~
‘This is a mistake Sayyid!’ Hashim checked de Capo’s armour and made small adjustments to the plate protecting his shoulders and chest, ‘even though he is tired he is still a dangerous beast.’
De Capo and Hashim stood in the shade of the ground floor gallery and watched as le Boursier stood on the opposite side of the castle, resting before they started to spar. Leopold had given the order to cease fighting and men and servants filled the perimeter of the courtyard as they realised de Capo was preparing to fight one of their best men, ‘These men need to see me fight,’ de Capo explained, ‘if I refused to fight him they would consider me a coward and by nightfall I would be dead.’
‘You might be dead anyway,’ said Hashim with a worried expression, ‘and this would not be good for the men who owe you their lives!’
De Capo removed his own sword and took the blunted one Hashim handed to him, ‘No one owes me their life Hashim, I did what I was supposed to do, and all this talk of debt is nonsense…..my helmet.’
A servant boy stood close by holding the helmet and Hashim turned and took it from him and placed it on de Capo’s head, ensuring the leather straps were tied tightly. The last thing he wanted to see was the helmet flying off leaving de Capo’s head exposed to the strength of le Boursier’s sword arm, ‘You cannot lose Sayyid….Allah, blessed be his name, will not allow you to lose!’
‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ de Capo said as he stared across the courtyard at Leopold talking to le Boursier. He knew this was the perfect opportunity for an accident to happen, with enough witnesses to prove to the Constable he had agreed to fight.
‘I cannot help you when you are out there Sayyid,’ Hashim continued to try and express his unhappiness without appearing ill-mannered, ‘and if you are hurt, my friends will not look at me favourably.’
‘Shield,’ demanded de Capo.
Hashim turned to the servant boy who hefted the heavy shield off the ground and struggled to hand it to Hashim who held it in both hands allowing de Capo to place his arm through the stiff leather strap and grab the wooden handle expertly riveted to the inside. The shield was constructed of oak, a metal sheet between a double layer of stiff leather covered the front, all held in place with metal edging riveted in place. It had cost de Capo a small fortune but was capable of stopping bolts and arrows even at close range. The weight of the shield had been cleverly constructed so the top leaned into his shoulder making it easier to carry and if necessary smash into the face of an opponent.
‘Your friends are their enemies,’ de Capo said as he flexed his shoulders, neck and arms.
He looked at Hashim who appeared not to have heard, his eyes gave nothing away, ‘Keep your shield high Sayyid, he will drop his shield slightly and try and draw you in.’
De Capo glanced at Hashim and smiled, ‘I have done this before,’ he said, ‘you worry too much.’
Hashim shrugged, ‘Someone has to Sayyid!’
~
Le Boursier closed his eyes and sucked in great gulps of air. His one wish was that the air had been cold and not this searing heat he sucked in. At his request a bucket of water had been poured over his head and he had thrust his hands into another bucket to cool them down before drying them carefully. He had seen men whose leather grips on their gauntlets had become so wet from the heat that weapons had slipped out of their hands.
‘Fetch me a hammer,’ he demanded as he watched de Capo preparing.
Leopold shook his head, ‘No, this has to be done with swords; if you kill him you can name your own price.’
‘The price will be my head.’
‘Your head will be safe Édouard,’ claimed Leopold, unusually using his first name, ‘the bastard agreed to the fight, there are witnesses and de Fribois can be a generous man.’ Le Boursier sneered as Leopold strapped his helmet on and gave his armour a final check, ‘It has to look like an accident, one blow.’
Le Boursier nodded and slid his arm through the straps of his shield, ‘One blow?’
‘You almost killed Roberge with two blows of a blunted sword,’ Leopold said, ‘he might not recover,’ he turned to de Paganel who handed him a sword, ‘this,’ said Leopold as he faced le Boursier again, ‘is blunt on one side…..one blow!’
Le Boursier grinned and nodded as he turned and walked out into the centre of the courtyard.
