Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  The army stumbled to a stop on the southern slopes of the mountain late in the afternoon on the second day. The conscripts were tired, hot, dusty and thirsty. The supply train had not kept pace with the army, so they were hungry as well, even as the emperor’s retinue prepared a lavish feast for his solitary enjoyment. Isaac was installed in a colorful tent with banners waving and servants running around doing his bidding and getting in the way of the real soldiers. Bourtzes was fed up with this nonsense, but he and his mercenaries were looking forward to one thing: the capture of the fort and the rapine and looting that would surely follow. And they had no intention of letting the miserable conscripts from the gutters of Famagusta join in that kind of festivity.

  “I can’t believe how useless these peasants are!” exclaimed one of his captains in a sotto voice. No one, not even the mercenaries, wanted to be overheard complaining and get reported to the emperor by some sneak informer. His punishments were savage and sadistic, and the leopard was always at the back of people’s minds. However, the man could complain to his General; they had been together through many a scrape before they came to this pot hole of an island.

  “How do you think we managed to conquer the island so easily?” Bourtzes responded. “If they were anything other than useless they would have put up a fight. So we use them as fodder; I will make them go first and bear the brunt of the usurper’s defense, then when the defenders are tired out we will storm the walls.”

  The next day, the vanguard of the army assembled as best it could on and around the ridge upon which the castle stood. Unfortunately, the only level ground was half a mile down hill, so the trebuchet that they had hauled with such difficulty was completely useless, and the slope up to the ridge was nearly vertical in places. This caused the men to curse as they stumbled and scrambled up the steep slope, negotiating the scrub and thorns as they went. Then the captains kicked and shoved the men into place, prior to launching the first assault. Isaac on his white horse was there behind the men, dressed in his finest armor and gazing at the castle with a stern frown for the benefit of his followers. They would perform better if their leader bore a look of resolution.

  He expected his men to take the castle before sunset and be done. Isaac stared balefully up at the top of the center fort and the banner flapping in the light wind. He could just make out the image of a red lion on one side of a shield with a ship on the other on a blue background. His face suffused with blood again as his anger threatened to overcome his outward regal calm.

  That would soon come down, he snarled to himself. His horse shook its head as if disagreeing with him, but it was the flies bothering it, making it swish its tail and stamp. Isaac himself had to use his fly swat frequently. The flies had traveled with the army and were very aggressive, which did not improve his mood. His temper was further tried when Bourtzes approached and asked permission to go and parley before the battle.

  Isaac stared at him with his slightly protruding eyes and snarled, “Why parley when I intend to gut him and hang him off the walls by his entrails before feeding him to my pet?”

  “I assure you there will be a fight, Your Highness, but it will be an opportunity to see who we are up against. I want to look the man in his eyes and make him afraid.”

  Isaac had cursed inwardly but finally relented. “Don’t waste any time. I want to be executing that bunch before dark.”

  He lifted his hand as a signal and Bourtzes nudged the herald next to him. “Come on,” he growled. “It’s time to earn your pay.”

  Talon stood on the ramparts of the southeast corner of the castle Kantara and stared down at the motley army assembling a quarter of a league away. He and his men had watched the dust rising from the army for two days, and now it was here below his castle. He glanced up at the small, dark clouds scudding across the azure blue sky; in the distance he could see the beginnings of a storm out to sea.

  “It’s as good a day as any for a fight,” he murmured, then he turned to Reza and Max, who stood with him on the battlements. “It’s just as well that we prepared ourselves. I hope Henry and Guy are ready.” Both captains had stood off the harbor with their ships, just in case it occurred to anyone to sack the village. “If the rumors are to be believed, this emperor is the sort of man who would destroy any thing he can not have for himself.”

