Talon spoke up. “You may, Lord, but by the sound of it this is no easy thing we commit to.”
“God help us, but I know that, Talon. Curse Châtillon to hell and damnation!” he snarled.
“He is the curse, Lord. He was quite prepared to murder my own people and take all our lives when we passed through his lands in the south a year ago. He has no honor, nor any moral code. God protect us all from this kind of pirate, for we are all branded with the same iron as far as the Arabs are concerned,” Talon stated.
“We are beset by zealots who ignore the reality on the ground and think that, because they are faithful to our God, they are immune to the wrath of our neighbors and can behave like savages.” Raymond paused. “You understand what I mean, Talon. You too were born here! We are the pullani! We want to preserve the Crusader states, and this means living with our neighbors in peace; we have been proved right time and again. Yet they consider us to be no better than peasants and are contemptuous of us. They never listen and never learn. They think diplomacy is a cowardly way to behave.” He sounded resigned. “My lands and my people will suffer if we are not successful. I must try to save us all from this stupidity.”
*****
Talon and Reza set off with the Count and a small retinue for Damascus the following day, just as the first streaks of dawn were showing in the east. This time Talon took Yosef and Junayd with him, leaving Dar’an in charge of the ship with Guy and Rostam in Tyre.
“We will be able to reach Damascus by this evening if we keep moving at a brisk pace,” Raymond said. With them were Sir Matthew and the Saxon who called himself Brandt. The Count made sure that his banner and a large white flag were displayed, to make clear that they were on a diplomatic mission.
It was being reported through various sources that the Sultan was recruiting from all the tribes in Syria and around the region of nearby Mesopotamia. This included people from as far afield as the Arab gulf, and even some of the Persian lands further to the east. The summer was not yet far advanced, allowing tribesmen and land owners to join the army without having to worry about their crops and animals until late in the season. This might mean that a host was being assembled hastily to be used before or during July and August.
Their route took them over a central ridge of low mountains directly to their east, then they skirted a higher range which rose off their north where there were perched castles belonging to the Templars. The Count did not tarry. The keepers of these manned forts made no effort to communicate with the column of riders heading eastward towards Damascus. While they rode, the Count plied them with questions as to their past, and in particular about their visit to China some years before.
Sometimes he coughed, which concerned Talon. “Are you well, Lord?” he asked at one time. The Count irritably shook his head. “Dust! It gets to my chest from time to time.”
Talon didn’t pursue the question but cast a look at Reza, who shrugged.
As they progressed eastward, the fertile lands on the outskirts of Tyre had given way to flat desert for some time. After they traversed the mountains they began to see evidence of more cultivation, palm trees and wells, followed by clusters of walled villages.
“We have left our Crusader lands and are not far from Damascus now,” the Count remarked. It was late afternoon with the sun low on the western horizon before the familiar pale walls of the city finally appeared.
Talon had always been somewhat in awe of Damascus. It had been, after all, the very center of the Umayyad Caliphate, then the center of the empire carved out by Nur Ed Din, and now it was the undisputed capital of the Sultan, Salah Ed Din.
Leagues before they saw the city they had noticed scouts on the low hills, mounted on camels and fast horses, who had ridden ahead to alert the city and the Sultan as to their presence. Now a large contingent of horsemen with the green banners of Islam rode towards them, throwing up a cloud of dust behind them.
In the distance they could see the white walls of Damascus, but between them and the city was a vast military encampment. To Talon it seemed to move like an ants’ nest above ground. A haze of dust hovered over the camp, but there was no mistaking the enormous numbers of cavalry and the woven black tents of semi-permanent tribal camps that had been set up within the confines of the army. Here was the menace that Raymond feared, and with good reason from what Talon could see.
“It was like this the last time I came to visit the Sultan,” Reza muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Talon. “Perhaps I should have done the deed. Rashid would have thanked me.” He was referring to the man known far and wide as the School Teacher, the Master of the Lebanese Batinistas or Assassins, as they were known by the Franks.
“You could have, but I doubt if that man would thank anyone. It’s too late now,” Talon replied, awestruck by the size of the multitude arrayed in front of them. The last time he had seen such a large body of men had been just before the Battle of Montgisard those ten long years ago. Then Talon had been part of the minuscule army of Baldwin IV and of the Templars who had led the charge to break the back of the Sultan’s army. He had little doubt that the Sultan would not fall into such a trap again, which made the sheer numbers here appear even more ominous.
The Count ordered his group to halt, and then they waited for the horsemen to approach. The lead man was young, clad in the finest chain mail, with gold filigree worked into his spiked helmet and a red horse’s mane attached to the topmost part. His followers were dressed in like manner. They were all mounted on magnificent Arab horses that strutted and danced, foam dripping from their bits. The Prince’s animal’s whole being just begged to fly into a wild gallop; no doubt its pedigree came from the finest breeds to be found in Yemen. The young man held his mount easily in check with the confidence of a superb rider. His attendants were older, harder-looking warriors who were watchful and protective.
Talon and Reza could feel tension in the air, but the young man smiled and said, “As-Salaam-Alaikum, Lord Raymond of Tripoli. Peace be with you. We are honored by your visit.”
