Shadow of God (24 page)

Philippe looked up at d’Amaral. He said, “It’s signed with a very elaborate drawing and seal, which I assume is the mark of the triumphant Sultan, Suleiman. So, what do you think of this?” he said handing the scroll to d’Amaral.

“It’s a threat. Of course. They call this a
fethname,
a ‘Letter of Victory.’ But, how serious he is, I’m not sure. Surely he hasn’t forgotten his great-grandfather and the siege of 1480?”

“I’m sure he has not. In fact, I think that is why he is so anxious to take back Rhodes. That siege must stick in his throat. I am told
Mehmet called us ‘The most damnable of the
Kuffar
. Sons of Evil. Allies of
Sheitan
.’ No, I would say he has not a lot of good will toward our Order.”

D’Amaral nodded slowly, deep in thought. “I heard that his father, Selim, was preparing a fleet to sail against us, too. Only his death stopped him from attacking us. Now, it would appear that the son will try to best his great-grandfather and his father, too.”

“And what do we do now, Andrea?”

“Continue to strengthen the fortifications, and proceed as if he were already on his way. Which, for all we know, he may well be. And we answer him directly and with no question of our intent. For, I swear to you this day, Grand Master, that we shall be shedding Turkish blood before very long.”

Philippe thought for a moment, then called for his attendant. The young knight appeared a moment later and stood to attention before Philippe.

“Prepare to leave at once for Istanbul. I have something for you to deliver to the palace of the Sultan Suleiman.” The young man’s eyes widened. Philippe continued, “Take another knight to accompany you, and let nothing get in your way in the delivery of this message.” The knight saluted, and turned to prepare for his mission.

Philippe took out paper, pen and ink, and slowly wrote his reply. D’Amaral watched in silence, as the older man carefully penned a terse and unequivocal letter. When he finished it, he applied his signature and read it to the Chancellor before rolling and sealing the message.

Brother Philippe Villiers de L’Isle Adam, Grand Master of Rhodes,

To Suleiman, Sultan of the Turks:

I understand your letter, which has been presented to me by your ambassador. Thank you for informing me of your recent victories. I congratulate you and your army. The prospect of a peace between us would please me. I can only hope that your deeds and words coincide.

Peace be with you.

Philippe Villiers de L’Isle Adam.

Philippe applied his seal to the letter, and then handed it to d’Amaral. “There’s
our
‘Letter of Victory.’ Let’s see what he makes of that.”

D’Amaral took the letter. “I will see that the two knights deliver this letter with due haste, my Lord.” D’Amaral started to leave, then hesitated a moment, and turned to Philippe. For a long moment the Chancellor remained silent.

“Andrea? Is there something more?” Philippe asked.

“My Lord,” d’Amaral began, slowly, “if we are correct, and the Sultan does try to make good Mehmet’s attack upon our fortress, what will we do?”

Philippe could not believe what he was hearing. This was not the question that should be asked by the Grand Chancellor of the Knights of St. John. “What are you asking me, Andrea? Is there any doubt what we must do?”

“My Lord, a moment, please. The Sultan can raise the most powerful army on Earth. We have information that there could be as many as three hundred ships…perhaps more in his fleet. Some say his armies number more than one hundred thousand. Some say
two
hundred thousand. And these are not conscripted rabble. These are trained fighting men. Professional soldiers, like us.”

Philippe waited, but d’Amaral said nothing more.

“What would you have us do?” Philippe asked. “Pack and run before this hoard of Infidels? Should we turn over our island and our fortress without a fight? I cannot believe I am hearing this question from you, Andrea.”

D’Amaral winced at the Grand Master’s words. But, he did not back down. “My Lord, our Order has seen the wisdom of strategic retreat many times before. When others have chosen to die in their cause, our leaders had fled before superior forces and lived to fight another day. We have faced defeat at Jerusalem. At Krak de Chevaliers. At Acre. This would not be the first time our Order has fled to reestablish itself elsewhere. Is it better to fight to the death of the last knight, and see our Order vanish from the face of the Earth? Is this not exactly what the Sultan wishes? Think of it. There may be a hundred thousand trained men against our handful of knights
and a few mercenaries. The slaughter could be beyond anything we have ever imagined. And the people of Rhodes. What of them?”

Philippe breathed in and out deeply. His face grew red, and d’Amaral realized that he had gone too far. Philippe said, “The Chancellor does not need to instruct the Grand Master on the history of our Order. Of the battles we have lost, and the brothers we have buried, I know all too well. These souls are not the least burden on the heart of a Grand Master. And of the fortresses we have vacated, the flights of our Order, I am also all too well aware. Do not presume to lecture me on the duties of my rank. We will defend our island and its people. My knights are up to the task. This is the best-fortified city in the world, and our knights the most skilled and devoted army. We will show the Sultan exactly why his great-grandfather fled before our walls, only to die in Damascus on the way home. Mark me, Chancellor. Suleiman will learn what it is to challenge the Order of St. John and the Power of Christ. ”

Andrea stared into Philippe’s eyes. “Very well, my Lord. As you wish.” The coldness had returned to his voice. Philippe realized then that there would never be an end to the hostility between them. As the door closed behind d’Amaral, Philippe thought,
So be it, Andrea.

As soon as d’Amaral had left, Philippe sent for his lieutenant, Gabriel de Pommerols. He had fought beside de Pommerols for many years, and had the deepest faith in him. De Pommerols arrived within minutes. He had been at the
Auberge de France,
the residence of the French Knights, only a short walk from the Palace of the Grand Master.

He removed his hat and bowed. “
Seigneur
?”