  “Those people in the villages were wise to come up here when we told them to,” Reza said, nodding at the crowd of women and children huddled in the courtyard, which was protected from the barbican and the main gates by two stout walls. The men of the village had been pressed into service bringing large stones and rocks into the castle and lining the walkways of the walls with them. Now the village men and boys were crouched behind the parapets alongside the soldiers, waiting for the fight to begin.

  The bleating of the village goats and sheep filled the air, making for a very noisy castle on this warm day. The animals were thirsty, for Talon rationed the water with care. The castle possessed two wells, but he didn’t know how long these might provide for over two hundred souls.

  “If he thinks about it, he will probably burn the villages out of spite,” Max said. “Everything we have heard about this man is unpleasant. He could not have been happy to hear that you had finessed this castle out from under his control.”

  “Which is why he is here today,” Talon said wryly. “Have the blacksmith and the carpenters finished their work yet?” he asked Reza.

  “Yosef and Dimitri told me that they needed a few more minutes, and then it would be ready,” Reza answered. “I will then supervise the rest. Do you really think this will work, Talon?” he asked.

  “We shall see,” Talon replied. He glanced up to where he could see the figures of Rav’an and Jannat watching them from the bailey. He thought he saw Rostam peeking out through one of the openings in the parapet. They were safe up there, for the moment at least. “Max, are your Franks ready?”

  “They are more than willing to have a fight, Talon,” Max responded. He had been given command of the fifteen Frankish ex-slaves who had volunteered to stay. Although still emaciated, they were recovering, having been well-fed since their release. To a man they wanted revenge for their treatment, and now the time had arrived. Dimitri, some of the Greek ex-slaves, and a group of sailors were attached to Max’s men. They, too, were eager to settle the matter.

  “Ah, what is it now?” Talon muttered as he stared at the restive the army. “I do believe they are sending a herald!” he exclaimed. “Max, Reza, make sure our men do not do anything. They come under a white flag.”

  The men on the battlements watched as two men on horses walked their mounts towards the gates. They halted just before the entrance, and the herald lifted a trumpet to his lips and blew a few sharp notes.

  “That’s to awake us up from our slumbers,” Max commented dryly.

  Talon stood near to the parapet and called down. “What do you want?”

  The second man looked up at Talon. Across this distance their eyes met, and Talon saw an implacable resolve in the dark eyes. “I am General Bourtzes, a loyal servant of Emperor Isaac Komnenos. We come in peace! With whom do I speak?” called up the rugged looking mercenary.

  “I am Talon de Gilles, Knight. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Bourtzes. However, despite what you say, it doesn’t look as though you come in peace from up here,” Talon responded.

  “I come in the name of the emperor, who offers mercy for your crimes and all who reside inside the castle. You must surrender immediately, and he shall show clemency and only crucify the ones who began this affair. The remainder of your followers will be sent into slavery.”

  “From what I have just heard of your ‘Emperor’, he is not the merciful kind,” Talon called down, leaning on the parapet.

  “What did he say?” Reza asked from behind.

  “He wants me to give him back the castle, and his master wants to execute us all,” Talon told Reza, who snorted.

  “I can keeill him easily
from here,” he whispered, looking fierce and miming the use of his bow.

  Talon smiled with amusement while Max wagged his finger at Reza.“There are rules. We don’t kill heralds carrying white flags, Reza,” Max said, trying to sound stern.

  “You’ll get your chance soon enough, I suspect,” Talon said, “but not now. It’s very bad form to shoot the embassy, much as I’d like to. That man beside the herald is the real leader of the pack, I suspect.”

  He looked back down to where Bourtzes was keeping his restless horse in line. Talon hoped he was sweating in the heat of the day. Bourtzes cocked his head and called up. “Do you surrender this castle?”

  “Regretfully, I cannot, Sir. Go tell your Emperor that he must take the castle if he wants it badly enough.”

  Bourtzes turned his horse as though he had expected this. “Then, Sir Talon de Gilles, upon your head be all the deaths that follow.”

