Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  There were surprised grunts from Talon’s companions. “Is that true, Talon? This is serious indeed.”

  “It is not true, Sirs. I was there. My companion and Talon’s uncle, Sir Philip, as true a Templar as ever rode, was murdered, partly because of the greed of the Bishop of Albi, who would have stolen his brother’s land,” Max said vehemently.

  “None of us are here because we’re saints,” Montague growled. “Talon, Max, we are your sworn companions, but you should tell us of this when we are done here.”

  “They killed a Knights Templar,” Gerard said softly. “I do not see why we should hand Talon over to these men.”

  The others muttered their agreement. The tension grew.

  Finally, Gerard, who seemed to have some education, shouted, “You are out of your jurisdiction. We will not abandon our comrade this day.”

  “Then you are also party to his crime and will be punished for it. Hand him over or we will take him by force,” the same man shouted back.

  “I think the time for talking is over, my friends,” Montague said, with a look at Talon. “We have not enough time to waste as it is.”

  He stood in his stirrups and shouted at the men to their front, “Go back and leave us, as you cannot win this fight.”

  There were derisive jeers and the men in front began to raise their shields and prepare for battle.

  Montague, who had taken the lead, simply shouted, “Charge them now, my friends, before they get ready.” He clapped his spurs into the side of the Destrier and led the small group at a sharp, powerful gallop straight at their opponents. Shouting, “Deus lo Volte!” as they had been trained, the four men galloped as though locked together at the knees straight at the larger mass of men facing them.

  The charge was so sudden that the Templars crashed into their opponents as a solid mass that was irresistible. Each lance took a man in the chest or shield and in each case unhorsed the man, who crashed to the earth with a sickening thump. Talon felt the wooden lance of the man he was aiming at splinter on his shield, but his own found its mark in the man’s chest.

  The Templars were through and turned almost as one to face the tangle of horses and men they had just cut through. There were groans and screams from the downed men and one horse was lying in its own blood, its pitiful screaming adding to the chaos.

  “One more charge and they are finished,” Jeffrey shouted.

  The four men lowered their lances and again rode straight back at their surprised opponents with their great shout.

  As they charged Talon could see that three of the men were down completely, while another was crawling about on hands and knees. The other four were milling about trying to recover and face the oncoming knights. They had no chance to defend themselves. The solid mass of the Templars smashed into their milling ranks and took them down. Horses and men were tumbled in an untidy, struggling mass about the grass verge and the road.

  “They are finished,” Montague shouted.

  “And we must leave at once,” Talon called, who had said nothing up until now. “We have a ship to catch tomorrow night or we’ll miss the sailing.”

  They continued to gallop up to Max, who held Jabbar.

  They rode into Aigues Mortes late the following night, tired and hungry. They were challenged at the gates to the port town but were admitted without any questions when the sentries saw their garb. They rode slowly along the narrow streets that led down to the harbor, exiting onto the wide wooden quay through the gates on the seaward side of the walled city.

  Talon could smell the sea and the rank odors that come with a large port. The quays were busy regardless of the late hour. He heard the creak of timbers as wooden boats thumped against pilings in the choppy water of the harbor basin and the occasional cry of a sea bird not yet gone to sleep. He could hear the calls of seamen; the port seemed very active. The sounds of work being done on decks and the splash of slops being thrown overboard all seemed to him as though the ships were very awake. The sky was overcast and it was cold, with a sharp breeze coming off the water.

  Ahead he could see the dark shapes of a squadron of huge ships in the harbor, most looked well filled as they rode low in the water; it was as though they were only waiting for a signal to leave. In the late evening light, Talon could just see a forest of masts and spars crowded on each other from the ships in the basin. Ships were tied to ships and also along the wharf side.

  There were many men milling about on the quayside, many were carrying heavy sacks up planks to be carefully positioned into the waiting holds of the ships alongside the quays. Torches placed at regular intervals on the walls opposite the wharf gave off a hellish light that reflected off the bare, sweating backs of the common laborers and the chain mail of the supervising soldiers. Men were busy winching sacks of grain and other provisions onto the nearby ships.

  Max stopped and dismounted. He tossed the reins to Talon. “Stay here, sirs. Talon, I shall find the man who is in charge.” He headed off to the groups of men gathered on the quayside, quickly becoming indistinguishable from the dark figures moving about.

  Talon and the other three men waited with the patient horses for what seemed an hour. His thoughts went back to his father and mother in Albi. He wondered if they were safe from the predations of the vindictive priest. He shivered, but for the Welshmen and Max he would be in a prison destined for a fire. This was not the way he would have wanted it, but there was now no going back. The gold would help his father rebuild the castle and establish himself as a well-to-do knight in the region. His brother would inherit and do well, he was sure of that.

  He was lost in his own thoughts when Max reappeared. He looked up at the companions on their horses. “We have a ship, sirs, but we must hurry. They’re about to cast off to anchor out in the broads and we need to load the horses and ourselves.” He led the way hurriedly down to the quay itself and then along the heavily boarded wharf. The horses’ hooves sounded loud on the boards despite the shouts and cries of the working men. The whole place was lit by flaming torches placed here and there to shed some light upon their activities.

