Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  “It is a thunderbolt from heaven!” cried one of the servants, gaping at the streak of fire that appeared to leap into the sky. “A sign from God!” He wailed and was joined by others who crossed themselves; one even fell to his knees.

  It had a terrifying effect upon the others. All of them dropped what they were doing and fled for the main gate, leaving Martin calling after them hopelessly, waving his empty bucket in the air until the heat finally drove him to the relative safety of the street.

  The crash of iron-bound doors slamming above him and the stamp of heavy boots echoing on the stone steps that led down to his cell woke the prisoner from a fitful slumber. Shivering under a thin blanket, Max sat up from his pallet of filthy straw and scratched at the sores on his legs. He shook his long dirty hair out of his eyes and listened, then looked up. He knew that he was one of very few prisoners in the Citadel. Other prisoners were further away in some other dungeon.

  He had been in isolation for several years and still didn’t know the charge against him, other than it was because of his association with Talon. Not for the first time, he wondered where his young friend might be. Dead, probably; captured by the Assassins or by Arabs. Having heard nothing for over four years, Max had given up. Talon had gone the way of Sir Guy and so many others of his comrades.

  The door bolts were hauled back and the door crashed open. “Get up, prisoner. You’ve got guests!” the jailer called out to him. He was a rough man who did his job, but he had refrained from any cruelty, which Max appreciated. Over the years he’d had several jailers, not all of them decent people.

  He got to his feet shakily and stared up at the men clustered at the head of the stairs that lead down to his barred cell. The jailer, dressed in rough homespun and a leather apron, carried a flaming torch which flickered and smoked.

  “You are going to Jerusalem, my friend. Though why it should be at this time of night I have no idea, and it is not for me to dispute,” the jailor told him, jerking his thumb back at the three men just behind him. In the flickering darkness it was impossible to discern their features behind the helmets and nose guards. “Orders from the Grand Master. I pity you when they have finished with you. Might have been better to let the church have you and to end it here in Acre,” the man continued with a coarse laugh.

  Before Max could say anything, the leader of the three stamped down the steps and stood behind the jailor. Now that he was closer, Max could see him better. To his utter astonishment, the man winked at him! Max nearly fell over, he was so surprised. It was Henry!

  “I have the orders here! Come on, man, open the gate!” Henry told the jailer in a loud voice.

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” the jailor grumbled. “These keys are old and the lock is rusty.”

  “You, there, hurry up and get ready to leave.” Henry growled at Max, who was standing dumbstruck. Max turned his head to stare hard at the other two and was sure that one of them was Guy. Hard to mistake that giant of a man, even when dressed like a Templar knight; but the third man wore a cowl that hid his face. There was something about him, however, that struck Max as oddly familiar, but he was too stunned, and sick, and exhausted, to do more than wonder and gape.

  The key grated in the lock, then the jailor hauled open the door of the prison and stepped inside, closely followed by the three knights. Then the jailor received a hefty shove from Guy which slammed him into the wall. His head struck stone with a dull thump and he fell to the floor, semi-conscious and bleeding from his forehead. Without saying a word, the third man drew a long cord out of his robe and proceeded to completely immobilize the groaning man; he then stuffed a cloth in the jailer’s mouth and bound another around his head to keep it in place. The knight stood up and Max’s eyes opened wide with surprise.

  “Talon?” he gasped. “Is it really you?”

  “Come, Max, we’re getting you out of here,” Talon said with a grin. “No need to stare. Can you walk? My, but you need a bath!” He gave a low chuckle.

  “I... I think I can manage. But how? Where?” Max stammered. He felt a surge of relief and hope and wondered if his heart would hold out, it was beating so fast.

  “Questions later, Max. We have a boat to catch, and there is little time. Come, I will help you.”

  They helped Max up the stairs, and Talon locked the gate below with the keys he liberated from the jailer. When they were through the doorway, he closed it and pushed the bolts across.

  “Our friend below can shout all he likes, but no one will hear him. I don’t think he will be missed before dawn.” Talon brandished a roll of parchment at Max. “These are your orders, Max. Where would you like to go?” he grinned.

