Shadow of God (2 page)

Gregoire de Morgut.
Prior of Navarre.

Fra Jean de Beauluoys. “
The Wolf.” Captures a Turkish brig en route to Rhodes.

Gabriel de Pommerols.
Another Lieutenant of the Grand Master.

Fra Emeric Depreaulx.
Sent to Naples to enlist help.

Fra Lopes de Pas.
Aragon. Emissary to Suleiman.

Fra Didier de Tholon.
France. Command of artillery.

Blasco Diaz.
Portugal. Servant-at-arms to Chancellor d’Amaral

Thomas Docwra.
England.

Nicholas Fairfax.
England.

Jean Bin de Malincorne.
France.

Henry Mansell.
England. Standard bearer of the Grand Master.

Fra Raimondo Marquet.
Emissary to Suleiman.

Nicholas Roberts.
England.

Thomas Scheffield.
England. Seneschal of the Grand Master. Commander of the Palace of the Grand Master.

Gabriele Tadini da Martinengo.
Italy. Expert military engineer. In charge of countermining.

Residents of Rhodes

Leonardo Balestrieri.
Latin bishop of Rhodes.

Bishop Clement.
Greek bishop of Rhodes.

Apella Renato.
Doctor in the Hospital of the Knights.

Bonaldi.
Ship’s master, volunteers services and goods for siege.

Basilios Carpazio.
Greek fisherman, offers to spy for the knights.

Domenico Fornari.
Conscripted with his ships to help knights.

Command by Sector: All Knights Grand Crosse

D’Amaral.
Auvergne and Germany.

Buck.
Aragon and England.

De Cluys.
France and Castile.

De Morgut.
Provence and Italy.

Key Commands

Commanders of Posts

Guidot de Castellac.
Provence. Tower of St. Nicholas.

Raimond Rogier.
Auvergne.

Jean de St. Simon.
France.

Fra Raimond Ricard.
Provence.

Giorgio Aimari.
Italy.

William Weston.
England.

Juan de Barabon.
Aragon.

Christopher Waldners.
Germany.

Fernando de Sollier.
Castile and Portugal.

Thomas Scheffield.
Palace of the Grand Master (Part of the Post of France).

Bastions

Jean de Mesnyl.
Auvergne.

Tomas Escarierros.
Spain.

Nicholas Hussey.
England.

Jean de Brinquier de Lioncel.
Provence.

Andretto Gentile.
Italy.

Commissioners in Charge of Supplies

Andrea d’Amaral.
Chancellor.

Gabriel de Pommerols.

John Buck.

Legendary Characters

Jean de Morelle.
Knight,
langue
of France.

Melina.
Rhodian Greek, wife of Jean de Morelle.

Ekaterina and Marie.
Twin girls, children of Jean and Melina.

Fictional Characters

Hélène.

Fishermen

Nicolo Ciocchi.

Petros Rivallo.

Marcantonio Rivallo.

Oh, East is East, and West is West,
and never the twain shall meet,

Till Earth and Sky stand presently
at God’s great Judgment Seat;

But, there is neither East nor West,
Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face,
tho’ they come from the ends of the earth!

—Rudyard Kipling,
Ballad of East and West

Rhodes, The Fortress of the Knights of St. John
October 27, 1522

Even the rabbit knows to remain perfectly still, yet is discovered by the mere opening of an eye. So the man risked betraying himself when he moved to reach inside his black cape and retrieve his crossbow.

Absolute darkness had reduced the visibility to little more than a few yards; and even then, it was only his movement that could reveal his presence on the ramparts. The guards on duty along the high walls of the fortress walked their tour with little concern about being seen. There had been no sniper fire for several days. No stray arrows. The enemy had, no doubt, realized its ineffectiveness at such a long range, for the walls of the fortress were high, and the surrounding ditches dug wide and deep. With the light fog for cover, and the cloudy winter sky louring upon them, the guards felt invisible. But invisibility works both ways, and the knights guarding the walls were well aware of that.

The Captain of the guard had been by within the past hour. He reminded everyone to be fully alert. Their losses had been heavy, and the bodies of three more knights had been buried that morning. They could ill afford to lose extra lives to carelessness, inattention, or neglect.

With great care, the man moved in from the cover of the Tower of Italy, at the east side of the Post of Provence. He made his way along the battlement, crouching low. His black cape trailed almost to
the ground. The hood was pulled over his head. He held his crossbow tightly to his side as he made his way in the darkness. He stopped frequently, crouching down with his back to the massive stone wall. The surfaces were slick with moisture that had condensed from the cool night fog. He waited. Motionless. Each time he saw the passing guard move out of sight, he resumed his stealthful walk in the shadows. The night was very still, and for that he was glad. The absence of any breeze would make his shot easier, more accurate.

Though, for this shot, accuracy was hardly an issue.

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he came across a gathering of three knights talking quietly on the battlement near the wall overlooking the Post of England. They should have been asleep, for it was well past midnight. They would surely question him if they found him out so late. He was momentarily seized with panic, and several drops of sweat trickled down the middle of his back beneath his robes. The drops coalesced and puddled for a moment above his hips, then were absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. There, the sweat made a cold and uncomfortable wet spot that held his attention. He tried to regain his focus, but fear held him immobile.

Finally, as the knights moved off, he stepped quietly from the darkness, and made his way quickly down a wooden ladder, off the wall, and into the street below. He decided to leave through the Jewish Quarter of the old city, a warren of narrow and twisting streets with many shoddy buildings and alleys. The houses were built of gray and brown stones, pressed side by side with common intervening walls and roofs. There were many alleyways and a few courtyards. Most of the houses were worn and poor. Some housed several families.

