Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  “Be sure you do, Drudwas. I do not want to find you pinned to a tree by their daggers when we take the road home.”

  Drudwas nodded and then vanished into the crowd.

  Bartholomew was watching Talon curiously. “You are a young man, Talon, yet men respect you.”

  “Talon has known much of life, even for one so young, Bartholomew of Brittany,” growled Sir Hughes. “In time you will learn, as I am beginning to, just how much.”

  “In the meantime, I think the judges are coming back,” Talon said, plucking at Bartholomew’s sleeve.

  They all turned and watched the three appointed judges solemnly tramp down the rough-hewn stairs from the upper story of the building, the Count behind them. The men seated themselves and Father Eustace, who had a face like thunder, motioned one of the monks to announce the commencement of the court again. The young Count seated himself with a satisfied air about him and then watched the proceedings begin.

  Father Eustace thrust a paper over the table toward the secretary-monk, who looked askance at it. “Read it, man; get on with it,” the priest shouted.

  The monk picked up the parchment and began to read. “On this day of the twelfth day of September, in the year eleven seventy-two, in the extraordinary court convened for the purpose of land settlement between Sir Guillabert d’Albi, the plaintiff, and Sir Hughes de Gilles, the defendant, it has been ordered by the court that the lands in dispute shall remain within the possession of Sir Hughes, insufficient evidence having been provided by the side of Sir Guillabert to prove without doubt his claim. The land shall therefore stay with daughter, Marguerite de Gilles, Sir Rufus d’Albi’s direct descendent, for all time henceforward. Sir Hughes, because of marriage to the aforesaid person, shall administer the lands on her behalf.

  “The court is closed on this issue.”

  There was a brief stunned silence and then a roar of approval from the crowd behind them. This had been the best entertainment since the last execution, and a very unpopular man had lost. The whole proceeding had been novel to most people. Courts of law and rulings of this type were usually decided in lists where knights fought it out. The winner took all as the loser was generally dead. Everyone was pleased except Sir Guillabert, who was livid.

  He stood with Marcel at his side and glared angrily at first the judges and then he turned and shook his fist at Sir Hughes. “I should have challenged you, Hughes. I could have taken it from you then and there. But for the bishop, may his soul rot in hell, I would have the land even now,” he raved. His face was mottled with rage and his hand was on his sword. It was clear that he could barely contain his anger at the decision of the court.

  The Count Roger ignored the outburst and walked over to Sir Hughes. He smiled at Talon and then addressed the small group. “Sir Hughes, it would seem that you have several talented people within your retinue. However, I feel that you should leave. I do not feel you should tarry for the funeral under the circumstances. I shall send some of my men to your fort after we have taken care of the bishop. I do not trust Guillabert, nor his sons, and the ruling here will not make them pleasant neighbors.”

  “I wish to thank you for your support, my Lord,” Sir Hughes said and bowed deeply to the young Count. “We shall leave immediately.”

  “I think we'll be all right if Guillabert can be delayed somehow, my Lord,” Talon said to Roger.

  Roger grinned. “I think that can be arranged. God speed and stay well.” He turned away and shouted at Sir Guillabert who was about to depart. “Sir Guillabert, a word with you, sir.”

  Guillabert had no option but to stride back to the Count, who engaged him in earnest conversation while Sir Hughes’ party hurriedly mounted and left through the crowd that was now dispersing. There were many who nonetheless wished them well and called God’s blessings over to Sir Hughes, who was known as a fair man.

  See, yonder come the foes of Christendom,

  And we must fight for God and Holy Faith.

  Now, say your shrift, and make your peace with Heaven;

  I will absolve you and will heal your souls;

  And if you die as martyrs, your true home

  Is ready midst the flowers of Paradise.

  - Song of Roland

  Chapter 21

  Flight

  Talon had reason to be thankful that he had sent Drudwas after Roger d’Albi. He was running back toward them as they left the town gates.