  Max managed a wan smile. “Wherever you three rascals are going, and I hope it is to sea,” he croaked.

  They walked up several flights of damp stone steps and along narrow cold stone corridors without running into anyone until Talon, who was leading, paused. Guy was carrying the torch recovered from the jailer, and Talon took another down from a sconce on the wall.

  “We should now be level with the harbor pier belonging to the Knights. We will be going out that way, Max. Say nothing; just look weak and disoriented.”

  Max smiled weakly. “Yes, I think I can manage that.” Even this short walk had left him shaking and unsteady.

  “Ah, here we are. Now, this will be the most dangerous moment. Most of the knights have gone to bed, but the guards are awake.” Talon strode over to the narrow, wooden door and opened it with caution. Peering out into the darkness, he scanned the area, then turned to the others. “Let’s hope the piece of paper works again.”

  He opened the door and lifted the torch high. The guard was leaning against the iron-barred gate, staring out towards the fire that now raged in the middle of the city.

  “You over there! Why are you not paying attention?” Talon said, as he strode arrogantly up to the man, who stiffened to attention. Talon thrust the parchment under his nose. “Can you read, man?” he demanded.

  “Er, yes... um, no,” the guard stammered.

  Talon heaved an elaborate sigh of exasperation.

  “Do you at least recognize the seal of the Grand Master?” His finger tapped impatiently at the big red wax seal at the bottom of the paper.

  “Yes... yes, I do. That’s it!” the guard told him peering at the forgery and trying to sound confident.

  “Then open this gate! I have a prisoner I am taking to Jaffa and then on to Jerusalem. This is the Pope’s business. Hurry, now!” Talon ordered the bewildered man, who hastened to comply. He fished out a large key from his belt and thrust it into the lock, opened the gate and then stood back, intimidated by this large man with the battle-scarred face.

  Talon beckoned to the men in the doorway, and Henry and Guy strode towards the gate, dragging Max along between them. “Lift your feet, felon, or I shall beat you senseless,” the guard heard one of them snarl at the prisoner.

  “Poor bugger,” the guard muttered as stood aside to allow them to leave.

  “What did you say, soldier?” Talon put his face within an inch of the guard’s as the others went by. “This man is a heretic accused of witchery.” He lowered his voice to say very softly, but in a tone full of menace, “Be very careful that you do not join him. Now shut the gate and lock it. I don’t want to hear another word out of you!”

  The sentry, who was young and inexperienced, stared and nodded. “G... Good night and God Bless you, Sir,” he stammered, and he watched the three knights drag the limp body between them into the darkness. He made haste to lock the gate. He was glad to see the back of that angry man. It could have gone badly for him; the man’s face was frightening with its scars and its dangerous scowl. He turned to peer into the darkness towards the end of the pier, but they seemed to have disappeared completely. He turned his attention back to the distant fire, wondering how it had started.

  Guy rowed the boat silently through the dark waters of the harbor, with Henry guiding him through th
e tangle of shipping until the boat bumped gently against the side of the galley which would be captained by Henry. There was a whispered challenge. Henry answered it and went up the side to the deck. He spoke quietly to one of his men on deck, then he leaned over the side and offered his hand to Max, who struggled to keep his feet, but eventually managed to reach up and grasp Henry’s hand. Talon pushed him from behind, and Henry swung him up and steadied him when he stepped shakily onto the wooden deck. Talon, with a quick whisper to Guy, gripped his shoulder and then climbed up to stand next to Max.

  Guy’s boat vanished into the darkness, heading towards the other ship.

  “Come, Max, we need to get you below. We are about to sail. Rest, and then we can talk later.” But Max reached over and clutched at Talon and they fell into a clumsy embrace.

  “I cannot believe it, Talon! How did you know where to find me?” Max was snuffling with emotion. Talon hung onto him for a long moment, then held him gently away.