Raymond smiled at the young man and responded in like tongue, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, Prince Al-Afdal, son of Salah Ed Din, Sultan of all Syria and Egypt! I trust to God that I find you well?”
“I am well, Lord Raymond. I, too, trust to God that you are in good health?”
“Well enough, Prince. I bring with me two trusted companions who also speak the Arab tongue. Lord Talon de Gilles and Lord Reza de Kantara.”
The prince gave a start, as did one of the riders with him. “I greet you in peace, Lords,” the surprised prince said, once he had regained his composure. “Our city Damascus awaits your arrival. The Sultan, May God always be with him, is looking forward to greeting you in the palace.”
The young prince maneuvered his steed alongside Raymond and they rode towards the city, which took less than an hour, by which time it was early evening, but the call to prayers had not yet sounded. The cavalcade was impatient to gain entry to the city and palace so they could leave the Count and his entourage and attend to their prayers. The prince informed the Count that the audience would take place the next day.
Not long after, they were shown to well-appointed apartments overlooking a wide garden and orchards of orange trees. The scent of flowering jasmine wafted on the evening air that filtered into the cool rooms. Talon and Reza shared a chamber with their two men, while the Count and his men were given other rooms nearby. The Count had pointed out that his two companions would prefer this arrangement, and the prince, after a word with his servants, had smiled and said, “We shall see you tomorrow, Lords. We will send an escort to bring you to His Highness the Sultan. In the meantime, please avail yourselves of our hospitality.” He left them as the first call to prayers was resonating throughout the city.
They dismissed the obsequious servants almost as soon as the tea and sweetmeats had been brought. “They are sure to be spies, and the less they hear, and see, the better,” Reza said to Talon, after he had seen
the reluctant servants out of the door. “It has been some time now since I’ve heard that sound,” he said of the call of the muezzins that emanated from the minarets around the city. He checked out the comfortable bed in his alcove by testing it with his palm. “Hmm, soft enough,” he said, and smiled at Talon, who was also listening.
“Perhaps we should be saying our prayers too, Brother,” Talon remarked. He was gazing at the quiet gardens below their balcony, enjoying the scent of roses and sipping a tiny cup of hot tea. “We might well need God’s help before very long.”
Then he changed the subject. “I wonder if there are any openings onto the streets from the orchard?”
“Do you mean to spy on the city, Brother?” Reza asked quietly, as he came to stand next to Talon.
“One of our number should, but not you nor me this time. They would notice our absence; and besides, we might be called upon by the Count. Did you notice the reaction of the prince when the Count mentioned our names?”
Reza nodded. “It struck a spark. So we should be careful.”
“Yes. I was thinking of Yosef or Junayd. What do you think?”
“Either or both. They are now equally good,” Reza told him. They were talking in very low tones. Scenting intrigue, the other two men had joined them.
“Both I think,” Talon decided. He turned to Yosef and Junayd, who looked as eager as hounds before a hunt. “Now remember, all I want to hear is the talk on the streets. Nothing else. I do not want any trouble that will endanger our mission, do you understand?”
His two killers nodded their assent, then began to make preparations to leave. Meanwhile, Talon and Reza availed themselves of the baths provided at the end of the corridor, soaking in the heated pool as they talked about the Count’s health and the prospects of success.
“I suspect he is not well,” Reza said quietly. They were being careful about what they said outside their own apartments.
“No, he is not,” Talon replied, “but he has access to good physicians. I wonder why he has not been to see one?”
_______________
Chapter 9
Salah Ed Din
O Lord of the Highest, search the depths of our hearts
And reveal all the foolishness of our own ways.
Show us the senselessness and arrogance in us
And may our hearts be broken before you.
—Yehoshua Shim’onai
Talon and Reza indulged themselves with the steam baths and a meal of roasted lamb with peppers and rice, and cucumber finely sliced and turned in yogurt. Slices of melon and ripe figs completed the meal on a sweet note.
While they were luxuriating in these comforts, Yosef and Junayd slipped over the balcony and down into the garden, where they disappeared from view. Talon knew they had been placed on the second floor to prevent anyone from doing just what his men had accomplished, but that kind of obstacle presented little problem to his people.
The two Companions, as Reza euphemistically called his men, made their way with extreme caution across the garden to arrive at the small gate without being seen by anyone and very quietly let themselves out onto a back alley. From here it was simple enough to shuffle down the alleyway, to slip past some beggars and into the evening crowd.
Families had emerged onto the tree lined streets to enjoy the relative cool of the evening, men and veiled women, some of them carrying babies or dragging their young along with them. The Chai Khane, the tea houses, were already open and full of Damascene citizens making jokes and scornful comments about the gawping newcomers wandering their streets. Street vendors, aware of profits to be had, began to open their stands to light charcoal or wood fires.
Smoke from the many fires drifted in light haze up into the trees, giving them an ethereal look in the evening light. Candles and lanterns were lit, and many candle lanterns were strung from the branches of the trees lining the streets, which gave the area a festive air. The aroma of cooked chicken, mutton and goat’s meat rose from the fires, making the two men’s mouths water. They had not yet eaten.
