It was a dangerous plan, plotting with everybody, using their own weaknesses and greed against them. But Berrat had been playing this game a long time.
Now, they delivered terror to the inhabitants of a village after village, as they approached the meeting place.
“Sir Julian,” Berrat grinned. “Why do you want so much this woman, this Lady of Beirut?”
“It’s not your damn business,” The Templar Knight grunted from his horse.
"I saw her in Jerusalem. I can understand your desire. Maybe I'll take her for me?" Berrat said.
Julian clinched his jaw after the Mamluk's comment.
“We'll see which one of us she will choose,” Berrat winked at him.
“Isabella is mine.” Julian’s eyes flashed.
The bareheaded Mamluk laughed in the dark then he noticed a wounded man, a shepherd who was trying to drag himself out of sight of these bloodthirsty assailants. The bareheaded officer stepped over his back and stabbed him with his sword.
One more village to sack. He looked at the Moon. He had done his part—he hoped his agent would manage, too. The trap was set up. A Lion was anticipated.
***
“We will enter like we are returning from a night watch,” Ulf said. “We are soaked and wet, dressed like the rest. Who would suspect us?”
“At least the bath is free,” Hamo said, adding, “as the Welshman would say.”
They laughed, their laughter lost in the harsh song of the rain. Peter missed the archer’s humor.
The Desert Wolf looked at them with amusement. Hamo and Peter nodded; they understood his plan, for it was simple enough. They would enter, kill the guards, and save the ladies. Who needed a better plan? Peter had sarcasm in his thoughts. He couldn’t figure out how Ulf was always a few steps ahead—always prepared, intelligent, and insightful. The orphan was eager to learn from him and quickly obtain these skills, but even when he witnessed events, he was blind to what was really important.
“You can’t learn everything in a night. You need to fail—this is the best experience,” James and Githa had said to him. But there was one catch: in battle, you could only fail once.
Their fourth companion was silent. Ivar had an additional task.
The Desert Wolf nodded to the window of the second story. The rain continued to fall.
He said something to him, but Peter didn’t hear it clearly. The man with the aquiline nose started to climb the scaffolding toward the second story. Slowly, he tried not to slip on the wet surface. He would be their insurance, their hidden backup if needed. He would be their eyes and ears for what was happening outside. He would be their eagle guarding them.
Ulf looked at the two men behind him.
“Ready?”
They nodded.
Their leader opened the door, the rain drowning out the sound.
The dim light inside the room shuddered as the fresh air entered with them. It was quiet and for a moment Peter thought it became darker. Fate looked dark, and a moment later they were in.
Peter and the rest had drawn their hidden weapons and were ready to use them. The young man looked around. They entered a spacious room, common to the second floor. From the left and right there were closed doors. At the far end, there was an internal wooden staircase leading to the next floor. There, Peter saw two doors on the left and two on the right, with a wooden railing in front of them.
An oil lamp was dying slowly near him.
They took a few steps forward, their backs to the stone wall. Peter’s eyes were trying to adjust to the light inside.
It was quiet.
“Well, well. I knew you would come,” Edward the Saracen’s voice arrived from above. Peter raised his head. The assassin stood on the second floor to the left of the orphan, placed his hands on the wooden parapet and was surrounded by three more assassins with naked swords.
The left door on the first floor opened and four men clad in white appeared, pointing their spears toward Peter’s party’s bellies. The young man heard the wooden door opened from the right and he turned his head to see what was coming. Through the door on the first floor, four dark knights arrived with swords in hands. Their faces were unfamiliar to him. On the second floor above the knights, another four assassins with white tunics stood.
“It’s a bloody trap,” Hamo said.
It was the moment of truth; all masks had been removed. Edward the Saracen—al-Rida—had managed to lay a trap without anyone suspecting him. He had been a rat from the beginning.
“You were supposed to be dead,” al-Rida shouted at Ulf.
