Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  Talon concentrated on his food and found that something was missing. There were few vegetables to go with the meats. It was true, here was some baked roots and some fresh cabbage, but few people seemed interested in them. For the most part they ate meat or pastry and the variety was staggering, from seafood to hunted venison or boar.

  He wondered if he would ever see a fig or an orange again, as he had not up until now. He longed for a pistachio nut to crack and chew. There were plenty of apples and he enjoyed the cooked plums and cherries that were plentiful with the meat. Elena pressed a pear onto him, eating another with obvious relish and letting the juice drip down her chin until he was forced to wipe it with a corner of the linen over-cloth provided for the purpose, both laughing as he did so.

  Talon had to ask what some of the food was, for it was quite new to him. Elena pointed to platters of oysters that had come fresh from the sea. There were boiled mussels, which he had never seen before. There were numerous game birds that positively stank to the point where he almost had to be rude and hold his nose. He asked why they were so rank. His amused companions told him that the game birds were hung for days after being killed to make the flesh tender. Talon had to agree after taking a tentative bite; the flesh was tender but it was difficult to get past the smell all the same.

  The pies arrived, some filled with starling carcasses that had been roasted before being placed in the huge dish with a crust baked over them. There were huge fish on long silver trays that they called brochets that were pulled out of the river along with trout. He sampled the trout that had been baked with toasted almonds, knowing how that tasted and again finding it delicious, and then tried some other choice bite that Elena had placed on his plate.

  Being noble they ate off silver plates but he noticed that most of the gentry seated on the lower tables were eating off pottery plates while farther down the hall among the lesser knights they ate off trenchers of thick bread that were replaced after each course.

  Here too people ate with their hands and used their knives to cut the food up before they took it to their mouths, or even cut it off the larger part when it was between their teeth. Before long his young companions all had juice and gravy on their chins as they happily indulged themselves. Servants came along behind them and gave them clean towels from time to time, but Talon noted that the young men and even the girls were not above wiping their mouths with the sleeves of their tunics or dresses.

  Wine flowed freely, as did mead that he was careful not to drink, knowing full well what the mixture would do to him. Others seemed less inhibited and before long there were quite a few men staggering drunk in the hall.

  Talon had been so engrossed with the food and conversation with his newfound friends that he failed to notice that there were was something brewing in the lower hall.

  Two men, richly dressed but obviously drunk, had engaged in a quarrel that came to knives drawn. They staggered out onto the center of the hall in between the tables and slashed at one another with deadly intent. Even the minstrels stopped playing to watch, agog. There were shouts of encouragement and ribald comments as the two tried to stick one another with their long daggers.

  The Count was not amused. He reared up at the high table with a roar of anger and shouted down the hall with a voice that dominated the raucous shouts of the crowded hall and even intruded upon the two antagonists’ dulled senses.

  In the silence that ensued the Count yelled, “Stop this brawl at once. You dare to fight in my hall after taking salt at my feast, in front of my guests? Guards, arrest these men at once. Throw them in the cells where they can sleep off the wine and in the morning they shall entertain us all at the lists. We shall see how well they do when sober.”

  His guards came running with pikes and swords drawn to seize the two men and hustle them out of the hall to the jeers and laughter of the rest of the crowd. The Count sat down, clearly out of sorts with the event. The remainder of the guests settled down to eat more of the good food he had provided and before very long the hubbub of conversation and activity had resumed as though the incident had never happened.

  Roger glanced at Talon. “You are witness to the hot blood of the Languedoc. Men often carry a feud to the death in this land. I would that the knights and retainers were better mannered. Those two have had a grudge for years. I expect one to die tomorrow at the lists; they hate one another.”

  “I was surprised, my Lord, but your father is obviously respected and rules with a strong hand, so it would seem this does not happen often.”

  “That's true, but every year at this time when men come to pay their yearly homage some old grudges resurface and have to be cleared at the lists,” Roger replied.

  “The sport of jousting is forbidden by the Church, but all the same, men will fight, so it is better that they fight in a place where all can see it a fair fight,” Donate told Talon.

  The incident was forgotten as the night’s entertainment began. The first was as Donate had hoped: the jugglers and acrobats. A group of five people, naked except for loin cloths, came running into the hall. To Talon’s surprise one of them was a young girl of about sixteen who was as slim and as lithe as the youths she worked with. While she, too, wore a brief loin cloth wound tightly around her waist and between her legs, her small breasts were uncovered. The whole troop was glistening from oil they had rubbed onto their skins. They danced and weaved their way to the front of the high table and then began to juggle colored balls.

  They tossed them high into the air, catching and moving them effortlessly about from one to the other, shouting out as they caught the balls and passed them along. Then they moved on to juggling wooden clubs like batons. Talon glanced surreptitiously at his companions: His youthful friends were all watching the girl avidly while the girls were simply watching the jugglers’ skills. Elena caught his eye and smiled secretly at him. He smiled back.

