Talon looked at Reza, who glanced back. “Would the Sultan countenance something of that nature? That you could be Regent again?” Talon asked the surprised Count.
“If you mean what I think you mean, Talon,” the Count gave Talon a long look, “he might, but I would have to put it to him very carefully. At this point in time I don’t know how it would be possible, with all our enemies in that pit of vipers arrayed against us.”
Later in the day, a messenger arrived to escort the Count to a very private meeting between with the Sultan.
As it was getting late, Talon and Reza returned to their quarters to eat some food and ponder the day’s discussions with their own men.
“That was a mistake on the part of the Count. He should have insisted that we come along to listen,” Reza said through a mouthful of meat and nan.
“The Sultan is a chess player, and by the look of things he wants to move his knights deep into Raymond’s side of the board. There they will wreak havoc, especially if General Gökburi is in charge,” Talon told them. “Raymond has no bargaining power, and he knows it. At any time, the Sultan and his army could march through his lands and there is nothing he could do to prevent it. What the general was really saying was that if Raymond wanted to stay out of the coming war he could formally allow them to cross his land and he would be left unharmed.”
“It would not be very long before Guy and his nobles learned of such a move and sent and army to try and throw them out,” Reza stated. “And they will accuse this good Count of treachery.”
“I fear so, Reza. Our visit here has not been entirely in vain, but there is little doubt in my mind that Raymond is going to have to make a separate arrangement with the Sultan if he is to survive. The Sultan has every intention of invading. His brothers and generals will see to that.”
That evening, when the Count came back from his meeting, it was as though he had made a decision and his mind was more or less at peace.
“I have decided to allow the cavalry access to the lake,” he told his unhappy companions, who held their peace and pondered the implications. Talon put his left hand up to his mouth and rubbed his beard in a gesture that Reza was all too familiar with. Reza shook his head in dismay.
“It is only a temporary thing,” the Count hurried on, seeing their expressions. “But there is another factor which has not been discussed, and it is an important one. Time is not completely on the Sultan’s side. The rains will come in September. The farmers and tribesmen in his army will become restless and will want to leave to deal with their own tribal concerns. If we can delay a confrontation long enough by making a concession like this, then we will have succeeded. In time, he will have to disband the bulk of his army., and he would not dare attack without those forces.” Raymond tried to sound optimistic.
“It is still a dangerous concession, my Lord. And yet, I don’t know what else you could have agreed to. They have most of the pieces on the board,” Talon conceded.
“Good. Then we leave tomorrow at dawn, as I have to get home and see to alerting my people. I shall beg of you one more favor, Talon.”
“What may I do for you, Lord?’
“When we return to Tyre we will leave soon after for Tiberius, where my wife is at present. When we have settled in, take a contingent of my men and go south to warn the Lord Ibelin, the Bishop of Tyre, and the forts to the south of Tiberius. I do not want any skirmishes or unnecessary alarms. The cavalry will come in about two weeks; they will water their horses at the lake, stay for a week, perhaps a little longer, then go home. By which time I shall have completed my own preparations to go to Jerusalem and make the case to prosecute Châtillon.”
_____________
Chapter 10
A Pact with the Devil
I shall drink your wine,
take away your food,
deprive you of shelter
and dry up your well.
You have hurt me
just once, and must pay.
—Herbert Nehrlich
Zenos arrived in Beirut a few days after his departure from Famagusta. He had not sailed to Paphos, as he had told everyone. As his ship was rowed into the large harbor, under the glowering walls of the main Crusader castle held by the Ibelin family, he felt a familiar rush of excitement.
Two coastal castles protected the harbor: Ibelin’s and another looming to the north; beyond these he could just make out the Bab ad Darkeh castle, which was much larger and held most of the garrison of Crusader and Templar warriors. Beyond the garrison, surrounded by the cluster of red-tiled roofs of the town, was the Church of Saint George, with its round, copper-clad dome and huge iron cross.
