Shadow of God (44 page)

Pilaq bowed his head and kept it lowered for the remainder of the time that Suleiman was on the ship. The Sultan signaled to his men and turned from the afterdeck. He boarded the waiting galley and, as he took his seat, he could just see the still unconscious body of Cortoglu being dragged from the deck by four sailors.

Just south of the Palace of the Grand Master, behind the walls of the Post of Germany, was the Tower of the Church of St. John. From here the knights had an invaluable observation post, from which they could relay information throughout the city. The church bells were used in code to provide rapid dispersal of information to the knights at the other stations. Enemy troop movements and the disposition of the Turkish cannon could be known in minutes after being observed. Since knights were stationed inside the church tower twenty-four hours a day, this command post was at the very center of the defenders’ intelligence.

Suleiman was resting after his morning on board the flagship. The punishment of Cortoglu and the firing of Pilaq had sapped his energy. He did not enjoy the terrible physical punishment that was traditional in his empire. But he could not think of a suitable way to replace it.

He lay upon the cushions in his tent and finished a small lunch. Ibrahim was with him, but had said little since the terrible spectacle
on the ship. Most of his life with Suleiman had been spent in play or in learning together. Now that his boyhood friend was Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, the realities of a life of command were being thrust daily in Ibrahim’s face. It was one thing to see the results of war. It was quite another to watch it as it happened. He had heard many stories of the punishments meted out by the Sultans. But, this was the first time he had witnessed it in person.

“Majesty,” he said, breaking a long-standing rule that Suleiman must begin all conversations, “this ordeal has taken much energy from you. If you will allow me, perhaps you should rest here the remainder of the day. I will ride to the camps of the Aghas and report the day’s progress to you later.”

“Thank you. It’s good to have somebody at my side who understands the burden of command. But, I must be seen by the troops to be in command and in control. It is hard enough to get them to fight at all sometimes. Not the Janissaries. But, the Azabs and the slaves. They must fear
me
more than they fear the knights. It must seem to them preferable to die in battle than to die in the wake of my wrath. No, I will rest awhile, and then we will review the battle together.”

A messenger appeared at the door. Suleiman beckoned him in. The servant handed over the message, bowed, and backed out of the tent. Suleiman motioned Ibrahim closer and unrolled the paper. He read it in silence, and then smiled.

“What does it say, my Lord?”

“It is from one of our spies inside the fort. Apparently it was tied to an arrow and shot into the camp of Ayas Pasha before dawn. It seems that the knights have an observation post in a church behind the walls opposite the camp of Ayas Pasha. Our guns have done little if anything to damage the walls guarded by the Germans. But, perhaps we can use them to destroy the tower.”

“Shall we make that our first stop?”

“Yes. Send word to Ayas Pasha to keep up the bombardment there. Then move more of Achmed Pasha’s cannons in support. We’ll ride out and see what we can see.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Ibrahim put on his turban and left the tent. Suleiman finished his lunch, now energized with the thought that
he could issue commands that would, finally, advance the progress of his war against the Infidel.

Ayas Pasha and Achmed Pasha stood together behind a high stone wall in Ayas Pasha’s camp. Together they watched as twelve of their most powerful cannons failed to destroy the fortifications in front of them.

“My captains tell me the Sultan is on his way here to see what progress we have made,” Ayas said.

Achmed slowly shook his head and said, “I fear that we may be next on our Sultan’s punishment list. He does not tolerate failure, no matter what the reason.”

“What can he expect from us? These are the best cannons in the world. Our gunners are doing all they can. But, the knights’ batteries have us spotted. We are being fired upon round for round. As soon as my batteries open fire, the Germans return fire and either destroy my guns or kill the gunner. Truly, I am running out of good men. And we have done nothing to breach the integrity of that wall. The Janissaries will not make their way into the city from here.”

Both men watched the exchange of fire. The Turkish gunners shot huge stone balls directly at the Post of Germany. The blast was deafening, and the impact could be felt even as far away as Ayas and Achmed were stationed. When the smoke and dust was cleared by the afternoon breeze, all they could see was a hole in the stones, and more stone behind it. Their cannonball had only added to the mass of the wall, and had damaged nothing. The very same Florentine engineers who had made Fort St. Nicholas all but indestructible had done the same to most of the walls of the city.