The men watching were told to stay under the gallery, out of the sun and out of the courtyard which was clear for the two men to fight. The guards were looking down into the courtyard waiting for the fight to begin. Father Erasmus stood on the first floor balcony outside the chapel and watched with a look of dismay on his face. Clasping his crucifix his mouth moved silently as he whispered prayers to himself.
De Capo walked out into the courtyard and looked up at Father Erasmus, most of the time he was a quivering wreck and de Capo wondered what it was keeping him here, certainly not fear of de Chauvigny, and if he wanted to leave all he had to do was ask. De Capo didn’t like priests at the best of times and if this one wanted to return to Rome or wherever he came from then de Capo would pay his passage. He wanted a priest he could trust, one who knew his own mind but not one who tried to force the word of the bible down his throat. So far he had not met a priest who could fulfil his needs. He glanced around the courtyard perimeter at the expectant faces watching, and hoping he would meet with an accident. Leopold and de Paganel stared straight-faced in his direction as le Boursier approached him slowly, sword resting on his right shoulder, shield hanging low on his left side.
The armourer had been drafted in to act as a referee. An expert swordsman himself he had helped in the sparring but now Leopold had ordered him to act as adjudicator. He stepped out in the sunlight and held up a wooden staff, ‘You both know the rules; any man who breaks the rules will feel this rod across his head….if I say stand back the fight stops, any strike after that will be considered unlawful, if death occurs after the command to stand back it will be murder and the offender will face the Constable!’ He looked at both men, ‘Do you both agree?’
Both de Capo and le Boursier nodded and the armourer stepped back and raised his staff,
‘Fight,’ he ordered as his staff struck the ground.
The two men circled each other warily. De Capo had seen le Boursier fight and knew his strength; he also knew if the Frenchman got the chance he would deliver a blow intending it to be a fatal one. Le Boursier on the other hand had never seen de Capo fight and only knew of his reputation as fearless but fair, fair was not a quality the men of the Imperial Order of Jerusalem aspired to.
Le Boursier was the first to strike and his blade swept down hard towards de Capo’s head. It was merely a tester and de Capo simply dodged and pushed the blade away with his shield. Le Boursier continued to test de Capo’s defences and his blade swung in from all directions and angles as de Capo continued to step aside and use his shield to parry the blows. For long minutes the two men tried to find the advantage as the sound of their swords clashing rang out. The Frenchman kept his shield tight to his body, his stance was steady and firm and his feet like blocks of granite. The silence that floated across the castle was broken only by the blows and occasional grunts of both men who were already perspiring heavily and blinking furiously as the salty stinging sweat crept into their eyes.
Le Boursier shook his head to get rid of the perspiration covering his face and de Capo noticed the Frenchman change the grip on the sword he spun in his hand. The difference in the way the sun reflected off the steel told de Capo all he needed to know, he had to take a chance or he would be dead. He feinted to the right as he started to swing his sword down at le Boursier’s left shoulder at the same time exposing his head. The Frenchman raised his shield and lowered his stance slightly ready to strike a fatal blow down hard, instead de Capo charged at le Boursier smashing his shield into his right side, blocking the Frenchman’s ability to use his sword, in the same movement de Capo smashed the hilt of his sword down o
n top of le Boursier’s helmet.
The blow shocked the Frenchman rather than hurt him and he took two paces back as he realised he had made a mistake. De Capo followed and swung his sword hard at waist height slamming the blade into the shield. Again and again he did it and slowly he forced le Boursier round so he was looking into the sun. Le Boursier retaliated with hard swipes at de Capo’s head, but his lowered stance from the unexpected charge and the angle and strength of his shield meant the Frenchman’s blade simply skimmed the shield and flew over de Capo’s head. On the third attempt, de Capo moved under le Boursier’s sword arm and bringing his shield up, smashed it into his right shoulder making him finally lose his balance and expose the left side and his head. De Capo’s blade came down hard and slammed into le Boursier’s helmet. He staggered and his sword fell from limp fingers just before his legs buckled and he fell, face first onto the ground.
