Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  The banner came down and the two bands of men lumbered heavily toward one another at a ponderous gallop. They came together with a crash as lance met shield and lance splintered or slid past a shield and struck a telling blow to a man’s body. Men went down immediately and it was clear from the start that some would not rise for the remainder of the tournament.

  A freedman nearby gave a running commentary to Talon and his group as the fight progressed. There were not many rules as such in a mêlée of this kind, he told them with satisfaction. A man could even be killed, but woe betide a rider who struck a horse deliberately.

  The remaining riders, still horsed, took out their swords or maces and began to hammer at each other—driving their horses into one another, looking for an advantage. Talon noticed that the unwary often got a blow from behind, which in one case at least finished the rider and he tumbled to the ground senseless from the cowardly blow. The crowd booed happily and yelled abuse at this un-knightly display.

  Finally there were only two men still on their horses. Both were dressed in heavy hauberks and leather boots with the standard helmet and nose guard. Their overshirts were torn and on one of them bloody. There were other horses trotting about but they were riderless and grooms were trying to capture them without being ridden down. Talon could see a couple of unconscious men lying on the grass. There was blood on tunics and streaming down horses’ flanks from careless blows with sharp objects. The crowd was screaming itself hoarse as the two riders made some distance between one another in readiness for the final bout.

  Both were wielding maces that they swung menacingly around their heads in an attempt to intimidate one another as they cantered closer. They came together with a metallic crash, their maces swung almost at the same time, and the heavy balls smashed into each other’s shields simultaneously. It was clear from the start that one rider was the more powerful, as the other was rocked deep back into his saddle by the terrific blow. He lost a stirrup and it was while he was trying to regain his balance that the other man leveled another terrific blow to his shield. It was enough. The man toppled out of the saddle and landed heavily on the grass. He lay there, stunned for a few seconds, while his opponent halted his horse, then dismounted ponderously, preparing to finish him off.

  However, the grounded man managed to get up, albeit groggily, and drew his sword with a shout of defiance. He hurriedly regained his shield, then stood waiting for his opponent to come to him. Then they were at it, belaboring each other with their swords. The crowd loved the bout; they shouted abuse and encouragement to their respective champions, wincing at a blow landed on their man and cheering whenever he was able to deliver a cut or blow to his opponent.

  For a time it looked as though the larger man was going to knock his opponent to the ground again. That is, until his less heavy opponent managed to get in a couple of swift and sure jabs at his chest and stomach. It seemed to take the wind out of the big man. The chain mail did a poor job of protecting from a direct stab which could bruise badly, whereas it deflected a side blow quite well.

  Following up on his advantage, the lighter man smashed his shield ridge into the other’s nosepiece then struck hard with a downward blow to the side of his opponent’s head with the pommel of the heavy sword. Down went the man to lie on his face, semi-conscious. His opponent stooped over him, hauled him over onto his back, then jabbed the point of his sword into his mailed throat shouting hoarsely for his surrender.

  The crowd cheered and booed the victor, who nonetheless gallantly helped his opponent to his feet. They stood, arms around each other’s shoulders, and saluted the stands. Then they staggered off out of the arena, holding onto one another as though afraid they might both fall over.

  Talon found the whole thing riveting, aware that it was this kind of fighter that had defeated the lighter-armed and lighter-horsed people of the East. It had to count for something, he thought; but it seemed so clumsy.

  He turned to find Aicelina watching him. He looked his inquiry, but she tossed her head and said nothing. They settled down to watch several more bouts.

  Before long it was late afternoon and time to leave. They began to make their way back to the Inn where Jabbar and the cart were waiting. Talon and Anwl discussed the fights. Anwl told him that only lords in Wales wore this much chain mail, as it was expensive. Talon refrained from telling him that the much patched and worn chain mail he had seen hitherto in Languedoc was pretty poor stuff compared to the elegant, rippling mail used by Templar and Saracen alike in the Holy Land. Most of what he had seen on both the jousters and the other men at the jousting arena, who could afford a chain mail suit at all, was either rent or badly patched together. Few people in this country dressed in any kind of cloth that Talon would have considered rich and attractive to the eye. He ruefully listed himself among them.

  He glanced at Aicelina walking near them, holding Guillaume’s hand. She somehow managed to look attractive even in her simple dress of dyed green wool. She glanced up at him just as he did so and they looked each other in the eye. She seemed cool and collected until he noticed the beginnings of a blush. He was the first to avert his eyes.

  The interchange unsettled him so he set a slightly faster pace, thinking of the hours they would be on the road. He wanted to make sure they came back in time for supper.

  He had not noticed that Marcel had left the stands and was talking to his men and pointing at Talon as he crossed the bridge with his wards.

  The little party drove down to the edge of town at a brisk pace that allowed them to make good progress. Guillaume bounced up and down on the front seat alongside Anwl, recounting to all the details of the battles he had witnessed. Aicelina was looking pensive as she sat on the other side of Anwl.