As the Pashas watched the bombardment, Ayas Pasha saw several of his personal guard jump to their feet and stand at attention. He turned casually and saw twenty Janissaries on each side of Suleiman and Ibrahim, who were riding their horses into his camp. He placed his hand on Achmed’s shoulder and said, “The Sultan. He’s here.”

Achmed turned and looked behind him. “Allah have mercy upon us now. He’ll not like what he sees here today.”

Suleiman and Ibrahim rode up to the two waiting Pashas. Neither dismounted, but remained in the saddles, their horses facing the city. Neither spoke. After several more rounds were fired from the most distant battery, Suleiman saw that there had been no effect at all. Then the German guns opened fire and, in a blast that shook the ground and made the horses stamp and turn, the Turkish cannon disappeared in a storm of smoke and dirt. Rocks fell from the sky and men screamed. The bodies of the dead gunners lay draped around the crater where their mangled cannon was lying on its side, the metal smoking in the sun. Two wounded soldiers crawled from the crater as fellow artillerymen ran to drag them out of harm’s way.

Achmed and Ayas Pasha looked up at Suleiman, who could only shake his head. He turned to Achmed Pasha and said, “May Allah have mercy upon them.” Then, in a voice of command, he said to Achmed Pasha, “Move all of yours and Ayas Pasha’s cannon to one good firing position and direct your men to fire over the walls. Take Qasim Pasha with you. He is the finest artillery man we have now. Target the Tower of the Church of St. John. Look on the map. You will see it near the Palace. Destroy it! Send word to my camp when it is done.”

Suleiman wheeled his horse and returned to his tour of the camps. Ibrahim waited for a moment and then turned to the two Pashas, who were standing there bewildered. “If you wish to keep your heads, or at very least, the soles of your feet, do exactly as the Sultan commands.”

Then he, too, spurred his horse and caught up with Suleiman.

Philippe stood on the balcony of his Palace with Thomas Docwra and John Buck. The three faced south, discussing the disposition of their troops. Docwra said, “Right now, I think we need to support the weaker
langues,
my Lord. The Turks have not broken through any of the ramparts yet, but I fear that they are getting ready to make a major assault on the Post of England.”

John Buck nodded in agreement. “He’s right, my Lord. The Post of England is sorely undermanned, and the Muslims are concentrating still more fire power there. We should set up a mobile reserve of knights from several of the larger
langues.
They can be sent to any
post that needs reinforcement at the moment. Also, I fear there may be spies in our city, for the Turk seems to be well aware of the disposition of our troops and the construction of our walls. They are concentrating their fire and assaults on our weakest posts.”

Before the Grand Master could address the issue, and as if Buck’s words needed affirmation, the three men watch in horror as the Tower of the Church of St. John disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dust. The stone walls collapsed, and the roof fell into the ruined structure. The first shot had weakened the walls, and three more cannonballs had impacted nearly simultaneously to finish off the weakened structure. The sound reached the three men a second after their eyes recorded the devastation of the cannonade.

“Sweet Jesus!” said Docwra.

“
Mon Dieu!”
said Philippe.

“
Merde!”
said John Buck.

Philippe turned to Docwra and said, “How many knights did we have stationed in the Church tower?”

“Three, my Lord.”

“Get there, Thomas. See to them, if they survived. We can’t afford such losses so early on. John, set up another observation post in another tower. But, see that it is kept completely secret. Use no bell or light signals. Have a runner deliver all messages to me directly. That was too determined an attack for such an innocent structure. The spies here must have informed the Turkish swine that we were using the church tower for an observation post. By God, I will make them suffer when I find out who has betrayed us! Get some of the knights on the job. We must find out who and how they are getting messages to the Turk.”

Apella Renato had not slept in three days. The casualties were increasing daily, overwhelming him with his duties. Melina had been a godsend. She moved through the hospital ward as if she were possessed. She was able to tend to her babies, and then return to work the minute they were fed and asleep again. Renato insisted that she eat regularly, even though nobody else had time for meals. “You must keep nourished, Melina. The babies need your milk, and if you
should go dry, they’ll surely die. Keep eating. Take the time. I do not want their deaths on my conscience for working you too hard.”

Melina did as she was told. She fed the babies, and rested when Renato ordered her to. But, she kept attending the wounded and the sick long after others had fallen asleep from exhaustion. It was as if every knight were the embodiment of Jean. Each knight she could help would help Jean. Somewhere, she was certain, there was a log, an accounting. Every soul she helped the doctor save was an entry in the book that might protect her beloved from harm.