Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  Later when there was a respite he found Bartholomew sitting near to Aicelina, his head still bandaged .He seemed to be enjoying her attentions. Talon shrugged mentally; his fate was tied to some other place. He watched the women and children moving about in the yard, cleaning and looking after animals and considered his life. This was not what he was going to be, he decided. The life he was used to, far to the east of this land, was so different. If he survived he would go back.

  Sword, how fair and bright thou art.

  Come thou forth and view the light,

  Long as I can wield thee here

  Charles my Emperor shall not say

  That I die alone, unwept.

  From the legend of Roland

  Chapter 24

  Assassin

  The people of the fort made ready as darkness fell. Exhausted men went quietly to the walls and stood watch. The archers stacked arrows and men piled such rocks as the boys could find for tossing onto the enemy. Fires were fed more logs to ensure coals and Talon at last smelt the bitter stink of pitch being melted.

  Talon and Belth would leave by way of one of the side walls when it was really dark. He hoped that they would be able to get to Guillabert before they decided to attack again.

  Shedding their armor and taking only knives and one long bow, they went down by rope with a whispered good luck from Gareth, who had wanted to come, but Talon had told him to protect Sir Hughes.

  The two men inched toward the woods, crawling on their bellies.

  It was just as well that they took so much care—they heard men talking when they were within yards of the cover of the woods. Roger, no fool, had posted sentries, who were quietly talking to one another. Talon looked back over his shoulder and could barely make out the darkness of the fort, so he realized that it was very likely they had not been detected.

  Now they had to deal with the enemy in the darkness ahead. He inched on his belly into the ground cover of bracken and long grass, careful not to disturb any dry twigs or leaves. He slid over to Belth when they were within the darkness of the forest and well concealed and whispered. “Stay here; I shall deal with them.” Belth gave a sigh, but said no more.

  Talon slid along the ground feeling his way in the dark inch by inch, the voices of the two men guiding him. When he was within a few feet he stood up carefully and took out his knife. The killing was swift, and noiseless. When it was done, he whistled softly to Belth who came up to him.

  Talon gave Belth one of the helmets taken off the dead men. “This will help us move more freely, they will think we are archers; I have to find where Guillabert is.”

  They donned the wide-brimmed iron helmets which were of the type that crossbowmen used. They also took the quilted jackets from the dead men, although they were wet with their blood. Talon also picked up one of the crossbows, cocked it, and placed a bolt in its slot.

  Now they moved quietly toward the village where Talon assumed that Guillabert would have set up camp.

  His guess proved correct; when they came to the edge of the woods near the village, they saw the fires in the street. Not all the houses had been burned down and there were some horses tethered near one of the larger thatched houses. Talon thought that this might be where Guillabert was bivouacked. They walked quietly through the forest until they were behind that cottage.

  “Belth, you should stay here and keep your bow ready. I am going to pay Sir Guillabert a visit. I may need your help to get away,” he whispered to his companion.

  They could see the groups of men around the fires through the gaps in the huts and cottages. There did not seem to be any sentries posted; but they seemed to be preparing for action. There were ladders nearby, but their use did not look immediate, so he guessed that they were waiting until later to make their attack.

  He crept carefully toward the back of the larger cottage, stepping noiselessly, listening to the activity going on in the village street, his former training coming to his assistance now. Taking great care not to make any sound, he moved slowly right up to the back wall of the cottage and listened at the opening of a window. The shutters were closed but candlelight showed through the rough wooden slats.

  There was the murmur of voices inside. He lifted his head to peer into the room through the slits. Roger was inside, standing by a fire, still dressed in his hauberk of chain. The man dominated the room to the extent that Marcel seemed small by comparison. There was the bulk of another man seated with his back to Talon whom he could not see clearly. They were arguing.

  “We will wait until it is late and they are tired before we go in,” said the man with his back to Talon. He realized that it was Guillabert.

  “The longer we wait the more prepared they become, Father,” Roger snapped.

  “I agree with Father, we should wait, Roger. Their cursed long bowmen will not be able to see in the dark and we can get close more safely.”

  “It was your hasty retreat today that cost us, brother. If you had had the courage to stay just a little longer at the gates the last time, we would have had them. Have you no stomach for this fight? Are they too much for you?” Roger jeered.

  “Enough of this bickering, both of you. We might have lost the first round, but tonight they'll be ours and I can let the mercenaries loose upon the place in lieu of payment. They are getting nasty; none expected the resistance we've seen and I don't have the money to pay them all. The Devil’s curse upon those bowmen of Hughes. After I've seen Hughes and that cursed son of his dead the whole place can burn to the ground and all in it,” Guillabert said loudly.

  “Roger, go you and get the men ready, we'll leave within the hour. Make sure the ladders are ready and have more than two this time. We will assault the gate, but at the same time you'll attack the rear again, and this time make it at the same time we attack. Marcel, go with him. I am not done with my supper. Come and tell me when you're ready.” He drank deeply from his goblet as his two sullen sons shuffled out of the house.

