Sir Matthew stared into the distance towards the castle. “Ah,” he murmured. “The rumors are true. Lord Raymond said that he lives on a peak.” He turned back to Rostam. “We must hurry, as there is little time to lose.”
“Lord Rostam will escort you, Sir Matthew. I must remain here with my ship.” Guy informed him. “Andreas, you stay with me, boy.”
Within a few minutes the boys had obtained horses from the village stables and they were riding out, watched by the curious inhabitants who did not often have visitors to their harbor, other than the ships belonging to Lord Talon himself.
During their journey, Sir Matthew’s keen eye had time to observe the land on either side of the road. The crops were planted and growing well, cows grazed in grass paddocks, and off to his left he noticed water ditches and vineyards, with people working along the rows. He remarked the drains alongside the road and noted that they were in fact small irrigation canals carrying clear rushing water. They seemed to be well maintained. On the slopes of the mountain there were extensive olive groves. The people working in the fields appeared to be cheerful and, more importantly, well fed. This was in stark contrast to the peasants who lived on the lands of the Kingdom of Jerusalem these days, even in the area of Tripoli from whence he had just come.
Some of the people even waved to the young man with hazel eyes, who waved back or responded with calls in what Sir Matthew guessed must be Greek. He himself only spoke French, although he had tried to learn some Arabic. His master, Lord Raymond of Tripoli, had insisted.
He noticed that the two youths who accompanied him and his men carried their weapons with an ease that suggested long familiarity. He wondered if they’d had any occasion to put them to hard use. The one named Rostam seemed consumed with curiosity, yet he was polite and spoke only when asked a question. Sir Matthew had not a few to ask.
“Your peasants appear to be contented, Lord Rostam,” he commented at last.
Rostam laughed. “They should be, Sir. Father invests enough in their well-being. He is always telling me that it is important to have contented people working for you.”
They rode past some wagons drawn by oxen, then passed some women carrying large baskets of olives. It was not lost on Sir Matthew that some smiled prettily at the two young men.
Finally they crested the ridge, and Sir Matthew could gaze up at the formidable walls of the castle belonging to Lord Talon de Gilles. Rumor had it that the knight had stolen this fortification from right under the nose of the so-called ‘Emperor’ Isaac Komnenos of Cyprus. Every attempt to reclaim it had failed, so that now Sir Talon was a lord in his own right, and firmly established. Sir Matthew resolved to ask some questions about that when the opportunity presented itself.
They rode along the southern flank of the castle for some distance, with the formidable walls towering over them and a steep drop on their right, as they made for the twin towers which dominated the gateway. Sir Matthew nodded his head with growing respect. This was not an easy target for a siege, he decided, and the sentries staring silently down at him looked alert.
They rode at a walk through the opened gates, the horses’ hooves clattering on the paving stones, then drew rein where a small group of men and a couple of hounds waited for them, just inside the bailey.
Grooms ran forward to hold the horses, and men-at-arms closed the gates with a crash. A tall, well-built man wearing what appeared to be eastern clothing and a loose turban stepped forward. Rostam hastened to dismount and said, “Father, this is Sir Matthew D’Aix from Lord Tripoli. He is bringing news and a letter.” Then, remembering his manners, he added, “Sir Matthew, may I present my father, Lord Talon de Gilles.”
Sir Matthew bowed respectfully to the man, who dipped his head. “You are very welcome to my house, Sir Matthew.” His hand strayed to the head of one of the hounds, which was pushing its nose affectionately against his leg. Matthew noted the scarred features of the man and his proud but watchful bearing. Matthew noted that there were streaks of grey in his beard and on his temples. The Count had recounted several tales about Lord Talon, some of which were quite sinister.
“This man has traveled to the end of the earth and has amassed much knowledge. Some even call him a wizard. He is not a man to be trifled with, Matthew. Many have tried and all have paid a heavy price. But speak forthrightly to him and I am sure he will be your friend,” the Count had admonished him before they parted.