  Talon was listening to his brother, amused at his excitement, as he rode alongside, not paying much attention to the road ahead when Jabbar skittered his ears back, giving him a hint that there were others on the road. Talon turned in the saddle and saw a group of men on horses coming at a fast trot along the road behind them. He was sure he had seen them before. There were four of them and they were armed. He called over to Anwl to drive off the track and allow the men space while he reined Jabbar in and turned to watch them.

  An instinct told him that there was something wrong, but he could not tell as yet what it might be. The men were rough-looking, bearded, and unkempt. Their chain mail hauberks were patched and soiled. Their horses were not a lot better and their tack was badly maintained. All this Talon could observe as he watched them warily while they came toward him.

  “Anwl, get your bow out and be quick about it.” he called softly. He heard a grunt of surprise from Anwl and a quick movement. “Aicelina, take Guillaume and get out of the cart and near to a tree or behind a hedge. Be quick,” he ordered.

  Aicelina said nothing, but he saw her out of the corner of his eye as she grabbed a startled Guillaume, helped down by Anwl, and hurried over to the dense shrubs nearby.

  “Anwl, are you ready?” Talon asked.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Anwl responded from behind him.

  Talon watched as the men on horseback came closer, scattering other people off the road as they rode.

  He reined Jabbar back so that he could sense Anwl to his right. He hoped that Aicelina was well back and protected. He drew his own bow out of the scabbard under his left leg and drew an arrow from the quiver at the cantle and settled it onto the bowstring. Then he waited and watched as the men came closer.

  They were now about sixty yards away and well within bow shot, but he stayed Anwl with a murmured, “Don’t shoot unless it's clear that they are coming right at me.”

  There was a grunt of acknowledgement.

  It became clear that the men were coming for him—their eyes were fixed on Talon. He tensed up and his pulse pounded: there was trouble here. They were all in heavy hauberks with round, pointed helmets with long nose pieces. It gave them a sinister, intent, look. They held their shields close; Talon thou
ght this could present a problem if they all came at him at the same time.

  He drew his bow and aimed it straight at the men. “If you are looking for me, then I would tell you to stop where you are,” he called to them when they were about forty yards distant. They barely paused; there was a muttered command, and they put spur to their horses.

  Talon loosed his arrow at the lead horse. The arrow struck it in the chest, going deep. The animal screamed and stumbled and fell forward. Its rider was toppled over its head to crash hard to the ground. The other three were momentarily caught short by the obstruction of the animal and rider on the ground, but not for long. An arrow whispered past Talon from behind him that buried itself deep in the chest of another man who gave a choking cry and toppled backward off his animal, which ran on a few yards and stopped.

  That left two men still on horses and one picking himself up off the ground. The odds were still significantly against Talon and Anwl. Relying on surprise, Talon danced Jabbar forward, using his knees, riding hard into the pair, his sword drawn. He feinted high and then stabbed past the rising shield of the lead man who was quite unready for the maneuver. Talon’s sword pierced deep into the man’s right arm at the join of the hauberk to the sleeve. His fine steel was more than a match for the badly linked chain-mail shirt. The man gave a shocked cry and was taken away by his horse, clutching his arm and swearing loudly with the pain.

  Talon turned and parried a wicked downward blow from the other man, but just then an arrow from Anwl hammered into that man’s thigh. He, too, gave out with a surprised yell and, clutching his saddle, allowed his horse to take him away from Talon.

  Talon watched the two wounded men as they fled from the battlefield and decided they were not going to get involved again. He quickly dismounted and, letting Jabbar go, ran straight at the first man. The man barely had time to draw his sword. His shield lay off to the side where it had fallen. He was stooping to pick it up when Talon ran up and planted his foot firmly in his backside, kicking him off balance. He fell forward in an undignified position onto his hands and knees with Talon standing over him. Talon reached down, jerked his helmet off, then placed the point of his sword against the side of the man’s throat.

  “Who do you belong to?” he asked harshly, aware that his anger was rising and that he could quite easily kill the man if he made one wrong move.

  The man shook his long greasy hair out of his eyes and wordlessly looked up with bloodshot eyes. It was obvious he had been drinking.

  Talon applied more pressure. “Who sent you here and why did you attack me? Answer, you pig.” He pressed even harder with the razor-sharp point and drew blood. “Anwl, keep an eye on those other men.”

  “Aye, m’lord, I’ve got them in my sight. They don’t look eager for more.”

  Perhaps realizing that Talon meant what he said, the kneeling man turned his head and muttered, “We were told to chase you out of the town.”

  “We were already leaving the town, you lump of sheep’s dung. Answer my question: Who sent you?”

  “Marcel, son of Guillabert d’Albi.”

  “Tell my cousin that he failed to achieve his ends and the next time we meet he had better be ready for a fight. Tell him he is a coward. I have no time for his sort, or for you,” Talon spat out. “Count yourself lucky that I do not kill you here and now.”

  He stepped forward and gave the man a savage strike on the top of his bare head with the pommel of his sword. The man went down without a sound. Talon looked around and saw that the other two men were nowhere to be seen, but there was one man lying in the grass, an arrow protruding from his chest, along with the downed horse that was still struggling on its side and another loose, grazing on the grass nearby. Talon reluctantly walked over to the horse and slit its jugular, standing back as the animal went into its death throes. Anwl instinctively ran and retrieved his arrow from the dead man. Good arrows were hard to make.