  The group halted their horses and one of the men-at-arms handed Drudwas the reins of the horse he had been leading. Drudwas pointed down the road as he mounted up. “M’lord, Sir Hughes, Talon, you were right—Roger is waiting for you about a mile down the road where it narrows between two hills. Do you remember the place, Talon? It is dense with thickets there and a bowman could do a lot of killing from cover.”

  Sir Hughes cursed under his breath. He looked about at the group, then gave a start. “Where is my huntsman? Where is Domerc?” he demanded.

  Everyone looked around; no one had noticed that he was not with them when they left as they had had other things on their minds. His absence meant that they were now down to six, not enough men to deal with Roger head on with his superior numbers. He had taken a sizeable number of men with him and Talon had noticed that some of them were crossbowmen.

  “We can't go back for him now, Father. We'll find ourselves trapped between Guillabert and Roger soon enough. We must ride round Roger and head for the fort as quickly as we can. I fear that we will have trouble enough as it is when we get back.”

  Sir Hughes nodded reluctantly. “So be it.” He turned to one of the retainers. “Cerdric, you know this country like the palm of your hand. Lead us quickly ’round those scoundrels and back to the fort by the shortest route.”

  The man grinned. “Aye, I can do that, Sire; it will be a rough ride, but we can do it. Follow me.” He turned his horse off the main trail and led the way through the trees for about half a mile then they climbed a steep slope studded with rocks and stunted trees that led up a long ridge.

  Talon looked at Bartholomew to see how he was doing. The young man seemed to be enjoying the situation, but Talon was concerned about his ability to fight if it came to that, as it would be every man for himself.

  Bartholomew must have sensed the look because he gave Talon a grin. “Do not worry for me. I can ride well and if I have a sword I can use it. Paris as a student is not a life for the weak and trembling.”

  Talon laughed quietly at that; he was beginning to really like this man. He took off his dagger and handed it to him. “It isn’t much for now, but we will provide a good sword when we get home.”

  It was not long before the town of Albi and the winding river Tarn were laid out below them and from the vantage point of a ridge they paused and saw a group of men leave the town and head rapidly down the road they had just left.

  “That will be our friendly neighbor, Sir Guillabert.” muttered Sir Hughes. “We have to hurry now as they will soon enough realize that we have slipped them and then they will try for the fort.”

  The men clapped heels to horses’ flanks and rode hard after Cerdric, who was confidently leading the way. They took the hill paths and indirect ways that he knew well; but, even so, it was late in the evening when they found themselves once again on the road to the fort.

  Only just in time, too, as Drudwas looked back and pointed. They all turned to see what he was pointing at. There about a mile away coming down a slope at great speed was a band of men. They saw Sir Hughes’ group at the same time and gave chase immediately.

  “Now we have to make haste! We will fight on our terms, not his!” Sir Hughes shouted.

  Talon nodded. They galloped the last mile as fast as the horses could go in the gathering dusk. They went through the deserted village at a flat out gallop and then veered onto the wide, grassy track that would bring them to the gates of the fort.

  Gareth had obviously been expecting something of this kind to happen as there was a shout and
the gates began to open.

  The small party galloped into the fortress’ muddy yard just as the men with Roger and Guillabert came boiling out of the village. The gates slammed shut and men raced for the battlements, bows and pikes at the ready.

  Talon leapt off Jabbar, leaving a young boy to take the reins and he, too, ran for the battlements followed closely by Drudwas. There was much shouting now as men became aware of the situation and called out to their comrades to man the walls.

  Sir Hughes made a more dignified descent from his horse, but he, too, hurried up the stairs to see what was happening.

  The band of men with Sir Guillabert was milling around at the edge of the woods near the trail that led to the village, well out of crossbow range.

  Gareth and Max came over to Talon and his father as they stood on the ramparts and watched.

  “That seemed close. m’lord, Sir Hughes,” Max said with a grim smile.

  Talon grinned. “They are predictable men, Max. They laid an ambush but we went by it and came by another route.”

