillow for his head. Then, he leaned back and quickly fell asleep.
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 m
oment 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.
Shadow of God Page 33