The only sounds of the night were the distant yapping of a jackal which died out then a light wind arrived to stir the dried out bushes and the sand, but then it too faded away, leaving the small sound of cooling desert rocks behind. A deep, almost deathly silence settled over the desert. He huddled into his cloak and shivered; it was very cold. Another hour passed before he felt Reza grip his arm.
“Something or someone is coming,” he whispered, then vanished down the hill, going to his position.
Talon’s eyes had adjusted well to the night, so the track of the road was clear to him. He looked further along the road to where it faded into the desert and the darkness of the distant hills. He could see a dark shape moving slowly, stealthily along the road. As the minutes passed the mass resolved and he could make out individual riders. The faint sound of creaking leather and the muffled sound of hooves came to his ears as a group of about twenty riders arrived at the point where the caravan had left the track to make camp on the knoll.
The riders stopped on the road opposite the base of the knoll, and Talon could see that they were looking up in his direction. Talon glanced down at the slightly darker shadows on his hillside, which indicated where the pickets were lying in wait behind their low rock walls, but doubted that the riders could see them. Reza was off to the left and Dar’an to the right of the path to the camp.
The riders appeared to be hesitating; there was a murmur as they talked among themselves. Abruptly a loud voice called a command, followed by the gleam of drawn swords, and the group of mounted men put spurs to their animals and charged towards the silent encampment. Talon nodded to himself; no change in tactics there.
He waited, watching from his perch on the top of the knoll as the riders galloped over the rough, rock-strewn desert towards the base of the hill. One rider went down with a yell when his horse foundered in a hole. He was pitched onto the sand, and his horse remained lying, whinnying and struggling, its leg broken. The others ignored them and reached the base, to begin whipping their horses up the gentle slope towards the ominously silent camp above them.
The riders were almost half way up the hill when a bright spark appeared just in front of them, on both sides of the path the riders were taking. The large, unearthly sparks seemed to be alive as they raced, hissing and smoking, down the hillside for ten ragged paces before just as suddenly disappearing into the ground on either side of the straining riders still charging up the slope. Suddenly there were two huge flashes, followed by a thunderous noise, and the ground erupted at their feet. The world for the riders seemed to be split apart by the huge double boom of the explosions, and then death hummed and whistled among them. Shards of stone flew in all directions, killing and maiming.
Some of the riders had hesitated with surprise, even fright, as the huge sparks came weaving down the hill towards them, but now they were stopped dead in their tracks by the two explosions that shattered the night and ripped their ranks to pieces. Horses and men went down screaming while the remainder hauled their horses to a stop and gaped in horror and unbelieving shock at what had just occurred.
They were given no respite, however, as a dark figure appeared on the top of the hill above them and loosed an arrow that glowed with fire at its point into their midst. When it struck, this fire also exploded with a fearsome bang. One of the riders seemed to disintegrate. The horrible noise of wounded and dying men and horses was unnerving.
Worse was to come, as moments later the ground on both flanks erupted with screaming, howling figures who appeared out of the ground to stab and hack at the survivors, already reduced to half their former number. The panic-stricken men and horses were easy targets for the dark, demonic figures which darted about, stabbing up at the already deafened and confused men. More went down, and those left alive simply fled in all directions, seeking to put as many leagues between themselves and this terrifying manifestation of hell as they possibly could.
Two made the mistake of heading north, where they ran into a party of riders who greeted them with a flurry of arrows, taking them both down. Two of the riders jumped off their horses and finished the wounded men off with daggers to their throats.
“You have been blooded,” Yosef said to Rostam, as they stood up and retrieved their mounts. “Now you are a warrior.” He clapped the boy on his shoulder. “Your father will be proud of you this night.”
“My Lady is still a great archer,” Yosef said to Rav’an, touching his forehead as he rode alongside her, his teeth flashing in a grin.
“My Sister also shot her arrow.” Rav’an indicated Jannat, who was still staring down at the dark figures of the dead. “But I am glad you were with us, my friend. Teach my boy to be a good warrior.”
“He has the makings already, Lady. It will be an honor to help him where I can.”
Three frightened men paused a league away to look back at the distant encampment. They saw a single streak of light soar into the sky, then explode in a starburst that briefly lit up the hills around.
“God protect us, for there is the Devil himself! Did you see? Fire and Brimstone! His demons came straight out of the ground!” one of the riders wailed in terror and crossed himself repeatedly.
“He is surely of the Devil’s spawn, but he wears the cross of the Templars! How can that be?” Raynald de Châtillon muttered, as he fingered a gold cross he had stolen from a pilgrim some years before. They plunged on, ruthlessly spurring their lathered horses towards the relative safety of Kerak Castle.
Jerusalem behold, appeared in sight,
Jerusalem they view, they see, they spy;
Jerusalem with merry noise they greet,
With joyful shouts and acclamations sweet.
—Tusso’s Jerusalem
Chapter 5
Audience with a King.
Talon and his men drew their horses to a halt on the Southern ridge of the valley of Jehoshaphat and stared at the magnificent city rising from among the low hills before them.