  The men on the battlements watched as the two walked their horses back and halted in front of a man on a snow-white horse. They seemed to be conferring; then there was an impatient wave of the royal arm and the men of the army began to surge forward.

  “They are coming, and they are carrying ladders. See?” Talon said pointing. “Get ready.”

  Talon remained at the main gate tower while Max hastened off to join his men, who were concealed behind battlements to the north of the twin towers which flanked the main gates of the castle. Reza went to join his men on the back wall of the barbican. Here he would carry out a special task that only he could accomplish, when Talon gave the signal. Talon sent his hounds to sit in a corner out of the way; reluctantly but obediently they settled on the flagstones next to a pile of rocks, crossed their front legs and observed their human masters with wide-eyed and unblinking interest.

  Archers and spearmen were stationed in the tower to the north of the main gate, and men were hidden all around the entire perimeter of the walls, with the majority of them facing east and south towards the army. But Talon was not going to succumb to the illusion that the northwest side didn’t need men to guard it. He had come in that way, and someone else might have the same idea. So Junayd and a squad of men guarded that approach, enough to provide a warning should one be necessary. He was keeping the new sergeant he had acquired, Palladius, with him to guard the southernmost of the two towers that overlooked the gates. Talon wanted to see for himself if Palladius was sincere about his loyalty when he was confronted with a fight.

  Palladius’s pock-marked face was tight with anticipation as he watched the army running towards the castle. “They’re ragtag, Sir Talon, but they’ve got a backbone of mercenaries. They are quite distinct from the others, do you see? The ones with better armor and weapons, they stand out. My guess is that they number about one hundred.”

  Talon nodded. He agreed with the estimate; these would be the ones to take down first. He gripped his bow. He would be sniping at those men when they came within range, as would the other archers. He was already sweating in his heavy chain mail hauberk, and his pulse was rising as the prospect of a fight became imminent. One last check on his quiver hanging alongside his thigh, a tap if his fingers on the hilt of the sword, and he was ready. He looked across to the wall where Dar’an was lurking. He and his men were out of sight until the signal.

  “Here they come, Sir Talon,” Palladius said, hefting a javelin. He leaned out to see better, but Talon reached forward and pulled him back by his sleeve. “No need to tell them we are expecting them,” he said. “Remember the element of surprise.”

  They could clearly hear the roar of the enemy as they charged up the narrow trail towards the castle. The emperor’s men would have to run the gauntlet of the full length of the southeastern walls before they came to the gates, where they would be easy targets. Talon had prepared for this. Dar’an and his men were essential for this phase, prepared and awaiting Talon’s signal. The howling crowd of Greeks ran below the apparently deserted walls to come to a bunching halt before the walls, where they began lifting the ladders. This was the moment. Talon raised his arm and waved it.

  Dar’an and his men popped up all along the battlements and began to shoot arrows down at the enemy below. They also dropped big rocks on the luckless men, who began to mill about trying to evade the missiles hurtling down upon them, crushing some and maiming others. Talon had explained to Yosef and Dar’an that the architect of the castle had known what he was about, for the walls at their base angled outward so that rocks dropped from above would strike the ramp and then shoot outwards at a sharp angle, so that the missiles struck from the side and not from above, doing even more damage. There was no escape for the enemy, and when some tried to get away by jumping off the low cliff, the mercenaries who were there to stiffen their spines either killed them or beat them back into line and screamed at them to lift the ladders into place.

  The raw conscripts had no choice. They struggled to lift the ladders against the walls and then began to climb them; if they hesitated they were beaten by Bourtzes’ men with the backs of their swords and with whips. But they couldn’t make it. The archers above shot them down, poured boiling water on them, threw buckets of human and animal waste on them, dropped rocks, and poled them off with pikes. They fell screaming, covered in shit, onto their comrades below, or even further out—a hundred or more feet to crash onto the rocks far below the walls.

  Talon leaned over the parapet with his bow. He drew and shot until his neck and shoulders ached. Palladius nearby hurled javelins as fast as he could lay hands on them, and then he pointed.