There was silence, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing. Each and every person watching, stared, stunned le Marteau had been so easily beaten. Leopold and de Paganel remained emotionless as they both realised their first chance to rid themselves of de Capo had been lost. Footsteps alerted de Capo to movement behind him and he spun round to defend himself but relaxed as he saw Hashim and the boy carrying water. Hashim quickly untied his helmet, removed it and took the sword and shield while de Capo slaked his thirst. He turned back at the movement in the corner of his eye to see the armourer leaning over le Boursier’s sword, ‘Leave it!’
The armourer stared at the blade, looked at de Capo’s face and nodded, ‘What about le Boursier?’
De Capo looked at the fallen man with disdain, ‘If he’s alive take him to the infirmary,’ he looked across at Leopold who watched silently, ‘and if he’s dead, bury him.’ He handed the ladle back to the boy, picked up le Boursier’s sword and walked across to Leopold. De Paganel stood beside him and the look on their faces made it clear they were more than disappointed, ‘Better luck next time,’ said de Capo as he dropped the sword at Leopold’s feet, ‘now get the men back out there and continue training.’ Without waiting for a reply he turned and strode across the courtyard and joined Hashim under the gallery roof.
‘I saw the blade Sayyid!’
De Capo accepted the towel handed to him by a servant boy and wiped his face, ‘I am happy your eyes are as good as mine,’ he replied curtly.
Hashim wasn’t put off by de Capo’s manner and continued, ‘None of these men would have helped you Sayyid, this was an attempt on your life,’ he moved close and lowered his voice, ‘the next one will not be so subtle!’
Chapter Sixteen
The fortress of Kantara sat high in the Kyrenian Mountains of northern Cyprus and held a commanding and almost mystical view over the Karpasia Peninsula and Mesarya plain. The views in all directions were stunning, the harsh, rocky and arid plain to the south west, and the long extended finger of the peninsular striking out to the north east. Built in the tenth century its primary purpose had been to watch for invading Arabs, and although that threat had diminished, it still stood.
The Castle was easy to defend, hard to attack and impossible to approach without being seen, and it was the location of choice for the men who now lived and garrisoned it. The Imperial Order of Jerusalem had but one permanent home; Jerusalem, but that home had been lost a long time ago. Until the day they could reclaim what they believed to be God given, they had made their home in Kantara, a base from which half of their Order could live, secure in the knowledge that two days sailing from the southern shores they could reach the Kingdom of Jerusalem where the other half of their Order still fought and killed the men they considered the warriors of Satan.
Two men stood on the southernmost wall and looked across the plains towards the coast, and beyond that, the spiritual home of their Order. The Grand Master, Martel de Fribois was in his fiftieth year. He was a tall man with a wiry frame but with a strength that belied the image he gave. His muscles were taught with energy and power, and he moved with a grace and gentleness which was in complete contrast to the evil in his heart. His close cropped beard and hair were as white as the snow in the winters that graced his homeland of northern France. With light blue eyes able to transfix a man, the looks he gave were like icicles stabbing into the heart, cold and piercing. Over his mail he wore the surcoat of his Order as did the man next to him who stood in silence and waited for de Fribois to speak, ‘What you did was the right thing to do Reynaud, those mongrels all deserve to die,’ he sniffed and flexed his neck before closing his eyes and breathing in the evening air, ‘it was unfortunate you were found before you could complete the task.’
De Chauvigny had arrived three days earlier, much to the surprise and chagrin of de Fribois whose anger increased tenfold when he heard the story. His anger was not directed towards de Chauvigny, but towards the Constable and the Bailli for having the temerity to banish yet another one of their most Holy Order.
‘It was also unfortunate,’ de Fribois continued as he turned to face de Chauvigny, ‘that your man failed in his task to kill that bastard.’ He reached inside his surcoat and pulled out a piece of folded parchment he unfolded, ‘Who did you give command to?’
‘Von Eschenback,’ de Chauvigny said knowing he had already told him that.
De Fribois smiled, although there was no humour in his expression as he opened the parchment and stared at its contents, ‘It seems Leopold has lost his position….your men….my men,’ the Grand Master snarled, ‘are now being commanded by that bastard traitor!’
‘What!’ De Chauvigny snatched the parchment out of de Fribois hands and stared at what was written, ‘This is illegal,’ he snapped, ‘you will petition the Pope?’