  “Give the word, Sir Hughes, and we can cut their numbers down. They are within range of a long bow,” Gareth said eagerly.

  “I am sore tempted to let him know our sting, Gareth, but we shall wait and see what he does,” Sir Hughes replied, clapping Gareth on the shoulder.

  Talon had an idea what Guillabert would do next but said nothing. They watched as two men rode out from the group and came within shouting distance. It was Sir Guillabert and his son Roger. Of Marcel there was no sign.

  Sir Guillabert stopped just out of crossbow range and shouted up at them. “Well, Hughes, it would seem that you are trapped. You coward, you flee an open fight and cower in your lair!”

  Sir Hughes strode to the edge of the battlements and shouted back, “It is a cowardly thing to lay ambush for innocent travelers, Guillabert, but then you are a liar and a scoundrel as well. I also know your sons to be the murderers of my brother, and one day there will be a reckoning for that, too. You heard the court: the land is not yours, so go home to your pigsty and stay there.”

  “I shall burn you out of this hovel first,” Guillabert shouted. “I’ll take what is mine despite the court.”

  “You would defy the Count of Carcassonne? You are a fool, Guillabert. The Count will not take kindly to what you're doing here. Even now he's sending men to protect my rights.”

  “They may not arrive in time and the Count can hardly give it to a man who is dead; and you shall be dead when I am finished. Try to leave and you and your heathen whelp will die, as will all who stand with you.”

  “I think he has laid out his terms clearly enough for us all to understand,” Bartholomew, who had joined Talon on the ramparts, remarked.

  Shaking his fist at them, Guillabert turned his horse and led the way with Roger at his side back to the group of men gathered at the edge of the woods.

  “He will burn the village first,” Talon said.

  Bartholomew looked at him. “Why would he do that?”

  “Why? Because of spite and anger. He has been thwarted at every turn and now wants satisfaction,” Sir Hughes answered.

  The group of men departed into the gloom of the woods, heading for the village.

  Sure enough, it was not long before there was the flicker of light in the darkness and then the men on the ramparts saw tall flames and sparks shoot up into the evening sky.

  There were shouts of rage from the village men standing on the walls. They were watching their homes go up in flames and wanted to rush out and attack the enemy.

  Sir Hughes called back to Max. “Keep the gates shut, Max, and post reliable men. We will not be rushing about in the dark to be hacked to death by Guillabert’s mercenaries. That's what they want.”

  Max ran quickly down the steps to make sure Sir Hughes’ orders were complied with. Then Hughes and Talon posted guards. Gareth elected to stay on the walls for the time being. He and his sharp-eyed countrymen wanted to make sure there was no attempt to scale the walls in the darkness. Despite the fact that all the village population was within the confines of the fort they were still desperately thin on the ground and needed every able man and boy to keep watch.

  Talon, his father, and Bartholomew made their way across the crowded yard. There were village folk standing about in the muddy yard in frightened groups, the women holding crying children to them while cattle contained in loosely woven hazel railings lowed loudly for their feed. What sheep and goats the villagers had been able to bring with them were held in noisy herds along the walls in improvised pens. Ducks and geese were trying to settle down where they could near the pond. The house churls and servants hurried about at Marguerite’s command, distributing food and what blankets could be found. People were trying to find dry places in the haystacks and barns as night fell. Talon stopped abruptly. “Brother Claude. What are you doing here? Pierre, you, too?”

  Brother Claude stood upright from attending to a child with a cut on her hand and pushed against his back.

  “Well met, Talon de Gilles, Sir Hughes. We are come to give you news of the inheritance.” He looked around. “But I fear that we came too late.”

  “Although you are always welcome at my father’s hearth, you came at a bad moment, my friends. You cannot leave now until this issue has been resolved with Guillabert,” Talon said gently.

  “What happened to bring this about, Talon?” Pierre asked.