“Lord Talon de Gilles,” Matthew’s tone was formal and initially a little nervous, “I, er, I bring an urgent message to you from my Lord Raymond of Tripoli.” He drew out the rolled parchment from the folds of his cloak and presented it to Talon, who took it and looked it over. He recognized the seal as that of Tripoli.
“I bid you welcome,” he said. “You have traveled far to deliver this, and the voyage, I know, is not a simple undertaking. Allow my Sergeant-at-Arms to lead your men to where they can partake of refreshment.” Talon indicated the three men who had come with Matthew. “They will be well taken care of; he has been in my service since I gained the castle and is a trusted man.”
“Palladius, please see to our guests,” he murmured in Greek to a burly man-at-arms standing nearby, who nodded. “Yes, Lord.” He bowed to Talon and lead the three men towards the doorway that led to the inner castle grounds. Palladius had joined Talon on the day he gained possession of the castle, preferring to serve Talon than his former cruel master.
Talon turned so that he could indicate his other companions with his gesture. “Sir Matthew, I wish to present my comrades-in-arms of many years, Lord Reza and Sir Max Bauersdorf.”
Sir Matthew bowed to the two men, one of whom was a slight, swarthy man dressed in similar clothing to that of Talon’s; he also wore a loose turban. His dark eyes remained disconcertingly steadily on his. Matthew felt that he was being assessed very thoroughly. However the smile he gave Matthew was friendly enough. “You are welcome, Sir Matthew,” Reza’s white teeth gleamed under his short beard. There were a few thin streaks of grey in his beard also.
The other man, Max, clearly a Frank and thinner than his more muscular companions, had made some concessions to the loose robes of eastern clothing but did not wear a turban. Instead he wore a blue felt cap over his white hair, the color of the cap matched by piercing blue eyes set in a stern, deeply lined face. Max’s smile was also friendly enough as he gave a bow in return.
Sir Matthew had heard of Sir Max before, something to do with once being a Templar Sergeant, and later being held prisoner in the Temple dungeon in Acre. He had mysteriously vanished one night, about the same time as the huge fire that nearly burned down a large portion of the city. Lord Talon was rumored to have been involved somehow.
“We bid you welcome, Sir Matthew.” Max said in his guttural French. “We are eager to hear news of the Holy Land.”
“Come, Sir,” Talon indicated the way. “We are all as eager as Max to hear news, but you have indicated this message is urgent. We will hear the news later as we eat in the hall, but meanwhile you and I will go and talk in my study.”
Talon turned and led the way across the wide space of the bailey, past what Matthew was surprised to see, an actual trebuchet! A man-at-arms threw open another solid door and saluted Talon respectfully. The doorway opened onto a wide and busy courtyard, dominated by a keep which towered over the castle grounds.
Talon continued to lead the way up some stone steps through a large doorway into the huge hall. Servants ducked their heads and maids curtsied with polite smiles as they passed. Leaving his companions on the first floor, Talon carried on up some more circular stone steps to open a small, thick, iron-studded door which led into a cluttered but well-lit room at the top of the square tower. He smiled. “We are finally here, Sir Matthew. Would you like some wine? I can even provide you with some tea.”
The knight nodded his head mutely. “Er… wine, thank you, Sir.” Everything he had seen on their way to this room had given him an impression of considerable
wealth, but also there was a clean, orderly atmosphere about the building which impressed him; few Castilians bothered with cleanliness in his world. This particular room was, in contrast to the rest of what he had observed, anything but tidy. He sat down in the chair opposite Talon, who made himself comfortable and then broke the seal of the letter.