De Fribois carefully plucked the parchment out of de Chauvigny’s hands and re-folded it, ‘Of course I will petition him, but the man is an ineffectual fool who has plunged the Papacy into deep debt, the sooner he is replaced the better it will be for all of us.’
‘The King,’ spluttered de Chauvigny, ‘petition the King!’
‘And he will speak to the Bailli, who will speak to the Constable, who will laugh and say it is legal, and the Bailli will agree with him and tell the King who will proclaim there is no illegality.’
‘But you are the Grand Master!’
De Fribois sneered and looked back across the plain, ‘But I am banished Reynaud, they are scared of me and they are now scared of you……but they need our men because their hold on that land is tenuous in the extreme, and they would rather risk losing it than allow men like you and I to do what needs to be done…..de Capo must die.’
‘I will arrange it,’ said de Chauvigny gruffly, ‘he’s a traitor, and he’ll die like one!’
‘As long as we are not linked to a suspicious death,’ de Fribois said softly, ‘this Constable and Bailli are just as likely to banish the entire Order just to prove a point, and that would be most regrettable!’
The hidden warning was not lost on de Chauvigny who glanced briefly at de Fribois, ‘I will send a message to ensure it does not happen.’
‘If the Order is linked to his murder,’ de Fribois continued in the same menacing tone, ‘I will hold you responsible, an accident would be better, or death in combat. If it is murder, let it be in the city by men not connected to us.’
I understand my Lord,’ de Chauvigny said with more than a hint of foreboding in his voice.
‘I often come here to think and make decisions,’ de Fribois said as he took a deep breath, ‘the view is magnificent and even we can appreciate beauty when we see it….do you agree?’
‘It is an impressive view my Lord.’
‘Yes…..it is, but I did not bring you here to look at the view,’ de Fribois scowled as he continued, ‘the Urn of Tullios.’
‘It is a myth my Lord, it does not exist.’
‘Which part of your body would you like to gamble on that claim,’ de Fribois sneered as he glanced down at de Chauvigny’s crotch, ‘or don’t you gamble?�
�
‘I don’t understand,’ de Chauvigny said as he wondered where this was leading, ‘I went to the monastery, it was not there, we searched everywhere; the Abbot insisted he had never heard of it.’
‘And you believed him?’
De Chauvigny shrugged, ‘Seven of his monks are singing like women now, he watched as their balls were removed and thrown into the fire, he still denied any knowledge, you read my report!’
‘And yet, my spy tells me you were looking in the wrong place.’
‘I swear on the holy bible,’ de Chauvigny spat out, ‘it was not there!’
‘No,’ said de Fribois contemptuously, ‘but there was a scroll that tells where it is!’
‘If I may ask my Lord, how do you know, and why was I not told of this before?’
‘Do you know how long it takes for a man to recover after his balls have been sliced off?’
‘I don’t understand.’
De Fribois turned away from de Chauvigny and raised his hand towards the tower on his left. De Chauvigny watched as a hooded priest walked towards them from the shadows of the doorway and as he approached he threw back his hood shocking de Chauvigny at the sight. His face was skeletal and the pits in his face were sunken black holes in which his eyes, although open, were devoid of any semblance of life. His fingers were bony talons and the pallor of his skin that looked about to split was like a translucent wax. The man was like a walking corpse who moved in an unusual gait and sucked in deep breaths with each step.
‘This is Demetrius,’ de Fribois smiled at the priest, ‘he arrived here today after a long illness had prevented him travelling.’
The priest nodded greetings to both men and he spoke in a hoarse, shrill like voice, ‘My lords.’
‘He was my spy, Reynaud,’ de Fribois said softly with a cold smile.
De Chauvigny was apprehensive and quickly glanced around to see if any guards were nearby ready to slaughter him, ‘Your spy? In the Monastery?’
De Fribois nodded, ‘It’s all becoming clear now, eh Reynaud?’
De Chauvigny stared at the priest, ‘He was one of the seven men?’
‘Yes,’ de Fribois said as the smile vanished.
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