Shadow of God (43 page)

“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 the 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.”

Cortoglu stepped suddenly forward, and was about to protest, when he caught the eye of Pilaq, the Admiral. Pilaq frowned but held his place. Cortoglu said nothing, but sagged and stepped back. Suleiman nodded his head, and four Janissaries stepped into the small open space. Two of them grabbed Cortoglu by the elbows, while the other two bound his wrists tightly behind his back with leather thongs. The sailors and Azabs held their positions facing the detachment of Janissaries in the bright sunlight. Nobody moved aboard the galley. All eyes were on Cortoglu and the scene being played out on the afterdeck.

Cortoglu started to struggle against the tight leather thongs. Then he caught sight of Pilaq again, standing impassively next to the Janissaries. Cortoglu realized that no matter how painful and degrading this punishment might be, it would be better than death at the hands of Suleiman’s executioners.

Suleiman stared at Pilaq for a moment and then turned back to Cortoglu. He nodded to the Janissaries. Suddenly, Cortoglu dropped directly to the deck. His feet had been kicked out from under him by his guards. He gave out a great exhalation of breath as he landed on his buttocks, sitting with his legs straight out in front of him. Next the guards pulled off his leather boots and tied each of his ankles over a wooden bar set up between two posts. His
feet dangled over the end of the bar. The crew could see their
Reis
begin to tremble. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he struggled to keep from falling over onto his back. He stretched his hands down as far as he could and pressed upon the wooden deck to keep himself upright, to maintain what was left of his dignity.

The crew and the Janissaries were absolutely silent. The great galley rocked gently in the light chop and swell. Small waves lapped against the wooden hull. In the oppressive heat below decks, the slaves slept bent over their oar-looms. Their world did not include what was happening above decks. Had they known, they might have cheered.

The only sound heard on the ship was the light breeze moving through the rigging. Cortoglu looked into Suleiman’s eyes. The
corsair
did not plead, he only stared. As his fear was replaced by anger, his face began to redden. His breathing quickened. Then, as if he had some inner revelation regarding his fate, he sagged and lowered his eyes to the deck. He stared at the white skin on his feet. He focused on the hairs of his toes. Anything was preferable to looking into the eyes of the Sultan.

The Janissaries stood stiffly at attention. Their plumed hats moved on the breeze. Ibrahim looked at the faces of the sailors. He thought he could see pleasure in their eyes. He knew that these men had suffered terribly under the command of this fearful pirate. It was time for Suleiman to replace Cortoglu with a more competent and respected
Reis.

Again, Suleiman nodded to the captain of the Janissaries. The captain spoke softly to the Janissary at his right. The young soldier carefully took off his hat and handed it to one of his mates. Next, he removed his belt and scimitar, and, with a bow, handed over those as well. He stepped forward and faced the Janissary captain. The captain took a six-foot bamboo stick and flexed it in his two hands. It was about one inch in diameter, and had a leather handle at one end. The leather of the bastinado was darkened from the sweat of the many hands that had used it.

The soldier bowed to the captain, who held the bastinado in front of him with two hands palms up. The captain nodded his
head. The soldier took the weapon and turned to face Cortoglu. He slashed the weapon twice through the air. Several of the sailors winced as they heard the terrible swish of the bamboo slicing through the breeze.

The young man stepped up to the bar, measuring his distance from Cortoglu’s feet. He turned so that the bamboo would strike both soles of the
Reis’s
feet simultaneously, parallel to the deck. He held the bastinado against the soles for a moment. Cortoglu tensed at the light touch of the stick. The soldier looked to his captain, who, in his turn, looked to Suleiman.

Suleiman nodded to the captain; the captain to the soldier. The stick was brought back to shoulder height, and the first stroke of Cortoglu’s punishment was delivered. The stick whistled through the air, and the smack against the soft soles of the pirate’s feet was heard all over the ship. It was immediately drowned out by the scream that came from Cortoglu himself. Not a single person watching the punishment could help but recoil at the terrible stroke. As the soldier brought the stick back to his shoulder, all eyes were on the bright red welt across both feet. Cortoglu shook with the pain and he squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the next stroke.

Again, the stick whistled through the air, and again Cortoglu screamed in synchrony with the sound of the bamboo against his tender flesh. Now the crew and the Janissaries were transfixed. They saw that there was still only a single welt across both feet. The soldier, trained so well in the accurate use of his deadly scimitar, had struck the pirate in exactly the same spot as the first stroke. This time, Cortoglu’s body shook with the impact, but he uttered no sound. His lips were pressed tightly together and the sweat poured down his face. He dared not look into the eyes of his Sultan. Though he knew that the extent of his suffering was in Suleiman’s hands, he was afraid to challenge the Sultan with any eye contact. He knew that this punishment could end at any moment, depending upon a whim. It could also be the prelude to a beheading if the Sultan so chose.

Cortoglu squeezed his eyes tightly again and waited for the pain. And it came. Again and again, the bamboo whistled through
the air and landed in precisely the same spot on Cortoglu’s feet. The callused skin separated after only three strokes, and blood began to trickle from the crease. On the next stroke, the blood spattered across the deck, and Cortoglu bit down upon his lower lip to stifle his screams. Blood trickled from his lower lip.

The beating continued. Even the Janissaries began to look away from the ordeal. The sailors forgot their grievances against their captain. The obvious pain and brutality of the punishment affected everyone watching.

Pilaq Mustapha Pasha could barely contain his terror. He knew that he was next. He squeezed his buttock and bladder muscles, trying to keep himself from losing control in front of the entire command.

Ibrahim had long since looked away from the spectacle, and was gazing out over the blue-green waters of the Mediterranean Sea. He forced himself to see the green hills in the distance, and imagined his beloved falcons swooping down upon the hares and wild birds of Rhodes.

Mustapha Pasha looked straight ahead, but he, too, had taken his mind elsewhere. He thought of his wife, Suleiman’s eldest sister, Ayse, and focused on her face and those of his children. Soon, he didn’t even hear the sound of the stick.

Only Suleiman and the young soldier who wielded the stick focused directly upon the bleeding feet of Cortoglu. Suleiman showed no emotion at all. Cortoglu had failed in his duties, and for that he was being given the usual punishment.
He should be grateful that his head is not already adorning the bowsprit
, Suleiman thought again.

After fifty strokes, Cortoglu slumped backward onto the deck. His body had mercifully shut him off from the pain. His brain had protected him from any more of his Sultan’s wrath.

As soon as the pirate’s body relaxed, the captain looked to Suleiman. The Sultan nodded, and the captain ordered the soldier to step back. The soldier handed the bastinado to the Janissary captain and bowed. He wiped the sweat from his own forehead, and took his hat and scimitar from his mate. Though nobody had moved, all eyes were now on Pilaq Mustapha Pasha. The
Reis
was
trembling, but stood at rigid attention. He, too, looked out over the sea, avoiding the gaze of his Sultan.

Suleiman gestured to Cortoglu and said, “This man has paid for his incompetence. Cut him loose and take him away. I want him on the next galley out of here, and if ever I lay eyes upon his miserable face again, he will die on the very spot. Make that known to him.”

Then he turned to Pilaq. “Pilaq Mustapha Pasha, I think you have suffered much of the pain inflicted upon Cortoglu. The day grows hot and I must return to the battlefield. I will not, therefore, have you bastinadoed, as was this miserable wretch here before you. You are relieved of command of this fleet. Take yourself back to Istanbul if you so wish. You may live there unmolested. But, be sure that I do not see you again.”