The orphan managed to catch Edward the Saracen’s eye. Peter couldn’t believe that he had advocated for him before the sultan. His eyes had looked so innocent.
“You killed everyone I loved,” al-Rida screamed at Ulf. “You killed my father, my brother—every single male in my family. Now you must pay. Did you watch your wife die?”
The orphan tried to find some hope. He looked at his companions. Not one of them looked prepared to surrender.
“When I saw you, Wolf, as we left Acre, I thought our plan was doomed. But I suddenly realized that this mission was due to my failure. Barak hadn’t fulfilled his task to kill you. But seeing you agonize over the guilt of your beloved one’s death ... It was worth it. Your pain was a bonus to me. Sometimes it is better not to kill your enemy but to make him suffer.” The assassin smiled. “You lost, Desert Wolf.”
Ulf didn’t move or say anything.
“It was a simple plan: kill the Wolf, assassinate the crusading prince, and force the Christians to seek revenge. This would coax the sultan from his hole to address this outrage. And then, the Lion would be in our trap. Simple, eh?”
Peter narrowed his eyes toward al-Rida. Simple, eh?
“When we left Acre, I thought that the mission hung in the balance, but fate has a strange sense of humor, don’t you think?” the assassin asked.
Hamo raised his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“Didn’t you see how the things turned? Now you are in my trap surrounded by my men,” al-Rida said.
“Did you know that David was a traitor?” Hamo asked.
“I suspected, yes. The Templars have always had at least one traitor nearby ….”
“This little rat, he will pay ….” Peter now understood that when one betrayed a sword brother, there was no forgiveness. Could there be any forgiveness for treason?
“Peter of Acre, my little orphan, you played your part beautifully—you were so predictable. Thank you for your help, my friend,” al-Rida laughed. It was the sick laugh of a sick mind.
“I thought you were on our side,” Peter said.
“I have never been on your side, Christian.”
The young man gritted his teeth and tried to stay calm as he focused on the assassin’s face. He was right, the orphan acted predictably.
Al-Rida turned his gaze toward Ulf.
“When I saw your face, Wolf, as little Anna entered the tent, I realized what my next move would be. She stopped you just as you were about to do what I desired most: kill Sultan Baibars. I had planned it for so long. When Barak failed to deliver your head, you became a deadly blade in my hands, pointed at all Mamluks, including the sultan. But the little girl changed everything, didn’t she?” Al-Rida spoke from above as he crossed his hands in front of his chest. He smiled, but it was a new one, which no one had seen before. It displayed a long-hidden hatred. He looked like a man who had just caught a fish in the river with his bare hands.
“Wolf, now you will kneel in front of me and ask for mercy for the life of the little princess as my family begged you before you killed them!”
Peter observed the nervousness of the men in front of them with weapons pointed toward him, Hamo and Ulf. He knew his friends saw it too. It was a bloody trap. This rogue had played his part perfectly. No one of them had suspected anything. Still, al-Rida and his men all waited for their response.
Ulf’s eyes were cold.
He didn't say anything just listened to the assassin.
“Kneel, dog,” al-Rida shouted, “Or you will die and the little lady will watch it!”
A scream from the upper story cut the air. Was it Anna? It was hard to identify; the rain outside sang through the open windows: Tip, tap, and again, tip, tap….
“Kill them all,” Ulf said. With the same music, Peter and his fellows charged. They thrust, cut, and swung their weapons.
Ulf grabbed the spear of the nearest assassin and dragged him toward him. He stabbed him in the chest with his sword and used his body for protection from the flying darts from above. Most of the flying daggers were directed toward the Wolf. He was fast like a cat and managed to use the dead man as a shield. In a flash, Peter instinctively raised his left hand as a dart hit him. He heard a metal kiss as the dart struck his Roman arm vambrace. He had forgotten all about it but was happy about his luck.