Off to the north across the wide shallow curve of the bay was Mount Sannine, still with a light cap of snow. A cool breeze coming off the mountain ruffled the waters of the harbor. The quayside was teeming with people of all races and origins: sunburned or pale, newly arrived Frankish would-be Crusaders, who stubbornly refused to wear local garb, sweating themselves sick in the heat; half-naked Nubian laborers, brought to the city by their Arab masters, who dominated the population, along with their Greek counterparts; and Jewish merchants.
Everyone wore their distinctive ethnic clothing like a badge of honor, from the plain robes of the peasants and laborers to the finely sewn, silver- and gold-embroidered robes of the merchantmen. The Arab merchants vied with one another as to whom wore the largest turbans; the Byzantine Christians wore silk and wool hats that were totally inappropriate for the hot weather. The Jews, ever self-effacing, wore their flat, saucer-like kippots pinned to their long curls. All the women went about veiled. The occasional Templars or Crusaders could be seen, usually in pairs, sauntering along the quayside. For the most part they were ignored by the population.
Half-naked fishermen were busy unloading their catches, with vigilant seagulls wheeling and screaming overhead, looking for scraps of fish. Sweating slaves labored to bring ashore heavy sacks to be stacked in great heaps on the quayside before being moved to warehouses by patient donkeys or lumbering camels. The city relied upon fishing and trade. Zenos knew that Beirut, because of its distance from Jerusalem, had been somewhat sidelined by Acre, but this had not inhibited merchants from every country on the eastern seaboard of the Inner Sea and deep inside Syria from using Beirut as a prime market. It was his experience that almost anything could be purchased here… for a price.
As he and his bodyguard stood at the rail, his man pointed at a ship anchored in the middle of the harbor. “Wonder what happened to them?” he remarked. “Looks like they had a fire.”
Zenos stared at the ship as they were rowed past. The sound of carpenters’ hammers and saws drew his eye to the activity going on at the after end of the vessel. It had certainly sustained some fire damage. The rails on the upper deck were shattered and splintered.
When he stepped ashore, all the familiar noises, sights and smells assailed his senses. Warding off the pleas of beggars and vendors, Zenos walked briskly away from the busy quayside, heading towards the slopes where the richer merchants resided. He refused to be carried by palanquin, preferring to hear and see the city as he walked. The men who called out the offer cursed him behind his back. A rich man who refused a palanquin? Whoever heard of such a thing?
He was accompanied by his bodyguard, one of the many mercenaries belonging to Isaac; he glowered at anyone who tried to come too close and shoved aside any beggars who made a bid for alms. Zenos noted a group of men seated at the entrance to a tea house on the side of the quay and realized that they were watching him with interest. One hawkish-faced man wearing a large turban stood out from the others, but Zenos was t0o preoccupied to pay much attention; he strode on with his bodyguard taking the lead.
They were soon climbing rows of steps that led up the hillside and walking along narrow, quieter streets where there was less jostle by laborers and they passed better-dressed merchants, stepping aside from time to time to allow a camel to lumber by with its impossibly h
uge load. These animals could have come from as far away as the Arab sea or Constantinople carrying anything from silk bales to pottery and tea, even porcelain from distant Cathay. Shortly he arrived at his father’s agent’s house. It overlooked the harbor, allowing anyone from its balcony to see the full span of the sheltering bay—and any ships or boats that came and went.
They greeted one another warmly. The man was Greek, originally from Thessalonica, but he spoke several languages, hence his position of trust with his father's business. If Himerius didn’t know the name of a person within the city, then he was of little consequence. After the customary embraces and long drawn out greetings, which included enquiries into each other’s heath and that of their parents, they went to the garden for more privacy.
Tea was brought by a slave girl, whom Zenos sized up appreciatively. She was clad in a simple cotton shift which did little to hide her figure. Only when she had left did they get down to business, as they sipped the scalding tea in the shade of a prized mulberry tree. Zenos realized how much he had missed the calm of the high streets and the excitement of the port. Compared to Beirut, Famagusta was a small, dull fishing port, the palace notwithstanding.
Himerius looked over the rim of his tea cup at Zenos, taking in the expensive new clothes, the well trimmed beard, his manicured nails, and the hands adorned with rings of gold and silver.