  “There, Sir Talon!” he yelled. His javelin had fallen short of his target, one of the better armored men who was beating a reluctant conscript while pointing up the ladder. The conscript eyed the top of the ladder and Dar’an’s jeering men fearfully, but goaded by the pricking sword of the mercenary, he began to ascend the ladder, holding his shield high over his head. Talon pulled back on the string, allowed the bow to rotate itself just a little in the palm of his left hand, and tucked the knuckle of his right thumb into his cheek. The distance was just over forty paces. He paused a long moment, then released the string; the bow twanged and the arrow flew in a shallow arc past some men who were climbing another ladder and buried itself in the mercenary’s neck. The man toppled over, clutching his throat to die at the base of the ladder. Talon heard Palladius suck in his breath behind him.

  It had been an impressive shot, especially as only a few inches one way or the other and it would have glanced off armor. The dead man was covered seconds later by the body of the conscript, who’d had a turd thrown at close range into his eyes, then been hammered about the head with a wooden club as he struggled to remain on the ladder, and finally skewered by a spear. The men on the walls were meting out similar treatment on anyone else that managed to climb high enough to face them.

  Abruptly, Palladius shoved Talon hard and the bolt from a crossbow whirred past. A crossbow man ducked back to reload his weapon. In one smooth movement, Talon sent an arrow his way and the man fell with a scream to be trampled under the feet of the army.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but I thought.... ” Palladius said, sounding nervous. His eyes told Talon he was worried that he might have done something wrong.

  “Thank you, Palladius,” Talon said briefly. Then urgently, “Quick! One of those mercenaries has almost made it to the battlements!” He knocked another arrow, but Palladius hefted a javelin and hurled it in one smooth motion across the short distance between them and the other wall. His victim gave a strangled cry and tumbled to the ground, the spear right in the center of his back. Talon nodded his approval, and Dar’an, who had seen the incident, raised his arm in a cheery salute. They were beginning to see a marked reluctance to climb the remaining ladders on the part of the army from Famagusta. However some bold mercenaries were still determined to make a try. A group managed despite strong resistance from the men on the walls to gain a foothold where they set about the unskilled villagers with vicious effect.<
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  Palladius and Talon noticed at the same time and wasted no time in leading the charge into the mass of milling men and boys. Talon jumped over a kneeling boy who was holding his bloody face in his hands and dived into the roiling mass of men.

  He dodged a spear that had been lunged at him and stabbed its holder in the neck. Palladius was right behind him roaring and flailing with his sword and now others joined in to drive the struggling mercenaries back. There were five of them but even these skilled men were no match against the determined rush of Talon’s seamen and villagers who knew they had everything to lose if they failed to drive them down.

  Talon was in the forefront cutting and slashing at a large dark visaged man with long braids who wore expensive chain mail and wielded an axe which was already bloody as the bodies around him could attest to. Then another body of men with spears drove in past Talon led by Dar’an and Yosef. His former opponent fell as did the other mercenaries who were slaughtered where they stood.

  Talon barely glanced at the dead. “Good work men! Get back to the walls and make sure they don’t do this again,” he called as he led the way back to the tower. “That was close,” he remarked to Palladius who grunted agreement.

  Up to this point most the fighting had been by Dar’an, Yosef, and their men, with some help from Talon, Palladius and their archers, against the enemy on the crowded pathway below, but now things changed abruptly. While the fight on the East walls had been going on, a crowd had been gathering at the base of the twin towers trying to break down the massive wooden gates with some heavy logs. The defenders on both towers put up a good fight: arrows flew; stones fell, crushing limbs; and the hum of bolts underscored the battle; but the bolts ceased flying when Talon ordered his men to eliminate the crossbow men. His men could shoot four arrows for every one of the bolts and when a cross bow man was reloading his cumbersome weapon he was very vulnerable.