  The group had now gone on to juggling with knives and turning somersaults on the floor. They would jump onto a cupped pair of hands with shouts and calls of encouragement and leap high into the air, turning back flips or somersaults with bewildering speed. The crowd loved it and shouted for more. Their display was skilled, and impressive enough for people to throw coins their way after they had finished and stood panting and bowing to the approving assembly. A servant brought a small bag of coins from the Count for the leader of the group and then they were gone.

  The small group with Talon was exclaiming on their skill while the girls teased Donate on his lust for the maiden. He blushingly fended them off, but it was clear that he had enjoyed watching her.

  Then it was time for the minstrels to play and sing songs of the Languedoc and Aquitaine. Drunken conversations were hushed by people wanting to hear, and the first came into the hall and commenced one of his songs. He was a slim, olive-skinned man with a dark mustache and flashing teeth whose skill within a few strums of the stringed instrument he carried soon had the attention of the whole hall.

  His first song, to warm up the crowd, was a very popular song that everyone knew and which many joined in singing:

  If he sings, let it sing

  He does not sing for me

  But for my sweetheart

  So far away from me

  At the end of the meadow

  There's a poplar with a hole

  The cuckoo sings there

  It may have made its nest

  If he sings, let it sing

  He does not sing for me

  But for my sweetheart

  So far away from me

  Those mountains

  Are so high

  They prevent me from seeing

  Where is my love

  If he sings, let it sing

  He does not sing for me

  But for my sweetheart

  So far away from me

  Those mountains

  Some day will lower

  And my love

  Will come back

  If he sings, let it s
ing

  He does not sing for me

  But for my sweetheart

  So far away from me

  He sang songs in a rich baritone that Talon had never heard before and because of the dialect could not fully understand. The crowd in the hall knew it well and they often joined in singing or simply shouting the words as he played. Elena and Sybille sang gaily along.

  The minstrel could not fail to notice the group of young nobles at Roger’s table so he came over at one time and placed his foot on a bench nearby and regarded them with a smile. “My fair young lords and ladies, it is clear to me that you have the advantage of youth with you. Here is a song for you to ponder.”

  They all clapped and waited while he pretended to compose himself. He strummed a couple of notes and began.

  Oh Youth. Go with reckless faith,

  And trust the flattering voice,

  Which whispers, “Take thy fill till death.

  Indulge thyself and then rejoice.

  Or surely by end of every setting day

  Some passed delight you’ll mourn

  As flowers shall die along our way

  Till you too die lost and forlorn

  So take the world’s garish feast

  Drink of her first charming bowl

  Infused with all that fires the lonely breast

  And cheat the morbid darkling soul

  And yet as loud the revel swells

  The love fever’d pulse beats higher,

  Did you taste the nectar from the well?

  A man would fain slake his fire.

  A lady’s love is not always given

  But to those who would dare to take

  That which is oft in jest forbidden

  Passione’d love is surely theirs to make.

  The Minstrel finished with a flourish of notes and bowed totheir table, receiving the applause and laughter with a wide smile. Roger threw him a few coins which he deftly caught and pocketed with a murmured thanks and a deep, sardonic bow.

  He bowed again toward the high table then walked to the middle of the room where he continued to entertain the noisy crowd, which asked him for more old favorites. While the huge candles sputtered hot wax and threw long shadows about the walls and servants replaced them with fresh ones, the crowd hushed and listened raptly. He sang of Charlemagne and Roland, of Arthur and Guinevere, and of the forbidden love between her and Lancelot.

  He did indeed sing the Ballad of Tristan and Isolde, much to the delight of the ladies who explained the song to Talon as being an ancient song from Brittany and Cornwall about love gained and lost. Many the tear was shed for Isolde by the time the Minstrel was done.

  The troubadour took on a more reflective mood and sang about Thierry d’Argonne, one of the great warriors of Charlemagne and his battle with Pinabel, Ganelon's kinsman and champion, in fierce single combat. Ganelon had been accused of causing the death of Roland and many thousands of other men through treachery. So the question of his guilt had to be decided in single combat between two champions. Pinabel struck Thierry on the helm, but according to the poem, God protected him from death. Thierry returned the blow, which split Pinabel's head. This victory resulted in Ganelon's conviction of guilt, and his immediate execution. The menfolk who knew the legend were full of praise for the song and threw coins at the man who again collected them, bowed elaborately, and left.

  It was not long after the minstrel had departed that Lady Roseanne rose and amid the bows and polite words left with the same grace with which she had entered the hall. Before she left she whispered into the ear of one of her ladies, who nodded and looked at Roger and his friends.

  Soon after the lady in waiting came through the hall to ask Roger if he would attend his mother in her chambers and that he should not forget to bring his friends.

  Their warning blasts the bugles blew,

  The pipe’s shrill port aroused each clan;

  In haste the deadly strife to view.

  The trooping warriors eager ran:

  Thick round the lists their lances stood,

  Like blasted pines at Ettrick wood.