Jerusalem’s light-colored stone walls shone with an almost ethereal glow in the late afternoon sun. The myriad towers, battlements and columned buildings stood out with sharp outline, making it easy for Talon to point out the various distinguishing features from the raised Temple of The Lord, the palace, and the Templar buildings in the foreground; while behind the high group of buildings were the crumbling, ancient columns that were so old none could say when they were built. From their vantage point they could just see the spires of some of the Christian churches, which were ringing their bells for Vespers.
None of his companions, other than Dar’an, had ever been near a Christian city before, let alone heard the sounds of the church bells. They sat listening in awed silence as the Holy City prepared for the evening prayers and began to settle down for the night.
“I shall go into the city tomorrow and see if I can meet with Sir Guy de Veres, my old mentor,” Talon told them as they themselves settled in for the night at their encampment. All around them were other caravans. Most had come for trade from as far afield as Baghdad and Basra, and even further. Merchants were less discriminating than religious zealots when it came to trade. Talon realized that Jerusalem was still a center of commerce, perhaps not as thriving as it had been before, but over many decades it had recovered much of its former wealth.
“Will we be able to go into the city and explore?” Rostam asked, excitement in his voice.
“I shall take you with me, and then leave you to your own devices while I go and meet with Sir Guy,” Talon told him.
“Perhaps Dar’an can show you where we used to live.” He looked over at Dar’an. “You know this city well. I am entrusting my family to your care. You know your way around. Just stay away from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The monks and priests there are touchy and might object if ‘Saracens’ stared at them too hard. I doubt, however, there will be any trouble anywhere else; the city is full of all kinds of people,” he assured them.
Rav’an looked at him. “They are no
t hostile here?”
“This is not the home of that bandit we encountered in the South. Here the King insists upon law and order from everyone,” Talon responded. “Besides, you will have Reza and his young companions to protect you, and Dar’an will keep you away from any trouble, my Love.”
“Will we see you at all once we are within the city, Talon?” Jannat asked, with a look at Rav’an.
“I hope so, but I must first deal with things that have to be done. I want to know more about how the kingdom is managing with a sick King, and I must request an audience with him, so I do not know how long I shall be,” Talon said.
Later that night, with Rav’an lying in his arms as they listened to the murmurings of the encampments nearby, she raised her head and said, “I sense that you are uneasy, my Talon. What is it?”
“Perhaps it is something Châtillon said, I am not sure, but it left me concerned. Much time has passed since I entered those walls.”
“What was it he said?” she asked.
“That the King was very ill and was not really in charge, at least that was the implication. I suspect I will have to seek out old friends and find out.
The next morning when Talon rode at the head of his small entourage, he was dressed in his chain mail with the cross of a Templar knight on the breast of his surcoat. He had none of the accoutrements he had departed with those many years before, but the uniform was passport enough in this city, he reflected, remembering the last time he had entered after the great battle of Montgisard. Then the ragged and wounded remnants of the Templars and the King’s army had been greeted by a crowd that screamed and cheered themselves hoarse with gratitude for their deliverance from the hands of Salah Ed Din and his enormous army.
He looked over his family and companions with a critical eye as they prepared to ride into the city. A glance at the sun told him it was mid morning. The bells were ringing again. His wife and Jannat were suitably veiled, and his companions looked as though they were well-to-do traders from the north, perhaps Syria. They no longer looked like the Beduin camel caravaners they had resembled for the last month.
The gate he had chosen was David’s Gate, which meant that they would have a good half an hour’s ride to approach it from the West. This was one of the main gates of the city, and Talon wanted to show it off to its best effect. Once inside, Dar’an would be able to show them all they needed to know about the markets, the fruit, where to buy the best materials—which the women were eager to do—and where they could find the baths. He led the way towards the massive archway that was the entrance to the city with his surcoat uncovered. The sentries at the gate barely gave him a glance but were about to stop the others when Talon called out, “They are under the protection of the Templars. I am in charge.”
The sentries stared, then reluctantly waved the group on, and then they were inside the city. Talon reined his horse to the side of the crowded main street and waited for the others to catch up. They moved out of the way of the carts and beasts of burden that filled the street. After the quiet of the desert the noise in this street was deafening. Everyone seemed to be shouting at one another or their beasts, and the air rang with the hammering of blacksmiths at work, hawkers shouting, and the sounds of people pushing and shoving, trying to get to their destinations.
“I ride in a straight line down this road and then onward to that walled place standing on the rise over there.” He pointed to where the Temple of the Lord, the King’s palace, and the Templar barracks were grouped.
“At the crossroads almost in the middle of the city you can go wherever you please. You may have to walk, as the streets are very narrow off this main route. Dar’an will guide you.”
“When do we see you again, Talon?” Rav’an looked concerned.
“Don’t worry, I shall join you later in the day at the gate of Mount Sion. Dar’an knows where it is. We shall meet when the bells are ringing for what the Christians call Vespers, just as they were last night.”
