Galloglass Book One the Templar

by Seamus O'Griffin

  Trusting in my armor, I attacked the warrior to my left first because he was the closest and posed the most immediate threat. It was obvious he had never seen a longsword before. He had no idea about the reach of that sword. A simple lunge from a low guard that my Scottish sword master had taught me caught him coming in. The blade lanced over the rim of his buckler, its tip pierced his eye and drove deep into his skull. He dropped like an ox hit with a hammer.

  In much less time than it has taken to tell this, three men were dead in the street, yet the other two came on, bucklers up, still trying to maneuver behind me. I used my horse to shield my back and settled into another guard. As the one to my right came within range, I cut upward from a low guard, aiming for the inside of his thigh. As the blade ascended, I stepped and then cut down to bring the sword over the top and onto his buckler. The blow knocked him back as the second man struck. Stepping to my right, I caught his blade with the flat of my sword and then twisted both my hips and my hands. My longsword skimmed over the top of his buckler, its tip slicing through his exposed throat, nearly decapitating him. To wait is to die. I continued my attack on the first warrior. Using the momentum generated by the blow that killed his companion, I looped the longsword from my left in a figure eight and struck him on his buckler three times in as many breaths. On the last attack, he managed to drive my blade downward with his shield, but I continued forward and drove the pommel of the sword into his face before he could strike me. My next cut caught him on the side of the neck and split him from shoulder to sternum.

  I returned to a low guard as I had been taught and awaited another attack. The noise of the fight had brought people from the buildings on either side of the street to see the commotion. I heard shouts of alarum as they noticed the cross on my mantle and realized I was a Templar. I ignored them and began checking my surroundings and the bodies on the ground for any possible threat as cries for the watch began to echo up the lane toward the city gates and the citadel.

  The first man I put down with my horse was not dead. His neck was broken and though he could speak, he could not move. When I approached him, he called to me in Arabic, "In the name of He who is most wise and compassionate, I beg thee, Lord, for a quick death."

  I squatted beside him after first cleaning my blade with a scrap of cloth and then knelt while leaning on it. Himbert's constant hammering at me about learning Arabic had finally become useful. "The watch is on its way. Thou knowest the road to Paradise can be short and swift or horribly long. It is up to thee." I drew my dagger and dangled it where he could see it. "Ismaili?"

  He nodded in affirmation. "Yes, lord."

  "I thought the power of the Assassiyoon broken?"

  "The Mongols did not kill all of us. The Sultan Baibars and his Mamluks think they control what is left. They do not. There are still villages in the mountains that cling to the old ways if thou knows where to look and whom to ask."

  I could hear the cries of the watch as they grew closer. So could the Ismaili. "Thy time grows short. Tell me who sent thee."

  Conflict raced across his face. To give an infidel such information was blasphemy, yet the thought of being a living toy for the pleasure of Tripoli's Commune was more than he could bear. "The contract came from the Genoese in Ayaas. We were paid fifty gold bezants to kill Malik al-Muat ."

  That was the first time I had heard what the Arabs called me, the Angel of Death. It surprised me. "Quickly, my friend, the watch approaches. It is time for the Shahada."

  "La ilaha illa l-Lah, Muhammadun rasulu l-Lah, there is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God."

  I nodded and then slit his throat, making sure I opened his jugular and within moments he was gone. The watch arrived as I stood. Several of them stopped and milled about in shock as they viewed the bodies and realized they were Hashasheen. Their captain approached me, and seeing the blood spattered across my mantle, asked, "Brother, are you injured?"

  "No, but I need to return to the commandery."

  He tugged back his coif and sheathed his sword. "I thought the assassins didn't exist, you know, like a jongleur's tale."

  "Real enough," I replied. "Listen, commander. My name is Brother Ronan. Can you have someone deliver these bodies to the commandery? I will pay them well for the task."

  He scratched his head, thinking to decline until I pressed a gold bezant into his palm. The coin disappeared into his belt at once. "Certainly, lord."