  People were beginning to gather and shout. Worse, the guards on the walls were taking an interest, pointing and shouting down behind them to others. He realized that they could be in a lot of trouble if they did not leave at once and it could not be with the cart. He ran over to Jabbar, then collected the other horse while telling Anwl to fetch Aicelina and Guillaume. They came running from their cover by the dense hedge off to the side of the green area where the fight had taken place. She was white but looked determined; Guillaume was frightened, but it was also clear from the set of his jaw that he was not going to cry.

  “Aicelina, we have to ride out of here quickly, the cart is far too slow. I do not know what will happen if we stay. Pick up the wool, you will ride with me, and Guillaume will ride with Anwl,” Talon commanded.

  She nodded mutely and they mounted. Talon drew her up behind him on the now excited Jabbar, knowing that his mount could only take their combined weight for a limited time. The other horse, although a nag by comparison with Jabbar, was a larger animal and could take the combined weight of Anwl and Guillaume easily. By now a crowd was beginning to gather and there was much shouting and gesturing. Although they did not seem to be hostile, the incident occasioning much excitement, but they would for sure bring the sheriff and others to the scene very soon. Talon did not want to be there when they came.

  They set off at a brisk trot but Talon knew better than to head directly to his father’s fort. This would be fatal as, even if the men of the city did not give chase, then there was a good likelihood that Marcel would try to intercept them. He felt Aicelina’s arms firmly round his waist and turned his head.

  “Do you know the way to the abbey from here, Aicelina?” he asked her.

  “Yes, but we are going the wrong way for that, Talon. We should go east, not west.”

  “Good, then we shall go west for a few miles, then change direction and pass the town to the north to pick up the route to the abbey. How far is it from here?”

  “I think it is about ten miles.”

  “Anwl, follow me as fast as you can,” Talon called. “Guillaume, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Talon.” His brother looked worried but not terrified. Talon nodded approvingly.

  Talon put Jabbar into a fast canter and they were off. They covered a good two miles before they were well out of sight of the town. Talon stopped and found a place where they could turn off the track into the sparsely wooded area that led into the low hills to the north. Talon made sure that their path from the road would not betray their exit.

  He looked back along the road and could perceive no indication of any chase, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the town as he could. They wove their way in between the trees, moving quickly, keeping the sun to their left and then when they thought they were well above the town, they headed directly east.

  The horses were working well even with their extra loads and had they not been fleeing from trouble it would have been a pleasant ride.

  Apart from asking Aicelina from time to time if she were still all right, there was not much conversation between them. He was worried that when they did not arrive at the fort that night there would be a lot of concern, even to the point where a rescue party might rush off into the night and start hunting for them. He wondered how to send a message. Despite his worry, however, he found that he rather enjoyed having Aicelina with her arms around him as they rode. Her body pressed against his back was disconcerting. Despite his resolve to stay aloof from her, her proximity made him uncomfortably aware of her as a woman.

  They continued on into the evening, making the miles count. Talon began to recognize the terrain and knew they were not far from the abbey. They came up the hill and into the main yard of the abbey just as the sun was beginning to set. At this time there were few people about; the monks were all eating supper; it was between Vespers and Compline. The economy of daylight was used frugally here.

  They were nonetheless noticed and a lay brother came running toward them as they came up to the gates. He recognized Talon with so
me surprise. “Master Talon de Gilles,” he exclaimed, “you are not expected. Is there anything wrong?’

  Talon let Aicelina slip off the back of Jabbar before he replied. “Brother, we came here as I wish to seek refuge for this girl and my brother for the night. I also wish to speak to the abbot, please.”

  The lay brother stared, surprised at Aicelina, then averted his eyes. “Er, yes, Master Talon, I shall go at once to speak with him. Do you take the horses to the stables and we shall look after them.”

  He ran off with the news of their arrival while Talon dismounted. They took Guillaume off the horse he had shared with Anwl. Guillaume was very tired now and all but fell into Talon’s arms; all the excitement had worn him out.

  Talon smiled fondly down on his brother and brushed the tousled hair back from his forehead. While he carried Guillaume, Anwl took the horses to the stables where they were met by other equally surprised lay brothers whose work it was to see to the livestock. Talon led the way toward the main building, not certain as to how he would be received. Not only was he uninvited but he had a woman in tow.

  He need not have worried. The Abbot Matthias himself came bustling along the cloisters, followed by his secretary and others of the brothers whose curiosity had overcome their hunger.

  “Master Talon de Gilles,” he exclaimed. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” He stopped talking when he noted Aicelina and Guillaume. “Ah, I take it this is not quite a social visit.”

  Talon quickly explained what had happened and why he had come to the monastery rather than going directly home.

  The abbot looked concerned but nodded his agreement. “I think it might have been a wise decision. You could not afford to be intercepted. You will stay here the night and I shall send a messenger to your father to inform him that you are safe and not to worry. I am sure that they will send an escort by noon tomorrow.”

  Talon breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Father. I would not have indisposed you but I did not know where else to go.”