Christians, traitors, mercenaries, assassins, Mamluks—it seemed all kinds of soldiers were trying to kill them. But it wasn’t so easy. The Wolf turned around and used the spear of the dead man to pierce the next assassin just below his chin. The orphan lunged forward with his long blade and surprised the third enemy. Peter impaled with his weapon the man in front of him and he felt the warm blood on his hands. He pushed the man back as he pulled the sword out from his belly. More blood mixed with entrails spilled on the floor as he saw the body fell. Peter swung his long blade to the right and hammered the head of the fourth assassin and his face covered in blood from the stroke. Hamo used his sword to deflect the spears toward him and stabbed one of the dark knights with his knife in the left eye.
Darts from above had stopped. Peter and his friends had mixed with the fighting men and there was a risk for the assassins to hit one of their own. Four of the assassins from the second floor stormed toward the stairs but Ulf was already there. The young man managed to see him using his axe and sword to meet the attackers as the orphan crossed swords with one of the knights. He saw the knight’s eyes flickered. The situation wasn't anymore in the control of al-Rida. It seemed that the newcomers would win. Peter heard the sound from Wolf’s axe delivering death followed by a scream as he tried to push aside the tall knight in front of him.
Edward the Saracen shouted.
A man appeared beside him holding Anna—her mouth was bound, as were her hands.
All the fighting men froze.
“Stop it! Look upstairs, you desert piece of shit,” al-Rida said. Yesterday the orphan had thought that Edward the Saracen was on their side. Now he was their enemy again.
Double or triple agent? He was confused for a moment, but suddenly it all was clear to him.
He was an enemy.
“Do you want her pretty face to be spoiled?” Al-Rida touched the face of the little princess.
“Anna?”
“Lay down your weapons, or her beauty will be gone!” Al-Rida said.
“Coward,” Hamo said as he retrieved his sword from the chest of last fallen dark knight, pointing the blade down. Peter saw the sticky blood slid down and a few drops spilled on the ground.
“I wanted so much to meet you in a situation like this, Wolf.” Al-Rida swallowed, then continued, “You are a dying breed—a warrior with no cause—but living in a world full of enemies. And it’s all thanks to you.”
They all heard a woman’s scream.
Isabella showed herself on the wooden parapet on the left above Peter and his friends.
“Rats!” she shouted.
Isabella kicked a nearby soldier.
A Saracen stood behind her and tried to silence the lady. He grabbed her, raised her over his shoulder and dragged her back where she had come from like a doll. She didn’t stop screaming.
“Take her inside,” al-Rida said.
The window opened and a figure was delivered through it by the night wind and rain. A pair of daggers flew. The building became a warring chaos again as Ivar knocked over the man holding Anna. The little girl walked around the assassin and stood behind her ostringer who stepped forward and faced another enemy with knives in both hands.
Peter and Hamo intuitively lunged toward the rest of the assailants, pushing aside the spears pointed toward their chests, using the surprise from their companion’s arrival to their advantage. Ulf kicked a man in the groin near him, stepped up over his back while he was in convulsive pain, and jumped up to catch the wooden beam of the parapet. In a flash—almost too quick to track with the human eye—Ulf had hoisted himself onto the upper floor and inserted himself between al-Rida and the man who held Isabella.
Peter kicked the enemy who was in front of him between his legs and struck him over his ear with the pommel of his sword. The tall dark knight yelled with pain and fell backward as the young man raised his eyes. He saw that Edward the Saracen realized his own life was at stake; he was panicking. The vengeful wolf breath was on al-Rida’s face, and no man could resist that. The assassin turned his head and saw Ivar who cut his opponent’s throat and pushed him aside to fall on the first floor as he stepped toward al-Rida. The Saracen was trapped. And Peter and his friends had managed to overthrow the mercenaries fighting downstairs.
“No!” Edward the Saracen cried. He looked powerless to prevent his plan from being ruined in front of his eyes.
“Die, bastards!” Hamo shouted and hammered an enemy soldier on the first floor with his sword. Blood flew.