  “Martin told me. Now go with Dmitri. Remember him?” Talon’s voice was thick with emotion. “He will see to it that you are fed and have somewhere to rest. We have yet to get out of this harbor.”

  As Max was led away by Dmitri, Talon went up to the steering deck and turned to Henry. “Now we wait for the signal?” he asked his captain.

  Henry nodded in the darkness. He was tense. Anything could go wrong now: some very alert sentry on the walls, the discovery of the jailer, or some curious person who observed the untoward activity on the ships and reported it. They could still be stopped if someone had the presence of mind to raise the chain at the entrance of the harbor.

  “That looks like a bad fire over there,” Henry remarked.

  “A useful distraction, I should say,” Talon replied.

  The signal was not long coming. They squinted into the darkness in the direction of the other ship, and within a few minutes sighted a small glow from a lantern that gleamed on and off twice. Guy was on his ship and ready to leave.

  Henry blew out his breath with relief, then reached for a lantern placed nearby and returned the signal. Then he passed an order in a whisper. Men seemed to appear from all the dark shadows and from below where they had been hiding.

  Some slipped into the bow and cut the cables that held the boat to the anchor rocks. Silently, the crew pushed the long oars out of the rowlocks, then waited. Upon another whispered command from Henry, the oars were dipped with great care into the water of the harbor, the steersmen leaned on the panels, and the long, sleek vessel began to move. Henry had memorized the route he would take and muttered the occasional order to the steersmen. Fortuitously, there was a fairly good channel along which the slim vessels could be rowed without having to negotiate passage with other ships.

  Only one man on the high steering deck of a huge Templar ship called across to Guy’s ship as it slid by. “Ahoy there! Where are you going at this late hour?”

  Talon’s response was, “On the Pope’s business.”

  There was no reply to that, and now Henry’s ship was at the entrance of the harbor with the last guard tower behind them on their starboard side. Talon was amused to hear “God Speed” called across the water. He had been holding his breath. If the chain across the mouth of the harbor had been raised, they would not see it; there only warning would be the dreadful, jarring impact when the ship rammed into it. But the chain was down; the way was open.

  “God protect you!” Henry called back. He chuckled and glanced back at Guy’s ship, which was close behind, and called out an order. “Raise the sails, quickly now!”

  There was a patter of bare feet as men rushed to haul the two sails up the masts. The ship dipped slightly as they ran out of the still waters of the harbor into the swell of the sea. Then the light wind still blowing off the land took hold and bellied the sails. They passed close by the Island of Flies with its beacon, but no one challenged them, and then they were heading out to sea. The ship gathered speed, and before long Henry ordered the rowers to stand down.

  Talon had been keeping an eye on Guy’s vessel and saw that he, too, had raised his sails. In the gloom it was hard to see more, but before long Talon could make out a small white bow wave on the other ship and a lantern in the bows. Henry told one of the men to place a lantern on the after rail of their ship so that Guy could follow in their wake.

  Initially, Henry headed south to confuse anyone who might have been watching them from land; but within an hour of sailing he changed course to north by north-west. Talon sucked in a deep breath of sea air with great satisfaction and stared back at the dark line of the coast that was receding into the darkness. He was surprised by Henry, who came up to him and grabbed him into a bearhug and shouted, “We succeeded, Talon! By God, we succeeded! You are truly the Fox! To where do I set course?”

  Ignoring the whispers of delighted surprise from the steersmen when they realized who he was, Talon replied, “Why, to Cyprus, my friend. That, I hope, is to be our new home.”

  Pierre d’Aix, the Constable of Acre, stood at the end of the street and stared at the destruction wrought by the horrendous fire of three days ago. He shook his head at the blackened ruins. This was only one of the streets that had been destroyed; the conflagration had devoured four whole streets in its ferocious appetite for wood and thatch.

  The area was still smoking, but after a superhuman effort the population had at last managed to bring the fire under control and then douse it. The cost in property and lives was still unknown. The fire had started, according to the monk called Martin, in the house of another Brother named Jonathan. A candle had fallen, perhaps; it was not uncommon for a fire to start that way. Apparently, Brother Jonathan had been lavish with candles.