While Talon was thus engaged, a servant silently poured some wine and handed Matthew a silver goblet which he gratefully accepted. The visitor sipped the red wine and stared about him with wide-eyed interest at the collection of beautiful leather-bound manuscripts, the rolls of paper and parchment lying about on the desk and on shelves that reached to the roof of exposed beams. Sir Matthew, like most of his warrior class, could not read, but he had a grudging admiration for anyone who could. To him, there did not seem to be any kind of order in the room; indeed some rolls lay on the carpets in complete disarray. There were large maps of the region pinned casually to fine tapestries, and a few banners hung from the roof collecting cobwebs and dust. The man absorbed in reading the message appeared to be just as much at ease within a library as he was in command of the castle.
*****
Talon ignored the curious knight and focused on reading the parchment. As he read he tried to keep the concern from his face. If the words written by Count Raymond of Tripoli were to be believed, then the situation in the Kingdom of Jerusalem was dire. Despite his loose network of informants, Talon did not have anyone left in Acre to keep him fully aware of the activities going on in the Kingdom; a fact that had made him uneasy. The Jews with whom he had done much in the way of business had departed the city over a year ago, almost en masse, due to the depredations of the avaricious Lord Gérard de Rideford and his followers, including the Bishop of Acre.
Talon had not been able to find anyone reliable enough who could keep him informed since then. Hence he had heard of the death of the young King Baldwin V belatedly, and then very little of the intense political turmoil that had followed when the quarreling royals had left Acre for Jerusalem.
According to Tripoli, the two factions who had emerged after the death of the boy-king Baldwin V were still locked in a vicious power play. On the one side were Raymond and the Countess Isabella, Balian Ibelin, and several other nobles. The other camp consisted of the boy’s mother Sibylla, sister of Baldwin IV, the Leper King; her lover, now husband, Guy de Lusignan; Gérard de Rideford, the Master of the Templar Order; and Raynald de Châtillon. Talon had known that Sibylla had married against her brother’s wishes the knight Sir Guy, upon which he had become Lord of Gaza. A huge jump for anyone, let alone a mere adventurer knight!
On inheriting the throne after her son Baldwin V died, Sibylla had tricked everyone during the coronation by accepting the crown as the rightful queen but then immediately passing the crown to her newly wed husband, Guy de Lusignan, who had then crowned himself King of Jerusalem! It had been a hasty ceremony, not attended by many of the nobility. Lord Raymond had not been present. There had been bad blood between them ever since.
As if that were not worrisome enough, the fragile peace that had been painstakingly negotiated by Baldwin IV and Lord Raymond with Salah Ed Din, the Sultan and leader of the Arab neighbors to the Kingdom, had been broken once more by Lord Raynald de Châtillon. This time the Sultan had had enough and was mustering a huge army with the intent to invade the Kingdom of Jerusalem and punish the Christians once and for all. Raymond of Tripoli was calling upon his many disparate allies and liegemen, including Talon, to come to his aid.
Talon glanced at Sir Matthew, who was looking around his cluttered study with wide-eyed curiosity, and noticed his eyes lingering on a trophy depicting a lion and a dragon battling for the game of polo.
“I’ll tell you about that some time,” he told the knight, then turned his attention back to the letter, ignoring the sounds of activity down in the courtyard: grooms calling to one another or flirting with the maids, geese squawking, a peacock screaming, horses snorting and stamping impatiently, or being walked on the stones. One of the hounds which had accompanied them to the chamber yawned loudly. He continued to read:
It is with great reluctance that I call upon you for help in these dark times. While I have not forgotten your pledge of loyalty to me those many years ago, out of our friendship, which I value greatly, I do not call upon that pledge. Instead I simply beg for your help. You and I are among a very few in the Kingdom who have met the Sultan and know him as a man of honor. I am deeply concerned that unless we can renegotiate a truce, then disaster will follow and our entire kingdom will be thrown into peril. With God’s help we might be able to avert a war which we could not win, and return to some form of peace. Should we be successful, then there must be a reckoning with Châtillon. He must never be allowed to commit such crimes again. I ask that you come as soon as is possible for I think time is short, perhaps perilously so. Sir Matthew is one of my most loyal aides and you may trust him implicitly. He will bring you to me in Tyre. ”
The letter was signed with Lord Raymond’s flourish, the wax stamped with a seal depicting a mounted knight bearing a banner encircled by the legend Raymondus Comus Tripoli Sigil, confirming the authenticity of the document.