  I left him there as he organized his fellows and commandeered a nearby cart. There was a crowd gathered by then, and they parted without a word as I slipped away, staring at me like I was a three-headed calf at some country fair. I could not understand it. It was not until much later, after speaking with Himbert, that I began to sense their wonder. The assassins' reputation throughout the Levant was such that they were the stuff of legends. The fact that I had slain what to them was a myth must have been remarkable. My thoughts were that the assassins' organization had fallen on hard times if five could not accomplish what used to be done by one or two.

  When I arrived at the commandery, I found Himbert at once and told him what happened. De Gaudin was called, and we met in the chapel after Compline. He was skeptical. "Five Hashashin? There are not five Hashashin in the entire Levant. Come, brother, surely you exaggerate."

  I looked at Himbert. I was angry at de Gaudin's diffidence but refused to give him a reaction. I shrugged and shook my head. "The point is the Genoese are worried. I fear that Master de Beaujeu's life is now in danger as well. Where a dagger fails, poison may not."

  "We received word earlier this evening by carrier pigeon; the master is on his way here by ship. He should arrive tomorrow," sniffed de Gaudin. "The masters of the other two orders will accompany him."

  My mind was racing with the implications of that when Father Bertrand, de Gaudin's confessor and the Templar chaplain of Tripoli, imposed himself on our conversation. "Brother Ronan, you have not been to confession since your arrival here at the commandery. Do you not think it wise to safeguard your soul? It seems deadly trouble follows you like a buzzard to carrion."

  I admit were there many times when my duties in the Temple were not remotely connected to the church. That suited me well. The last thing in the world I intended to do was confess my sins to someone such as Bertrand who would violate the sanctity of the confessional as fast as a whore would lift her skirts. Bertrand was tall and thin with dark, close set eyes and a long thin nose that he used to look down upon those he thought inferior. The green of his priestly robes highlighted the unhealthy white sheen of his skin. Given half a chance, I would have slit his throat and never given it a second thought. Himbert knew what my response would be and sat with a bemused look on his face.

  "I will say this just once and you would do well to heed my words, Father. If and when I confess my sins, it will not be to the likes of you. Go away and never bother me again."

  Bertrand recoiled from me as though he had been slapped. His face flushed, and he did not look nearly so confidant. Perhaps he thought that because he was a priest and de Gaudin's confessor, I would look with awe upon him as though I were a peasant boy to be cowed. The priest sputtered and tried to respond when Himbert took him by the arm and steered him away. "Father, I think it would be best if you tried to increase your flock somewhere else. The only thing to be found here is a wolf with very sharp teeth."

  Bertrand looked over his shoulder and saw me toying with the hilt of my dagger and decided he would listen to Himbert. De Gaudin scowled. "We are monks. We all take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Apparently you have forgotten this."

  "Spare me, Tibald. If you have a problem with me, voice your concerns to Master de Beaujeu when you see him tomorrow. By the way, the five Hashashin are here. " I pointed to the door of the chapel where one of our sergeants stood. "They were to let me know when the watch delivered the bodies."

  De Gaudin looked as though he had swallowed a piece of rotted meat. "Come, Lord Commander, let us vie
w my exaggeration."

  Though he did not want to, pride forced de Gaudin to follow me into the courtyard of the commandery. On a cart, stacked like cordwood, were the five bodies of my assailants. I fished a coin out of my wallet and tossed it to the watchman who made the delivery. To one of the nearby sergeants I said, "Bring me a wooden block and an axe. Also, send someone to the kitchens for a barrel of vinegar. Have them bring it here to me at once."

  I looked at Himbert who arrived minus Father Bertrand. "A project?" he asked.

  De Gaudin looked first to Himbert, then to me, "Surely you do not intend...."

  "Yes," I answered him before he could finish. "I intend to send a message. One that will be inescapably clear."