All around them were not only families but large numbers of men, either formally dressed as soldiers or carrying weapons and dressed in the garb of the various tribes who had come to join the cause. Some of these men were Bedouin straight from the dry deserts of Mesopotamia and were agog at the sights and sounds of the great city of Damascus. There were even ragged tribesmen from Yemen who wore their Khanjar knives tucked into their sashes like a badge of honor. They stared back with black eyes at any man who looked at them, as if to say they would challenge him if he stared too long.
Junayd and Yosef both felt at home in this setting, but although they had covered the lower part of their faces they were also acutely aware that should one of the palace servants be about and recognize them it might be disastrous. They therefore set out to determine what might be of use to Talon and Reza and return as quickly as possible.
They arrived at a stall enveloped with smoke; the owner, a burly man with a badly trimmed beard, was fanning the charcoal flames to broil some meat of an indeterminate nature. He was not in the best of moods, perhaps because his fire was slow to heat up, and he barely acknowledged them. They stopped here because there were no other people nearby at present, and they wanted to ask questions.
“Salaam. How is business?” Junayd asked politely.
“What’s it to you two? Where are you from? No one comes from this city any more, its full of inquisitive people like you,” was the less than courteous reply.
“Persia,” Yosef said.
“That’s a long way away,” the stall owner acknowledged. He was going to fat, and his arms were very hairy all the way up to his shoulders. He peered through the haze of smoke at the strangers and saw two very lean, wiry looking men. Their steady, unwavering gaze was just a little unnerving. He modified his tone somewhat. “Well, at least you don’t look like most of those sand rats, who wander about the place with their mouths open catching flies.”
“We have just arrived. We performed our duty to God and now we are hungry,” Junayd stated.
“I think I can accommodate you in that regard. What would you like to eat? I have chicken and rabbit and some lamb, but that’s expensive. The likes of you might not be able to afford it.”
“Try us.”
“Very well. The lamb, which is very fresh, is going to cost you four fals,” he said, looking sly.
Yosef snorted with disgust “Where do you think we just came from?” he sneered. “Here, take two and be glad that we don’t report you, but I’ll give you a dirham if you can tell me some gossip.”
It was a dangerous question to ask, but the stall owner’s small eyes brightened in his puffy face as he looked at the coins Yosef was rattling in his hand. He held up the silver dirham between a finger and his thumb and it glinted in the lamplight.
“The Sultan has just receive a delegation from the Frans. The man they call Tripoli is here to beg for peace,” he said, reaching out for the coin. “Not much chance of that, I can tell you!”
Yosef withheld the coin and asked, “Who is this Tripoli and what does he do here?”
The man fanned the fire more and placed the small slabs of lamb to cook. The fat on the edges of the meat sizzled and darkened.
“Don’t burn the meat!” Junayd admonished him. “I like it just singed on either side.”
“So now you are a cook and telling me my job?” the man demanded with a sour look, but he used tongs to turn the meat, because Yosef waved the coin again and he subsided.
“He is a noble, and he is very knowledgeable of our ways. But he is far too late. Rumor is that his Excellency is so angry this time that no matter what the Frans noble pledges or promises, the Sultan, may God bless his presence, will invade. He has had enough of their false promises.”
“How many men do we have for the task?”
“As many as the sands of the beaches! Tens of thousands, and more horses than we can keep, which is why the Sultan’s s
on is about to march. He needs to feed them somewhere else. There is no more grazing left about the city, and the great lake down south is the perfect place!” The man chuckled and held out his hand, into which Yosef placed the coin.
The lamb was done, so the stall owner wrapped the meat in two rolls of nan and handed them over. He was staring at them more intently now, as though regretting what he had told them.
“Thank you and God bless you. Peace,” Junayd said as he turned away.
As they walked off munching on the rolls, Yosef glanced back and noticed that several armed men were talking to the stall owner. He was pointing in their direction.
“It’s time we disappeared. He is ratting on us to a patrol,” he told Junayd.
“Come on; we will take a small alley and then pop over a wall and find another. That should lose that bunch. They don’t look very bright,” Junayd said as they walked on.
They decided that they should return to the palace before there was more interest in them, and before long they were back in the chambers occupied by Talon and Reza, where they finished off their food.
“I kept some of the cucumbers and yogurt, which I know you love, Yosef,” Reza told him. Yosef grinned his thanks, then he and Junayd finished off every scrap of food on the table, after which they described what they had seen.
“At least we know the mood on the street,” Talon commented, when he heard their report.
“The Count will want to know where he stands when we meet up with the Sultan in the morning, so this is useful.” He stopped, as there was a pounding on their door.
Yosef went to open it and found one of the senior officials standing outside with several guards. “I wish to speak to Lord Talon,” he stated without preamble.
Yosef stepped aside and allowed him in, but stood in the way of the other men. “These are the chambers of my Lord Talon, who is a guest of the Sultan. You do not come in.” He was joined by Junayd and even Reza, and the three menacing men stared down the soldiers, who backed off in silence.
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