  Talon realized that he would have to go in through the door—to crash through the shutter would give Guillabert a chance to shout the alarm. He stood up and walked as casually as he could around to the front of the cottage. Its low front was lit by the fires in the street but there was no sentry at the door. He hefted the cocked crossbow onto his shoulder and strolled to the door. He had pulled the wide helmet down over his eyes and slouched as he walked. He came to the door and still no one gave any sign that they were concerned about his presence. The men were drinking and some were even laughing as they stood by the fires. No doubt boasting of what they would do to the luckless victims of the fort when they sacked it. Men were beginning to buckle on weapons and pick up shields as Roger and Marcel shouted orders from down the street.

  Talon estimated that there were about thirty men in the area and ten horses saddled. His heart sank, they could only muster fifteen fighting men in the fort; this was lot of men to fight off. He slipped in without being accosted, but almost ran into someone at the entrance. It was one of the mercenaries. He was a rough-looking man in chain mail who was holding a chunk of bread that he was gnawing as he walked. He shoved Talon aside as he went by with a curse.

  “Out of my way, you! Goddamned bowman.”

  Talon mumbled something back by way of apology and slunk into the main room. There were only two rooms in the cottage and Guillabert was seated in the larger.

  Inside the low chamber Talon could see the flames of the well-fed fire merrily flickering in the fireplace. The fire and one candle were the only light in the room and they cast moving shadows against the walls. Talon saw Guillabert the moment he came to the entrance to the room, he was noisily engaged in eating a meal at a low table, seated on a stool sideways to the door. He was unaware of Talon standing at the entrance.

  Slowly Talon raised the crossbow and pointed it directly at Guillabert. Guillabert looked up at the last second and saw his assassin about to kill him. He got out a shout of terror that stopped abruptly as the crossbow
twanged and a bolt shot into his eye, penetrating deep into his skull. His body jerked sideways and fell with a crash in a tangle of arms and legs to the earthen floor.

  Talon did not wait; he ran to the window, opened the shutters and dived out onto the rough ground below the window. Then he scuttled into the woods to where Belth was waiting.

  As he made the darkness of the forest there was a shout of alarm and a figure appeared at the window illuminated by the fire behind. Belth was waiting and sent an arrow in that direction. The man at the window must have sensed something as, with a shout of alarm, he ducked and the arrow hammered into the holding beam inside the cottage.

  By now men were yelling and raising the alarm to the others in the street. Talon and Belth wasted no time. They ran as fast as they could through the woods back the way they had come. It quickly became clear that there was some kind of pursuit by the noise behind them, which only made them run faster. They had a wide swath of grass to cover and a wall to climb.

  They came to the edge of the woods and began to sprint as fast as they could toward the walls, calling out as they ran to alert the men waiting.

  Ropes were thrown down and the two frantically hauled themselves up the wood frame with men above calling encouragement. Their pursuers were shouting angrily and running toward them in the dark. Some bolts from crossbows thumped into the wood near them, further encouraging them to climb faster.

  Their luck held until they were just about to climb over the top of the walls then a bolt hit Belth. He gave an agonized grunt and fell forward into the arms of the waiting men on the platform. Talon scrambled quickly over the top of the wall just as men on the platform threw torches down onto the ground below.

  The guttering pitch balls illuminated the dodging figures below enough for a couple of the Welshmen to fire arrows at them. They were rewarded with a yell and curse as one was hit and then the noise of men running off into the darkness. The men on the walls listened; silence. It seemed the enemy wanted none of the archers’ medicine. Belth was groaning as he lay on the floor, so Talon snatched a torch from one of the men and held it over his friend.

  The bolt had pierced his shoulder; it stuck out of the flesh between his neck and his shoulder blade. Talon cursed quietly to himself, they needed all the bowmen they had and now Belth was definitely out of action. Gareth was there, he knelt and swiftly got his knife out and cut the short shaft with the metal point then with Belth gritting his teeth, drew the bolt out the way it had come.

  Gareth leaned over him. “You were lucky, Belth Bach; it could have gotten you in the neck.” He turned to look up at Talon in the flickering light of the torch and asked. “Did you succeed, Talon?”

  “We only partially succeeded, Guillabert is dead. But Roger will not give up so we must prepare for an assault from both sides; they intend to come at the same time.”

  They took Belth down to the hall to join the other wounded and where the women were waiting to take care of him.

  Talon snatched a quick bite of cold mutton from one of the men who handed it to him and discussed the situation with Gareth, Max, and his father. “They will bring more ladders and try from both sides. It's too dark to see them until they're up to the walls and then it will be too late to stop them from placing the ladders. We have to throw torches as far out as we can to allow the archers a chance to kill them as they come.”

  “I hope they are somewhat demoralized by your actions,” Sir Hughes growled.

  “Marcel might be, but Roger will be enraged and will certainly try his luck tonight. He'll seek vengeance. I had hoped to kill him, too.”

  They walked toward the hall where Talon and Sir Hughes were going to try to get some supper. Talon wanted to know how Bartholomew was; he had not seen him on the battlements.

  They went into the hall and were met by the warmth of the great fire and the noise of people talking within. There was a lot of light thrown against the walls by the huge fire in the middle of the hall and the warmth it threw off was welcoming.