  Moments later the sergeant arrived with the wooden block and the axe. I had him help me remove one of the assassins and place him on the ground so that his head was supported by the block. I then took the proffered axe and separated the assassin's head from his body. In quick succession, I did the same for the rest, and when I had finished, I placed each head in the barrel of vinegar and had it sealed. By the time the last head went into the barrel, I had drawn quite a crowd. Himbert looked rather amused by the whole grizzly affair. De Gaudin, on the other hand, was horrified and demanded that I stop.

  "In the morning, my lord, this barrel will be delivered to a certain merchant who will then ship this by caravan to Masyaf where it will be delivered to an Imam who will then be informed that it is a gift from Malik al-Muat."

  "Such a thing will start a war," he snarled.

  "We have been at war with the Hashashin for over a hundred years, ever since the murder of Conrad de Montferrat. This is nothing new. Besides, it was not you they came to kill, now was it?"

  The Lord Commander had nothing in answer. He stumped off, adding my disobedience to a growing list of grievances that I was sure he would present to Master de Beaujeu. A detail was assigned to dispose of the bodies, and I counted that incident finished. In the morning the barrel left the commandery as I intended and three weeks later was given into the care of the Imam of the Nizaris in Masyaf. It was a message that could not and would not be ignored.

  Ten

  The next day I met Helvis outside the Maronite Church of St. John, just below the walls of the citadel. Rather than enter, she had me follow her along a cloister that led to a courtyard behind the church. There were several buildings attached to the courtyard, and it was into one of these that we retreated.

  "This is their guesthouse," explained Helvis. "They have a number of rooms that they save for travelers who ask for shelter."

  "Then we need to take advantage of their charity," I replied.

  That was the last we spoke for the next hour. Our love-making was frantic at first, both of us needing the physical release of pent up desire. We hardly disrobed. I lifted her linen tunic as she dropped her silk pants and in moments was inside her as she wrapped her legs around me. Standing, I sat her on the edge of a nearby table and in our haste damn near shattered it. The next time was slower, longer, and infinitely better. When we were finished, I asked Helvis if Bartholomew had the complete support of the Commune. She shook her head as she climbed back in my lap. "No. There is a sizable faction that does not believe my husband's promises of Genoese impartiality as far as trade. They also are suspicious of his motives, thinking that he would like to be the podesta appointed by Genoa."

  "And does he?" I asked while kissing her throat.

  "Of course," she laughed as she rocked her mound on my member.

  I was young and it had been several weeks since the last time Helvis and I had been together. I made love to her a third time, after I had the information I needed. When we were finished, we talked for a while and then dressed rather quickly. Time had gotten away from us, and she needed to be away.

  I left when I was sure she was no longer on the grounds of the church. My palfrey was where I had left her, and it was not long before I was again riding back down to the city and the Templar commandery. There was a line of people queued in front of the gate to enter the city, and it was there that Fitzmaurice found me. I saw him and his companions as they came out, shouldering the crowd aside with their horses. He spotted me almost at once and then made it a point to ride down the line and stop. He was leading a troop of sergeants and squires and had with him a knight brother I did not recognize.

  "Bad luck to ride with that one," I said, speaking to the Hospitaller while pointing to Fitzmaurice.

  "I would think you would learn not to tempt fate, brother, and quit riding about by yourself,"

  he replied, his face breaking into a smile. His companion said nothing, his face betraying no emotion.

  "Ah, then how else would I be baiting you into doing something stupid?" I replied with an even bigger grin on my face.

  The smile never left Fitzmaurice's face, but his eyes narrowed to pinpoints, and I could tell he would have struck me down if he thought he could. "Don't worry, MacAlasdair, your time is coming and sooner than you think." He shifted in the saddle and nodded toward the knight beside him. "By the way, this is Brother Gregor Blikize. Gregor was the Duke of Austria's "satellitum."

  I showed no response as I had no idea what the word satellitum meant.

  After an awkward pause, Fitzmaurice grinned wickedly and said, "He was the duke's bodyguard until there was an unfortunate incident that required ten years of penance in our Order. You of all people should understand such things, is that not so?"