Al-Rida stepped back. He tried to say something, but the Wolf swung his blade toward the assassin’s neck. The spy stumbled, lost his balance, and rolled, throwing himself through the parapet over the dead soldiers on the first story.
The blade of the Desert Wolf had cut his right ear, but he was falling to freedom. Just before the traitor landed, the assassin flicked his right hand and a dagger flew toward the legendary Desert Wolf. Peter glanced at him to see that he tried to avoid the weapon, but the blade slid over his leather armor to his left side beneath his ribs and hit him. Ulf did not react but stared at the assassin.
Al-Rida fell on the back of one of his men, twisted like a cat, spun on his feet and looked up the stairs. His eyes caught Ulf’s for a moment.
“We will see you soon, Wolf,” he said and turned, pushing aside one dark knight. He approached Hamo and swung his short blade through his shoulder. The young lord from the Welsh Marches grunted and grabbed his wound.
Al-Rida looked with a vengeful face at Peter, kicked the open door, and vanished in the dark.
The rain sang its melody with rage.
***
Peter looked through the open door at the night in disguise under the rain.
Ivar and Ulf put to bed all resistance left in the building. Peter looked at the faces of the dead assassins as well as the dead dark knights, but no one was familiar to him.
One was still breathing. It was a member of the dark knights.
“What is your name?” Hamo demanded.
“Antonio of Soana ….” The man had a younger face.
“Who sent you?”
“None of your business ….”
“It seems that soon, it will be not yours, either.”
A spasm of pain contorted Antonio’s face. He had a nasty wound in his chest.
Hamo pressed his wounded shoulder with his right hand, raised his sword with his left and put the tip of his blade over the right eye of Antonio.
“This conversation can be hard for you, or short.”
Antonio stared at the trembling hand of Hamo and watched the dark blood running down his opponent’s elbow.
Ulf stood and observed them while holding Anna, hiding her face from this exchange. Ivar brought Isabella from the second floor and went to search the dead bodies.
“Who sent you? I won’t ask again,” Hamo said.
“It’s not your damn business,” Antonio said.
“You will die here. I can say a good word for your courage or not. It’s up to you. What will you choose?”
There were a few heartbe
ats, then Hamo released the weight of the sword and it pierced the eye of the doomed man. He screamed and blood stained Hamo’s boots.
“The Count of Nola.” There was a second scream, and the lord from the Welsh Marches forced his blade down under the weight of his body, silencing the pain of the dying man and splitting his head like a melon.
The sound was unforgettable. Isabella didn’t tremble. It looked like she was used to such things.
“Why did you kill him? There are so many questions to ask,” Peter said.
“He told us enough,” Hamo said.
“Do you know the count?”
Hamo nodded.
“Soon we will have another problem,” Peter said, watching the inner yard. The sleeping men were awakening, raised by the alarm of the running assassin.
Hamo fell to his knees. His face looked pale.
“No ….” the Lady of Beirut yelled and ran to him. Isabella sat down beside Hamo and hugged him. She gently touched his face as she raised her head and looked at Peter for a short moment. She had smiled at him, but now she was holding Hamo’s face. She was kissing his competitor.
“My love,” she said to Hamo as her trembling voice echoed in orphan’s head.
“I will be alright, I just…” Hamo grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek.
She had chosen the knight. Peter felt an indescribable weight in his chest as his heart would burst out of jealousy. Isabella hadn’t chosen the orphan. Did they know each other from before? The orphan’s mood became darker. He had lost, but he didn’t understand why.
He was watching the bleeding Hamo, his sword brother, and the lady Peter desired. Deep inside, he wanted his friend to die.
The moment he had this thought, he felt even more miserable. This feeling tore apart his soul and his mind. Lady Isabella had drawn a line between him and Hamo.
A very deep line.
Over the past few days, the two men had become closer. The knight had taught the orphan some sword techniques and skills but, more importantly, he had let Peter enter their inner circle of sword brothers. He was a good man, regardless of his behavior toward outsiders.
Longsword- Edward and the Assassin Page 31