  - Sir Walter Scott

  Chapter 14

  Tournament

  The Count prepared to leave the hall not very long after his lady had retired. When he stood up there were renewed toasts and vows of loyalty, which he returned, or made some joke. He left with the English ambassador alongside, no doubt making for his private chambers. His departure seemed to be a signal for the drinking to begin in earnest. The young Count turned to his companions and indicated that they should also leave as they were to go to his mother’s chambers. Talon followed the group of young courtiers as they left the great hall.

  They made their way along darkening corridors with arched columns and flagstone floors that echoed to their footsteps, a sharp contrast to the noise and light of the Great Hall. Then they climbed stone stairs toward the Count’s private quarters. The young Count was recognized by the men-at-arms at the doorways they passed through; they saluted him smartly as he went by. He called out their names in greeting which was received with a grin of appreciation from the guards.

  The group came to a wooden door with two sentries placed either side who brought their pikes up as he approached. One rapped on the door to attract the attention of those within. It was opened by one of the queen’s ladies, who motioned them inside with a respectful curtsey and welcoming smile to Roger. The girls went in first and headed straight for the Lady Roseanna, who greeted them each in turn with some words and a kiss on both cheeks.

  The room was brightly lit with candles; obviously the Count lacked neither money nor resources to maintain a grand lifestyle, Talon thought, thinking of the dank, dark fort his parents lived in.

  He was hanging back while the others greeted Roger’s mother, who admonished her son, “Roger, I trust that you are making sure that your cousins are well entertained this evening?”

  “Indeed, Mother, we have been well entertained by Sir Talon here, who has lived a life unlike anything I could have imagined. Talon, come and greet my mother.”

  Talon walked toward the regal lady who watched him as he came with a slight curl to her full lips. He wondered what she found so amusing, but maintained a polite smile on his own face as he came up and bowed deeply to her. He kissed the delicate hand that was presented to him and received a gentle squeeze as he did so.

  “I am told by my son that you have had many adventures in a land that none of us know anything about, Sir Talon. Will you not indulge me and tell some of the same tales again and more this early evening?”

  “My Lady, if you so wish, then I am at your service,” Talon said looking again into the bright hazel eyes.

  She smiled at him. “Do not be discomforted, Sir Talon. I surmise that you are a reluctant narrator, but have pity upon us, for we do not know of the lands you have traveled and would learn from you.”

  He smiled back, disarmed. “My Lady, it would be difficult for anyone to refuse your request. In my own poor way I shall attempt to paint a picture of where I've been and what I've seen.”

  There were more than ten people in the room, which was warmed by a fire in a recess in the thick, stone wall. Leather and wood-frame chairs were placed nearby for her ladyship and guests. The group of new friends either sat or stood around in a close circle as the ladies-in-waiting made Lady Roseanna comfortable. She motioned Talon to sit opposite her on the other side of the fireplace. Roger sat on a cushion near his mother and leaned against her knee. Her hand strayed to play with his hair from time to time. There was obviously a strong bond between them. Mulled wine was ordered and Talon was presented with a silver beaker of very good local wine to drink while he talked.

  He was pleasantly surprised by the curiosity of Roger’s mother, who appeared to be interested in all things about the Holy Land. He had to recount yet again the story of his battle with the pirates, which brought applause and much praise from the ladies-in-waiting.

  Elena want
ed to hear about the lion all over again and he told that story once more. He left out his sadness at the loss of Jean de Loche, his mentor from those days, and concentrated on the stories which appeared to fascinate his audience. He watched Lady Rosanna as he told the story and she in turn appeared to listen closely to every word. Her eyes rested on him often during the telling of the tales.

  The candles were low and the flickering shadows deeper when he finished. There was a brief silence and then a babble of conversation began as though people had been holding their breath. Talon turned away from them and gazed into the glowing embers of the fire, alone with his memories for a few moments.

  He was interrupted in his reverie by Lady Roseanne, who asked where Talon was staying. Talon replied that he was staying at an inn near the Templar stronghold on the other side of the town.

  Lady Rosanna stood up and the audience was over. Hurriedly standing, too, Talon bowed over her extended hand once more.

  “You have provided me with much to think on this night, Sir Talon. I wish to hear more of the people of those faraway lands. To listen to you they are not the savages we perhaps think they are, and yet they are our enemies in God’s eyes. We shall talk some more tomorrow in the gardens. Roger, you will bring him with you tomorrow?”

  “Willingly, Mother,” Roger said. “We should bid you goodnight, and take our leave until tomorrow.” He kissed her on both cheeks and then led the procession out of the door into the cooler and much darker corridor outside.

  Talon found that a small, cool hand had been inserted onto his arm and, looking down, he saw Elena close by. She squeezed his arm and walked with him among the happy group as it headed this time toward the entrance of the palace. As they walked in the darkened spaces, Elena reached up and gave Talon a swift kiss on the lips, but said nothing. In the darkness of the corridors they walked along, it was not hard to stop for an instant and kiss her in return as was expected. She returned the kiss with passion to the point where they were left alone for a few paces while the others continued talking and teasing each other, seemingly oblivious of them. Elena reached out and took his hand, then placed it on her breast.