  “We went to trial and Bartholomew gave them an exercise in words. Ah, but you should have been there, brothers! The Court awarded my father the land because Bartholomew made them doubt so much what they were hearing from my uncle. But Guillabert would have none of that and has followed us home to try to take it off us or burn us out. To him, I doubt if it matters which.”

  The two monks looked nervously at one another. “But your grandfather left a document after all, Talon. We have it with us.”

  “This I must see!” Hughes exclaimed.

  Brother Claude took a leather tube out of the folds of his voluminous habit and opened it to pull out a roll of vellum. “It is in Latin, which we use for legal documents.”

  “I can read it,” Bartholomew said, who took the proffered document and unrolled it. He glanced quickly at the vellum. “Remind me again, Sir Hughes, when your father-in-law died?”

  “During the summer of eleven sixty-seven. Why?”

  “Then your father-in-law was a man who thought ahead, as this document was written the previous autumn and states clearly that the inheritance is to go to his nearest living descendent. In fact, he is specific... it was not to go to Guillabert as he found that man undeserving.” He laughed. “I am inclined to agree, Sir Hughes.”

  Sir Hughes and Talon chuckled dryly at his words.

  “Much good this will do us if we cannot defeat the rogue,” Sir Hughes said. “He must have known about this, or at least suspected it. I wish to thank you, Brother Claude and Brother Pierre, for taking the trouble to come see us. It is out of the question that you should leave now, though.”

  “He would not dare to harm two members of the church,” Pierre exclaimed.

  “Indeed, I think he would,” Sir Hughes said.

  “At least the men with him would not respect nor protect you. They are thieves and scoundrels, brothers. I could not protect you once you leave these gates.”

  Brother Claude sighed. “Then, Brother Pierre, we shall stay and offer our services where we can.”

  “Bartholomew will take you into the Hall, where at least we can feed you. Perhaps you can help should there be wounded?” Talon asked.

  Brother Pierre squinted at him. “So you think it will come to a fight, Talon?”

  “We are sure of it, brothers, and I would rather you were not in harm’s way when it does come,” Sir Hughes growled.

  Bartholomew led them away while Hughes and Talon continued their inspection. People asked fearfully of Sir Hughes as he strode by what would happen. He tried to reassure them that all would be
well and that they would be taken care of but even to Talon’s ears his words sounded hollow. Their inspection took them to the ramparts at the rear of the fort where they rested and watched the glow over the dark forest. Even at this distance the flames of the burning village illuminated the roofs and walls of the barns and the main hall in a flickering light.

  Then they descended the ramp again, accompanied by several of the hunting hounds that belonged to Sir Hughes and followed them about tirelessly much to his son’s annoyance as he found them to stink. They came to the entrance of the hall to find Marguerite and Aicelina standing there, waiting for them.

  Both looked pale in the darkening evening but they were putting on a brave face in front of the men. Guillaume was hanging onto Aicelina’s hand apprehensively, but his eyes shone when he saw Talon.

  Talon knelt and gave his brother a hug and then sent a smile toward Aicelina, who smiled back, albeit nervously. He assumed his sister was in bed.

  Sir Hughes stopped in front of his wife. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek and then said, “Your Bartholomew is a remarkable man, Marguerite. He is a wordsmith and although I could not follow all that he was saying, much less where he was going with his dialogue, he surely saved the day.”

  Marguerite stared back at him, hope in her eyes. He nodded, as did Talon. “Indeed, he cast so much doubt upon the scurrilous story of Guillabert the judges were forced to concede the land to you.”

  “I think the presence of Roger de Tranceval counted for a great deal of the result as well, Mother.” Talon smiled. “Bartholomew achieved with words what other men would have tried with swords. It is now on record that a court awarded the land to our family.”

  “Talon, it was no great feat to confuse the men at the bench; and as for Guillabert, he walked eagerly into my trap,” Bartholomew said with a depreciating laugh as he came out of the dark hall behind the two women.

  “In any case it is all bye the bye, as we now have the written proof which the monks brought to us.”