“Come in, Gabriel. I have just dispatched two knights with a letter for the Turkish Sultan. There is little doubt in my mind that he means war, and we could be looking at a long and difficult siege.” De Pommerols remained standing and silent. Philippe continued, “I have an important mission for you. You must leave at once for France. I will send two galleys to accompany you, and a sufficient complement of knights to assure your safe passage. We need to recall all the knights of the Order who are now away from Rhodes. But, that is secondary. I need you to go to King Francis and deliver
a letter. We need reinforcements of men and arms and any money that he can give us to buy supplies. Please sit down, and I shall have a formal letter for you in a moment.”

Philippe sat down at this desk, and unrolled a clean piece of parchment. He dipped his pen into the ink stand and began to write. He read aloud as he wrote so that Pommerols would know the contents of the letter.

“
Sire: You should know that the Turk has sent letters in which, under the guise of peacemaking, he informs me that he has taken the city by force.”

Philippe looked up to see de Pommerols’ reaction. “I shall appeal, as I said, for money, troops, and supplies. But, I am not sure of the disposition of Francis toward our plight. He has much to keep him occupied right now. Make ready for this trip, and I shall have this letter brought to the
Auberge
as soon as I have finished with it.”

Pommerols nodded, and rushed from the Palace.

Jean and Melina rode west, side by side along the north coast road. They had left the city early in the morning to avoid the inevitable latesummer heat. The days would soon start cool and clear. But, as this mid-day approached, the sun would heat the ground and the air, and the days would become distinctly uncomfortable.

Soon, they were well along the lower coast road, heading to the south. The sandy beaches below them were covered by the high tide, and a light chop was roiling the water. Just after they left the city proper, they ascended the steep cliffs on the north side of the island. Mount Saint Stephen rose gently above them on their left, its grassy slopes still wet with dew.

Melina tapped her horse’s sides, and increased the walk to a trot. Jean clicked his tongue, and his horse joined the pace.

“Why are you hurrying,
Chèrie?”
he asked.

“I want to be in the shade of the valley before it becomes too hot.” They had been riding for about an hour, and were nearing the turnoff that would bring them inland to Petaloudes.

“Where are you taking me? ”

“To Petaloudes. It is very special for me. My father used to take the whole family there. Especially this time of year.” Her voice
cracked, and Jean reached across and touched her right hand with his left.

“I know, I know. It will never be the same without them. It cannot be.”

Melina squeezed Jean’s hand, and smiled at him. “I love this place. You will see why. In a minute.”

They turned off the coast road at Kalamonas and headed south toward the interior of the island. The land became hilly and greener as they rode on, the air growing warmer and more moist. The road descended several valleys, and then climbed again before finally petering out at the bottom of the last valley. It narrowed to a singlelane horse trail, and eventually nothing was left but a small path in the woods.

Jean dismounted, and helped Melina from her saddle. They led the horses single file along the shady path. Melina showed the way, and Jean could see that she was very familiar with the narrow winding trails. They crossed a small brook, stepping on the stones that lay in the shallow current. Finally, they entered a cool, sun-dappled glade with a stream running through it.

She took Jean’s hand and walked him to the edge of the water. “Sit here a moment, and I’ll be back.” Before she left, she helped him out of his boots and pointed to the water. Jean let his feet hang into the stream as Melina went back to the horses. When she returned, she was carrying the lunch they had packed, and a bottle of wine. Under her arm, she held a small blanket, which she spread out next to Jean. She sat down, took off her boots, and dangled her feet in the water alongside his. She rubbed her foot lazily over his, and put her arm through his arm. He took his arm away and put it around her shoulders. For a moment more, neither spoke. The only sound was that of a few crickets, and the burbling of the water over the rocky bottom.

“So this is your secret place?”

“Yes. Mine and many others. But, on most days, you can come here and be all alone. Especially if it’s a work day such as today.”

“It’s wonderful, Melina. I’m glad you brought me here.”

She smiled and kept staring at him.

“What is it?”

Her smile widened.

“What?”

She opened her mouth and began to laugh.

“What are you laughing at, woman? Tell me.”

She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. Then she pulled back and laughed out loud. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Look about you, my love. Just look.”

Jean looked at the trees and the flowers. He glanced at the water running over their feet. “What? You’re maddening! What?”

“
Petaloudes!
The name of this place! It means ‘Butterflies!’ This is the Valley of the Butterflies!”

“And?”

“Clap your hands. Hard.”

Jean looked at her with puzzlement.

“Clap them! Go ahead.”

Jean cupped his hands and made a single loud clap. All at once the ground and the tree trunks seemed to dissolve into a blur. In a second, there were hundreds of thousands of brown butterflies swarming into the air. It was as if someone were shaking out a giant mottled brown blanket. The butterflies moved as a unit, as if their wings were tied together. As they settled back, they became waves of cloth rippling to earth. As fast as they had appeared, they blended with the trees and the earth, and were still again. Only now did he see that the entire glade was carpeted in brown butterflies. They were so well camouflaged that they were invisible to the casual eye. Once you knew they were there, however, you couldn’t miss them.

“By Jesus, there must be millions of them. Millions!”

Melina laughed again, and hugged her knight. “Yes. Millions. They’re here this time of year, for about two months. They fly at night and sleep in the day. Unless some boorish French knight disturbs their sleep. Are they not wonderful, Jean?”

“They are, indeed. As are you. And…I’m famished. Let’s get to that lunch.”

Melina opened the cloths that wrapped the food and took out several pieces of cold chicken. She placed the wine bottle in the stream and gave Jean some fruit. Jean cut a piece of apple and gave it to Melina. Then, they proceeded to feed each other for the next hour.

When they were just beginning to finish the wine and some dessert cheese, Jean said, “We are so blessed to have found each other. Who could have thought that we would stumble on each other in the market the way we did; and from that chance meeting to this?”