“They will come!” Giustiniani barked. The high pitch in his voice pleased me.
“You see? I knew that was part of your captain’s business on shore today, to see a ship off to Genoa. And who’s on that ship? Not your wives. Not your children. Giustiniani’s.”
“He lies. My wife and daughters are still on Chios, sharing their fate with yours.”
“I’m certain some great lords found room for their loved ones. No room for yours.”
“The Genoese fleet will come.”
“Oh, they will come. But that’s a two weeks’ sail, my friends. I’ve done the run myself in better days. Two weeks to Genoa, two weeks back—if there are no delays. A month. How many times can your wives and daughters be raped in a month, my friends?”
I let the murmur rise and caught it on the crest. “Of course, a month is optimistic. The Genoese in the mother city, like Genoese everywhere, prevaricate. If they cared what became of Chios, wouldn’t they have sent funds to buy off the Sublime Porte before now? They’ve had three years to do it. You should be glad the Turk, unlike the Genoese moneychanger, is no usurer. Will the Genoese risk the blood of their sons when they wouldn’t risk a few sacks of ducats? I know how the Genoese love their ducats. You know it, too.”
Hatred for that other Genoese, Salah ud-Din in the little house in Pera, spleened my voice. But that man was dead. Remember, you washed his mutilated body yourself. Be satisfied. And, I realized, such untempered hatred might make me seem the madman instead of the voice of reason. Half of my audience, I recalled, was Genoese, too. I did what I could, with my next words, to wash the bitterness away.
“But the Genoese do love their sons. Even they are not so inhuman.”
For some time, Giustiniani had been countering me with only rough guffaws and steps in my direction that alone made me flinch, so certain was I that they’d end in blows. At some point I’d heard him order: “Grab him, men. Stop his Turk-loving mouth.”
As long as nothing came of such defenses, though, I kept my mouth going—like a man swimming against an undertow for dear life.
But now it was clear he could allow me to blather no longer. He must enter the fray or lose it, such was the palpable countercurrent of my words swirling among his men.
“Don’t listen to the damned renegade,” he said. “You all should know what Piali Pasha told our delegation today. He comes only to enjoy the Campos here, our pleasant landscape on Chios.”
It was my turn to snort with scorn. “And you believe that?”
“It’s what the Turk said.”
“You trust such leaders, men, when they believe such things? From the mouth of a Turk, no less.”
“Yes, I believe him “The man’s voice cracked with desperation. “Why do you think they waited against the Turkish shore all day today if their words aren’t to be trusted? We were all pre- pared to give them the usual welcome with flowers and banners—you men saw it. But no. ‘I will not interrupt your Easter solemnities,’ he said.”
“The Roman Easter, men, mark. Nothing was said of the Orthodox holy day. Just where will the Turk be in a fortnight’s time? Having turned your churches to mosques and your wives to odalisques.” That was a shot in the dark and without much basis in logic, if I’d stopped to think about it. But I had to keep stirring the pot, even as I seemed to let Giustiniani have his say.
“That’s what he said, on my honor.”
“But what of the Turk’s honor?”
“‘We are finished with our solemnities,’ we assured him. ‘Come ashore in peace.’ But he wouldn’t—and it’s clear he hasn’t. ‘Tomorrow is time enough to come and enjoy your green gardens and flowing fountains,’ he said.”
“It is true,” murmured one voice in the dark. “Our eyes see for themselves. The Turks linger at the other side of the straits. What is the meaning of that?”
I grasped at straws. “Perhaps they mean to come by night, to have the element of surprise.”
All on board fell silent for a moment, straining to hear confirmation of my words. What seemed confirmed by all the senses proved to be only echoes of our own noises as our ears picked through the silence.
Another murmured in favor of Giustiniani’s view. “Piali Pasha wouldn’t disrupt our solemnities. That shows some civility, surely.”
“What? That he didn’t come and take your virgins in their holiday best? The Turk’s not interested in what your women wear. He’ll take any garment from them fast enough, for what he has on his mind. He—he simply wouldn’t have your souls go straight to heaven, newly Easter-shriven. That’s his plan. The man gives you at least one night in which to commit new sins to taint your eternities. Of course, the Greeks must go un-shriven altogether. I hope, men, you’ve kept an extraordinary Lent.”
The fact of the matter was that I could not explain the admiral’s hesitation. All I knew was, when Giustiniani reiterated, “He comes to enjoy the countryside,” that was ridiculous.
“And can you see it?” I scoffed. “Piali Pasha and all his men, armed to the teeth and picking orange blossom in the Campos to stick behind their ears. Be serious, Giustiniani. I assure you the Turk is earnestness itself. And—and to let you know just how earnest he is, let me divulge some knowledge I am privy to that the Genoese are not.”
My own heart had begun to race the instant the idea came to me. I spoke quickly now to transfer that same palpitation to my audience.
“You face not only Piali Pasha in his eighty ships, but my master Sokolli Pasha as well. That was my business in your harbor, to bring my lady to her husband, who waits at Bozdag with half the Turkish army. He waits only to see Chios fall.”
The more I