  I nodded to the big German in acknowledgement, the smile never leaving my face, and then I said, "Indeed. Don't let me keep you, brother. I know this mid-day heat will soon force you to slither off to your hole."

  Fitzmaurice nodded and laughed, the sound of it harsh and grating. He put spurs to his mount and said, "Your time is coming MacAlasdair." His companion simply stared at me, completely emotionless.

  I watched them leave and then made my way through the gate and on to the commandery. I reported to Himbert all that had transpired, and the next day Admiral Zaccaria arrived with five galleys. Not long after, two Templar galleys arrived as well, bringing with them the Grand Masters of the three military Orders. The arrival of both parties sent the port city into chaos. A meeting was called in the great hall of Embriaco's citadel for the following day.

  That night I escorted Himbert and Master de Beaujeu along with Commander de Gaudin to the Hospitaller commandery where we met with the Countess Lucia along with Masters de Villiers and von Schwanden of the Hospitallers and the Teutonic Knights all of whom had brought their retinues, so the hall was crowded. I took my place behind and to the right of Master de Beaujeu while Himbert stood to his left. De Gaudin was afforded a seat beside the master.

  The countess did not waste time nor words. "Well, gentlemen, what do you have for me?"

  Master de Villiers replied at once. "My lady, we have word that all is not well with the Commune. There are those who do not trust either Embriaco or the Genoese. The question we have been unable to answer is will they support you."

  She nodded and turned to de Beaujeu. "Guillaume, what has the Temple heard?"

  Master de Beaujeu listened for a moment as Himbert leaned in and spoke. He nodded and said, "Much the same. There is discord among certain factions within the Commune. Our source believes these can be exploited. The Commune could be persuaded to choose you over the Genoese."

  "And the Genoese? What of Zaccaria? Is he willing to go to war to obtain this city, and can he win?" asked Lucia astutely.

  Master de Beaujeu shook his head. "If you look at cost verses gain, then I think not. If Zaccaria thought he could grab the city without much fighting, possibly. With the Commune in question, and therefore the loyalty of the city garrison and militia, it is too great a risk. Both the Temple and the Hospital have increased our garrisons here for just that reason. I think he would be willing to negotiate." Turning to the others he asked, "Brothers, what think you?"

  Both Master Schwanden and Master de Villiers agreed
, and it was determined that word would be sent to Zaccaria for a meeting between him and the countess before the assembly in Embriaco's great hall the next day. If anything, that meeting proved to be anti-climatic. Lucia outmaneuvered everyone. She agreed to affirm Genoa's trading privileges with the city in return for Zaccaria's support. At the same time, she recognized the Commune's rights as citizens and agreed to consult them in the ruling process, and in this way, everyone was satisfied, with the exception of Bartholomew Embriaco. Yet even he was mollified somewhat as he remained Mayor of Tripoli and Lord of Jubayl.

  Several days later, I arranged for an audience with Admiral Zaccaria. We met in the home of the Genoese merchant Alberto Doria. Doria was the Genoese representative to the Commune and wealthy as Cronus. Although alone, I was fully armed and armored when I entered Doria's palatial apartments. I was ushered into a room with expensive tapestries and carpets. Zaccaria sat at a table strewn with parchments. Behind him stood two very large, German men-at-arms. Like me, they wore mail under their surcoats and had swords belted to their waists. Both looked like the competent killers I was sure they were. Zaccaria was expensively dressed in a linen tunic embroidered with gold thread. His pants were silk and he wore soft, deerskin boots The thing I noticed most, however, were the rings he wore on all the fingers of both hands. "I was told there was a Templar at my door. As I am not in need of money nor have I borrowed any, I am wondering what it is that you want?"

  Zaccaria was referring to the ever increasing practice of loaning money that the Temple was involved in throughout the Levant and Europe. It was one of the ways the Order financed its day to day operations, and it had proved to be quite profitable. I shook my head. "Actually, my lord, I am here concerning a contract."