At this late hour, the streets were dark and silent. Mounds of rubble made for many detours. The man thought that if he were caught here, he could find an excuse. He knew several women he could name, and claim that he was on his way to a late-night rendezvous. No one could check. The knights’ vows of celibacy were crumbling after three months of facing death at every moment. Many of the young men secretly kept women in the town. Some not so secretly. Who would doubt him?

Now he needed to get to the Post of Auvergne, where he would fire his arrow. The wall between the Tower of St. George and the Tower of Aragon faced the camp of Ayas Pasha.

Again, he hurried his pace. He went past the Post of Aragon and St. Mary’s Tower at the corner of the Post of England. He hid his crossbow again and pressed on. From time to time, he would duck into a darkened doorway or the entrance to an alley. He was breathing too hard for the slight exertion. He felt the dull thudding of his heartbeat. In the silence of the night, his heart sounded to him as if it were echoing off the walls. He rested until his breathing and his heart slowed a bit. Sweat was cooling on his skin, and it made him shiver from the chill of it. His robes were becoming progressively soaked inside and out. He pushed these distractions from his mind and moved on again, making his way directly to the fortress wall in the middle of the Post of Auvergne.

He was exactly where he wanted to be, for he had made this shot many times before. He waited in the streets below the wall for the next passing of the guard. While still hidden, he loaded his arrow into the crossbow. Then, he would need only to mount the wall, aim to the sky, and let loose his shot. He had made many practice shots during the daytime as well. Those shots he could make in plain view. All who had seen him assumed he was firing at the Turkish heathens besieging the city. After so many practice runs, he knew exactly where the arrow would fall: directly amongst the sentries in the camp of Ayas Pasha.

He pulled the arrow from its place in his waistband and checked to see that the parchment message was tightly tied to the shaft. It would not do to have it unravel in flight from the incredible acceleration delivered by his armor-piercing crossbow. He shuddered at the thought of the message tearing off the arrow shaft, fluttering slowly into the hands of one of the knights. That image in his mind melded quickly into another: his own body as it would be torn slowly to pieces on the rack if he were, indeed, caught.

He shook off the thought with a shiver, and pulled his robes tighter about him. The blackness of the garment and the blackness of the night blended perfectly. No fires were visible from the streets
of the quarter. The man used this to his advantage. He was able to move off the street and climb the short, wooden ladder back onto the wall as surely as if it were noon, so well did he know this place.

The plan was simple. The guard would walk his route along the wall from the Tower of St. George to the Tower of Aragon, some two hundred yards away. The man would move as soon as the sound of the guard’s footsteps were lost in the night. Neither the guard nor the man would be able to see or hear each other. He would climb the wall, take aim, and fire his message into the camp of the enemy. Then, he would be gone. It would take twenty seconds. No more.

He watched the guard turn at the Tower of St. George and begin his walk south again to the Tower of Aragon. He held his breath as the guard passed above him, the footsteps receding into the darkness, echoing slightly off the stone wall. When he could no longer hear the guard, nor see his silhouette in the night, the man made his move. Should the guard turn back now, they would still not see each other for a few more seconds.

The man vaulted up the wooden ladder, and rushed in a crouch to the wall. He could see the fires of the Turkish camp, and even make out figures in front of the tents. It was remarkable how orderly this encampment was, he thought; how clean and precise its arrangement after so many months of war and weather and death. He rushed to the wall, crossbow in his left hand, the arrow already nocked and set. The powerful trigger mechanism was cocked. He raised the bow to his shoulder, aiming for an arc that would carry the arrow towards the very center of the cooking fires in the camp. He knew that Ayas’s sentries would be watching, waiting for a dark shadow streaking out of the night with a message for their Sultan. He took a last breath, let it slowly out, and prepared for his shot. As he released the last of the air from his lungs, he increased the pressure on the trigger.

The unexpected impact knocked the remaining wind out of the man’s chest. He felt pain tear across his left shoulder as he crashed into the stones of the wall. Then another pain struck his shoulder blades as he landed on his back. Lights flashed before his eyes as his head impacted the rock walk. His crossbow was pinned against his
chest, pressing the wooden trigger guard into his breastbone. He struggled to break free, to catch his breath. He could feel the sharp tip of the unfired arrow stuck hard against his throat.

Two gloved hands held the weapon tight against him. The man guarded the trigger with his fist. The slightest pressure would release the shaft, sending it slicing through his own throat. He might fight and struggle free, but then if the arrow flew, it could kill the knight on top of him, or kill himself. He had no stomach now for either.

He stopped his struggling, and as he heard the knight call for help, he knew that it was over. This huge knight, who happened to be on the wall for God knows what reason, would keep him pinned there like a butterfly until more knights arrived.

He let go of the crossbow and surrendered his body to his captor. Two more knights came to his side, dressed for battle in scarlet robes adorned with the white eight-pointed Cross of St. John. One knight wrenched the crossbow away, and removed the arrow with its note. The knight dashed the bow to the ground and looked for a moment at the arrow. In the few seconds it took for the him to realize what he was holding, the third knight drew near with a lantern. The knight holding the arrow unwound the tie, and opened the parchment. In the yellow light of the lantern, he read the note. Then he knelt down and brought the glow from the lamp nearer the prisoner.