  Talon realized that he was cold. The evenings were becoming chilly, but with all the activity he had not really felt it up until now. He also realized that he was hungry and was glad to see Aicelina bringing him and Sir Hughes a platter of meat and bread. The two men thanked her, Talon smiling his thanks and receiving one in return.

  They ate standing and looking about. Marguerite had turned the hall into a hospital. She was presiding over the care of the wounded and making sure that food was taken out to the men on the walls. Several huge pots of copper were hanging over the fire that bubbled and stank. Talon sniffed and gathered that it was the pitch. He was glad; they would have need of it this night.

  Sir Hughes was going to say something when there was a shout outside. Talon and his father dropped what they had in their hands and rushed out into the darkness. Men were running toward the battlements.

  Talon heard a crash from the gate and realized that the enemy had managed to get close enough to ram the gates with something substantial. Gareth came up to him and shouted down that they had used horses this time. Somehow they had managed to create a sling and then galloped horses down the lane in front of the gate, holding a beam that they had driven into the gates.

  In the torchlight Talon saw that one of the bars that held the gates shut was broken and the left hand gate was hanging partially open.

  “Gareth, place your men onto the ramps and throw torches as far out as you can. They'll be coming any minute; shoot them down as they come. We will be at the gates,” he shouted back.

  Gareth ran off.

  Talon and Sir Hughes were fully armed and both ran toward the gate, calling on their pike men and the other few men-at-arms to close with them. Talon hefted the axe he now carried with him at all times. The he saw Feremundus running toward the gate and felt somewhat better. With that man laying about him with his axe the intruders might be more intimidated.

  We're going to have to do well tonight or it's all over, he thought grimly.

  They got to the gates at almost the same time as a mob of screaming men came barging in from the outside. He knew that the Welshmen were giving a good account of themselves, but also that once inside, friend could not be distinguished from foe and thus they would have to watch helpless.

  Talon, his father and Feremundus, bellowing his war cry, made a tight group with four other men clad in chain and charged into the mob that was trying to get through the gap in the gates. Talon hacked and struck at anyone who came close. He heard his father roar out his battle cry and the fight was joined. In the semi-dark the men in chain-mail armor and their six pike men strove determinedly to beat back the equally determined group of men who were trying to push through the half open gate. Some men from the village were trying to push it shut even as the fight took place.

  A spear came out of the dark and rammed into Talon’s side but did not penetrate his fine chain. It winded him enough to make him stagger, but he whirled his axe at the arm that held it and struck it off. A man shrieked in agony and the pike disappeared. Another man pushed his way in and made a wicked slash at Talon’s head with a sword. He ducked behind his shield just in time and then rammed the haft of the ax into the man’s nosepiece. The man dropped his guard for an instant and Talon hammered the axe down onto his iron-clad head. His opponent fell without a sound beneath the feet of the stamping, struggling men. He heard the sound of steel on steel as his father fought next to him but felt that they were being pushed back inexorably.

  He stepped back and shouted up at Gareth. “Come down and stand behind me with your bowmen, Gareth! Hurry!”

  He did not wait for a reply but stepped forward and hacked down at another man’s shoulder as he separated himself from the others. The man’s shield came up fast and then his sword flickered out and smacked hard onto Talon’s shield, it was the one his uncle had left him. Its stout frame withstood the blow easily. All the same the blow was forceful and he realized that he had a strong opponent to deal with. He stepp
ed back another pace and became aware of Gareth just behind.

  “Shoot into the mob at the gate, Gareth; they are all the enemy.”

  Talon stepped back another pace again, almost falling over a body lying in the mud. His father was next to him and shouted for the pike men to rally to him. With a quick word here and there he had them spaced just in front of the bowmen.

  “Stand your ground and strike at anyone who tries for the bowmen,” Sir Hughes ordered.

  Still they were being forced back even farther and now the gate seemed to be in enemy hands. There were yells from the mercenaries as they sensed victory. They hacked down the remaining villagers who had stayed to hold the gate. There was no mercy for them; they were butchered before the watching men standing with Talon and Sir Hughes.

  The men shifted uneasily, the fight was going hard against them and there seemed to be so many of the enemy.

  “Hold together,” Hughes shouted. “There is no hope if we separate.”

  A volley of arrows sped past Talon’s side and several of the men clustered in the gateway fell forward. Others tried to step over them but were again shot down as the Welshmen fired their arrows at close range. Hughes whirled back at Talon just after piercing a quilt-and-plate-armored man through the chest.

  “Fall back with me, Feremundus, and guard the flanks of the pike men and then we move forward as one,” he called.

  His eyes gleamed from behind the nosepiece of his helmet. He was savagely intent upon winning this fight. Another volley struck the men at the gate, more men fell with shrieks and groans and Talon had the faint hope that they were weakening.

  His father noticed, too, and shouted, “Keep shooting as fast as you can, Gareth! We must win back the gate.”

  Talon watched with sinking heart as the barn nearest the gate was set afire by the yelling mercenaries and watched as the village women and children who had been trapped in that area, fled the battle area screaming, stumbling through the churned-up mud of the yard toward the doubtful safety of the hall. The flames took and became an inferno.