Talon looked up from the parchment and fixed his gaze upon the visitor. “You are aware of the contents of this document and are here to take me to him?” he asked.
Sir Matthew nodded. “I am instructed to provide you, and any men you wish to bring with you, transport to Tyre, Lord,” he responded.
Talon gave him a wry smile. “Not to Acre then?” he queried.
Matthew shook his head and grinned back. “No, Lord, not to Acre. I fear your reputation would precede you and men would all waiting be for you on the quayside with unpleasant anticipation.”
Matthew was referring to the time when Talon had set fire to his own house in Acre, after he had been charged with witchcraft and all his property confiscated by the Church. The diversion had enabled him to escape with his people on two of his ships, but the fire had spread to burn down a whole section of the city. The authorities would not be forgiving.
Talon glanced back down at the missive and re-read it in the silence that followed. Finally he looked up. “I shall give you my answer in the morning, Sir Matthew. In the meantime, my servants will provide you with every comfort we can. You will have to excuse me while I consult with my people, as this is not an easy decision to make and there seems to be little time.”
Sir Matthew made to speak, but then appeared to rethink what he was about to say and simply nodded. “Very well, Lord. I shall await your answer with the morning.”
“You will eat with us this evening and we shall talk some more. My family is eager to hear your news, good or bad,” Talon told him as they both stood up. Talon ushered the knight out of the room and nodded to the man standing outside. “See Sir Matthew to his quarters.”
The man, one of Reza’s Companions, bowed and led the knight away.
____________
Chapter 2
Corsairs
O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway—
Our flag the scepter all who meet obey.
—Lord Byron
Talon sat motionless for a long time after the knight had departed for his guest quarters. His attention was drawn to the small noises coming up to his tower from below. They were the sounds of people living and working in a peaceful time. He could hear the sound of laughter mingled with the other normal sounds of a castle going about its evening tasks. He was content, notwithstanding there was always danger lurking somewhere, but danger was at present outside the boundaries of his lands. He had done much to ensure this, and his reward had been loyalty and hard work from the inhabitants of the two villages and the castle. For the first time in his li
fe he was not looking over his shoulder for danger, but now? Without notice the outside world and its chaos had reached into his calm life with a clawed hand to drag him away from all that he held precious.
He put his head in his hands and shook it from side to side, feeling a deep sense of foreboding. When would the world learn to live in peace? Tossing the letter aside with a frown of anger he got up and walked over to the window. He leaned on the stone sill to stare out over his lands to the north. Talon was still staring out of his window towards the tiny harbor in the distance where two ships idled at anchor, when there came a discreet knock on the door.
“Come!” he called.
Reza and Max, his two closest friends, entered with Rostam right behind them.
“We have come,” stated Max, his grizzled old Templar friend, “to hear what news would bring a knight belonging to Count Raymond of Tripoli to our shores.”
“I have brought some of our best wine along to help with your memory… just in case you forgot what he wanted,” said Reza, Talon’s friend from the time when they had been trained as young assassins. He grinned and flourished a dark bottle of their own pressed wine.
Both Max and Reza were quick, however, to sense his mood. “Not so good eh, Talon?” Reza commented, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.
Talon sighed, then gave a rueful chuckle.
“No, it is not good news, my friends. Rostam, you are to go and ask your mother, your aunt Jannat, and Theodora to come to the Solarium to meet with us there. There are important matters to discuss and I want them to be present.”
Rostam rushed off while the three men looked at one another. “Is it such bad news, Talon?” asked Max, eyeing him from under his bushy, grey-flecked brows.
Storms of Retribution Page 3