  They were greeted by a shout from a high-sided ship tied to the pillars along the wharf. “Hey, hurry up, you men on those horses, or we’ll cast off without you. We have a tide to catch and it waits for no man.”

  Talon dismounted quickly and led the nervous Jabbar toward the man standing on the quayside.

  “Are you the Templars to be shipped?” the man asked querulously.

  “Yes,” Max said shortly.

  The man turned and shouted some commands and several men stirred on the deck of the ship. “Get these horses loaded within the half hour or you shall feel my whip on your backs,” he shouted at them. He turned back to Talon and his companions. “Take your baggage and saddles off them and then, when the men take them, get aboard. Keep out of the way; we have done this a thousand times and don’t need your damned help.”

  Rough men took the horses off Talon and the others, who hefted their saddles and bags and then walked carefully up the slippery plank that passed for a gangway to the deck of the ship. It was a big vessel, much larger than the one Talon had arrived in from the Holy Land. It was already loaded with other horses and men, seemingly ready to make for the sea.

  They were shown to a cramped upper deck at the back of the boat and pointed to a corner where they were told they could stow their things. Pallets would be provided when they were underway. Dumping their bags in a space they went back on deck to watch the unhappy horses being loaded by the skilled seamen into the hold where there were stalls.

  They climbed up a short flight of steps at the rear of the huge ship to a much smaller, shorter deck, where they could see out over the wharfs toward the darkened town. Looking out to sea, Talon could make out ten other ships of the same size as this one that were standing off shore anchored in the tidal river. They all gave the appearance of being ready to sail; all were low in the water with their cargoes of supplies for the Temp
lars in the Holy Land.

  Their ship cast off once the last horse was loaded and not too soon. As they used long oars to help drive the ship out to join the other ships in the main harbor, Talon noticed men on horses galloping along the roads that led to the wharf. Men dismounted and he could hear distant shouting from the men on the quayside.

  Men waved their arms at one another and pointed toward the ships in the middle of the harbor. It was clear that their pursuers were frustrated, as no one could help them with information. Their ship was now hidden among the many others in the basin of the harbor. Talon and his newfound friends made sure that they were not seen and watched the events taking place from the shelter of the ship’s lower deck.

  Montague turned to Talon, “We should have finished them off on the road. They do not look dangerous to me.”

  “You’re probably right, but I don’t think they can do much now. We’re safe on a ship bound for the Holy land.”

  “You’re right, Master Talon,” Max said. “These are all ships of the Templar fleet. They would have to go to the Pope to gain permission to search them. These ships are well manned and well armed. No pirates would ever dare to attack us. We should have a safe journey.”

  Max was standing next to him, staring at the distant figures on the dock that were now mounting up and preparing to leave.

  They were all tired so after they had checked on the horses on the lower deck and made sure they were fed they went below and made themselves as comfortable as it was possible in among the cordage and sacks that littered the after deck. Talon went to sleep almost immediately and only woke when he felt the motion of the ship change.

  He went back on deck to find that the cold light of dawn was illuminating the walls of the town. The ship had quietly pulled up its anchor and was following several other ships as they now sailed with the morning tide. The broad, round bow of the huge ship dipped and rose in the tidal waters that were taking them down the wide, shallow estuary and out to sea. A light spray flew past the bow and wet his face.

  He was glad of his quilted jerkin but even so he wrapped his cloak tighter about him as he stood on the poop deck and gazed back at the receding land. The fortified city fading into the distance seemed to stand alone in the endlessly flat, marshy countryside. The distant stands of trees they passed on their way out to sea were bare of leaves. The world looked gray and colorless in this cold, wet dawn. The gulls wheeled and cried as they glided in the wake of the ships, hoping for scraps to be tossed overboard.

  He looked up at the huge sails that were full bellied in the following wind, the rigging taut and humming. Men were busy on the deck below, making fast and preparing for the full swell of the sea that they would encounter later in the morning. There was a brisk cold breeze blowing in from the north. Talon shivered.

  Max came on deck. Rubbing his eyes, he saw Talon, and grinned. “We’re on our way back to the Holy Land, Master Talon. Are you pleased?”

  “In so many ways I am sorry to be leaving this country, Max. It is the home of my father’s father and I shall miss my family sorely. But still… I feel like I am finally going home.”

  The End

  About The Author

  James Boschert grew up in the then colony of Malaya in the early fifties. He learned first hand about terrorism while there as the Communist insurgency was in full swing. His school was burnt down and the family while traveling, narrowly survived an ambush, saved by a Gurkha patrol, which drove off the insurgents.

  He went on to join the British army serving in remote places like Borneo and Oman. Later he spent five years in Iran before the revolution, where he played polo with the Iranian Army, developed a passion for the remote Assassin castles found in the high mountains to the north, and learned to understand and speak the Farsi language.

  Escaping Iran during the revolution, he went on to become an engineer and now lives in Arizona on a small ranch with his family and animals.