  He was still staring at the ruined expanse when he heard the sound of horses and several horsemen came to a halt behind him. He was too tired to turn around. He heard one of them dismount, and then Sir Rufus was standing next to him.

  “Do you still believe this was an accident?” Rufus demanded, as he contemplated the charred mess.

  “I am told it began in the house of the Bishop where that unpleasant monk called Jonathan lived. The other monk says he cannot be sure how the fire started. Some are even saying that it was an act of God because they saw a lightning bolt strike the place, but he thought it was begun inside the house. According to the servants, Brother Jonathan burned candles every night, a great many of them, and always had candles in his room,” Pierre replied with a tired shrug. He had been without sleep for days, it seemed. “Even the Bishop agrees. No one has seen Brother Jonathan since that night. It is thought that he died in the flames.” Pierre gave a shudder. “I hate fires,” he muttered.

  “Well, I think I have some news for you that will change your mind,” the Templar said.

  Pierre spun around, surprise written all over his face. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “I mean that the morning after the fire, two ships that used to belong to Sir Talon de Gilles disappeared from the harbor, and no one remembers even seeing them leave! The great fire took up all their attention, the imbeciles. There were donkeys standing around all over the harbor pier. No one knows how they got there. The gates were wide open, and the harbor guards were nowhere to be found.”

  Pierre gaped at him. Sir Rufus continued with what might have almost been mistaken for a hint of admiration in his tone, “They were eventually found tied up and gagged in a shed along with the guards who should have been on the ships.”

  “What! How in God’s name did this happen? Wh—?” Pierre was speechless. He gobbled with astonishment, and then as realization struck home he became enraged. “You mean... that heretic, Talon? The one Brother Jonathan wanted to see burned for witchcraft? This is all his doing?”

  Sir Rufus gave a bleak smile and shrugged. “Ahem, yes, it is beginning to look that way. There is more which tends to confirm it.”

  Pierre glared at him. “More? How could there be more? He sets half the city ablaze, steals two expe
nsive ships... what more could he have done?”

  “Remember the prisoner we had in the Citadel?” Rufus said. He looked embarrassed. Pierre blinked and nodded. “The one who was imprisoned because of his association with Talon?” he asked.

  “Yes... well, he, too, is gone. They walked in as bold as brass and spirited him away. I think they took him with them in the ships.”

  Pierre tried to conceal his astonishment, even amusement despite his own anger. What an embarrassment! How would the haughty Sir Rufus explain that to the Grand Master in Jerusalem?

  “Well, I’ll be damned to hell,” he said finally, with a glance at Rufus. “What you are telling me is that he was inside the city all the time!”

  Sir Rufus glared at the ruins ahead of them. “It appears to be that way, and he stole a fine march on us. We will never find him now. He and his damned ships are lost to us forever.”

  “May he rot in hell,” snarled Pierre, “In God’s name, how are we going to repair all this damage?” he cried waving his hands at the wreckage before them, his voice was anguished. “It will cost the city a fortune!”

  “Why don’t you ask the Bishop? After all it was his house that started all this. He’s wealthy enough!” Sir Rufus said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Wisdom is sold in the desolate market

  where none come to buy

  —William Blake

  Part II

  Chapter 10

  Paphos

  Paphos was a beautiful city; it rested on the southern part of the round rump of the island of Cyprus and presented a bright and enticing view to ships arriving in the ancient harbor. Talon and his family, once the ships were tied up, made haste to explore the city. The Roman ruins were extensive, in some cases built atop even more ancient Greek ruins.

  The feeling of freedom and sunshine persisted as they walked the streets and explored the market place, which was a riot of color and exotic goods. Rav’an remarked that it was better than Jerusalem. Talon had heard from Max that some of the very best armorers were in Paphos and spent time watching blacksmiths at work on armor and copper smiths beating out kitchen utensils with small hammers. It reminded Talon of a smaller, prettier Cairo. He began to relax, and the hunt for a suitable accommodation began.