They parted, and Talon joined the traffic that was moving towards the palace compound and that of the Templars. He had time to think about what he might encounter when he arrived, but soon he was at the gates that led to the Royal palace and the wide space where the Templar Knights were billeted. The sentries scrutinized him casually, then allowed him to ride through the arched entrance, and he was back in a familiar place.
He turned right and dismounted. Some men who clearly worked for the Templars gave him curious looks; his horse was a handsome mottled gray Arab, quite unlike the horses Templars generally used. He noticed some high spirited Destriers, the massive animal that the Knights used for battle, being worked at the far end of the compound. A groom hurried out of the stables and took the reins of his horse. Patting the animal’s neck reassuringly, he turned away to walk into the cool interior of the main Templar building.
It was just as busy as he remembered it: clerks everywhere moving about purposefully, others sitting at desks with quills scratching busily, while in another corner of the large space some knights were gathered, having a discussion. Talon didn’t know any of them.
They paused to take note of him, and perhaps because he looked unsure of himself one of the men detached himself from the group with a comment that made them laugh, and came towards him.
“You look quite lost, Sir. May I be of assistance?” He was a young man, with a self-confident air. Talon estimated him to be just above twenty.
“I am looking for Sir Guy de Veres,” he said.
The young knight frowned. “Did I hear you say Sir Guy de Veres?” he asked. His eyes took in the tall, strong looking man with piercing green eyes and the scarred face. He had been going to make a flippant comment, but the set of Talon’s face deterred him.
“Will you wait here while I enquire on your behalf?” he said instead.
Talon nodded and watched as the young man rejoined his companions and there began a discussion. They all turned to stare at Talon; it was clear to him that they were discussing him. Finally the young man walked back towards him.
“Sir,” he said, “did you not know that Sir Guy died?”
Talon was visibly shaken. “Sir Guy de Veres? Are you sure? When? When did he die?” he demanded.
“Some years back, Sir. At the siege of Jacob’s Ford. Did you not know of this?” he sounded incredulous and motioned his companions to join him as though he needed support for the news he had just imparted to this strange knight.
“No,” said Talon absently. He was still dealing with the shock of the news. “I didn’t know. God protect his soul.”
“Sir, how could you not know? Who are you?” another demanded, his tone sounded almost belligerent. They were all staring at Talon now.
“My name is Talon de Gilles,” he told them. He shook his head to clear it. Sir Guy had been killed in some battle that he had not even heard of! So this was what Châtillon had meant.
“I knew of a Talon de Gilles once. But he is dead and gone these many years,” the first knight stated with conviction.
Talon almost rounded on the man. “I am Talon de Gilles. I have been away for a long time,” he stated, and they all knew that he was not now in the mood for disbelief.
“Then you are... you are the same Talon who brought the Templars to the battle of Montgisard!” another exclaimed.
Talon gave a wintery smile. “The very same.”
“This I must tell to the Grand Master!” one of them muttered, and he departed in a hurry.
Now that they had established who he was, the three remaining knights wanted to know where he had been and why.
He was saved by the arrival of a man whom he knew, by sight at least. Lord Gerard de Ridefort strode into the room and people sat up to pay attention. Visits were rare from Sir Gerard, and already there was something of interest going on near the entrance. Gerard strode haughtily towards where Talon was standing with the growing group of curious knights and retainers. They parted at his arrival and stopped talking, leavi
ng a small space around Talon and the Grand Master.
Gerard peered at Talon, who calmly put up with the scrutiny. Finally Gerard snapped his fingers and pointed into the air with a finger as recognition dawned. “It really is you, Sir Talon de Gilles! We thought you were dead these long years ago. Châtillon came to Jerusalem with some cock and bull story that you were alive, but I never believe half of what that man says. Where have you been?”
Talon nodded and smiled. “A long story, Sir Gerard. Are you now the Grand Master? What happened to Odo?”
Gerard frowned at Talon. “I think we need to talk. Some place more private than this. All right, get back to your work,” he said to the rest of the room. “I shall deal with this from here.” Taking Talon by the arm he led him off to his chambers, where he sat him down and offered him a cup of water. Talon took it gratefully and sipped. He grimaced to himself. The water was rancid to his taste. The Templars still drank unclean water.
“You are a man of many surprises, Sir Talon,” Gerard remarked, as he sat down opposite him at a huge desk strewn with papers and rolls of parchment.
“The first we knew of your return was from Raynald, who claimed that you had come back and were practicing wizardry.” Gerard chuckled and wiped his face with a large hand. “He claimed that he saw you ordering demons from the ground amid much fire and brimstone.” Gerard laughed. “I sometimes wonder at the imagination of that man,” he said. “But now here you are. I want to hear all about it.”
Talon managed a wry smile at the news of Châtillon. “We did indeed meet up, Sir, but it was not quite as Sir Raynald has told it. Shall we just say he thought I was a member of a caravan that he wanted to plunder? We evaded his attempt to do so, and no harm was done.”
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