“You appear to not have to work in the manner you once did, my friend,” Himerius remarked with a smile.
“Indeed, I do not. You do know, do you not, that I am working directly for the Emperor of Cyprus? My tasks now are… more administrative these days, but I still hunt with him and keep my health,” Zenos could not help bragging to his old acquaintance.
“I have heard the rumors. So it is true; in which case I must congratulate you. That is great news, and I am sure your father is very pleased.” His tone was just the least bit dry. It was common knowledge that Zenos and his father did not get along very well, and now Zenos was to all intents and purposes working for the wrong side. The behavior of Isaac Komnenos, the so-called Emperor of Cyprus, was disparaged by the merchant class far and wide, who valued stability above all else.
Ignoring the tone Zenos said, “I do my best to protect him from the, shall we say, excesses of the Byzantine Emperor.” His tone was a trifle sharp.
“I take your point, Lord,” the agent said with an ingratiating smile. “So what brings you to our humble home? A caravan with a load of porcelain and silk arrived the other day from Persia; it came by ship from China. I managed to purchase some, although God help me, it was expensive! I hold it in our warehouse. I have already sent a message to your father in Larnaca about it.”
Zenos shook his head. “No, my friend. I have come to seek… people.” He lowered his voice. “Of the mercenary kind, if you take my meaning.”
Himerius’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Is the Emperor looking for men?”
“After a fashion he is,” Zenos stated. “But this is to be kept secret. No one, and I repeat, no one is to know, other than you and I, about the reason.”
“Naturally, Lord.” Himerius reverted to being very polite. “This town is swarming with mercenaries of all stripes. Even pirates have taken up lodging with us recently.”
Zenos looked surprised. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means that when Abdul-Zinad, a distant relative of Salah Ed Din himself, takes up residence, we have pirates for guests.” He leaned forward. “If I might digress for a moment, what do you know of a sea battle that was fought on the north side of Cyprus quite recently?”
Zenos frowned. “I did hear something of that. If there were any witnesses, however, they have not passed the news along to me.” He resolved to correct this oversight when he got back to the island. “What do you know?” he asked, curious.
“Well, and this is mainly rumor you understand, but it is noised abroad that the man known as Lord Talon defeated Makhid and Abdul-Zinad in a sea fight, and even sank one of their ships. A third ship has not been heard of since the fight. Perhaps it was captured. Abdul is here in Beirut, and his ship was mauled.”
Zenos sat up. Now he was very interested. “You are telling me that Abdul is the owner of the ship that looks like it was on fire, here, in the harbor?”
“Oh yes, and word has it that he is hopping mad and would like to take revenge for the death of his two brothers and his nephew, who disappeared in the fight. You won’t hear this from him, but he was lucky to get away himself. That Talon fellow has a diabolical weapon which he used on their ships. They do say he is a magician… perhaps it is true?”
There was that name again. “This Talon sounds like a formidable enemy,” Zenos remarked casually.
“Oh, yes indeed. But I also hear that he is here in the ‘Holy Land’, as those Latins call it. Word is that he came at the bidding of the Count of Tripoli and even now is negotiating with the Sultan Salah Ed Din.” Himerius paused to observe the reaction of his guest. “But perhaps we should get back to the main point of our discussion?” He took a sip of tea. “Common mercenaries are two a dinar here, so that won’t be a problem. How many do you need?”
Zenos sat back on his seat, feeling a sense of justification. This news confirmed one thing: the leader of the people in the castle on the hill was absent from home. If he was going to gain access to the castle of Kantara, this was an important factor.
“I need people who are clever at gaining entrance to difficult strongholds and who can work with my people, but I also want to talk to this pirate, Abdul-Zinad,” he told Himerius, who looked thoughtful.
“There are… other people, not mercenaries but are very dangerous, and skilled in the arts of war as well as gaining entrance to difficult places,” he said slowly. “If you are contemplating gaining entrance to a fort similar to the one we are talking about, mere mercenaries will not be enough. You should be warned, however, that these people are very dangerous and will demand high payment. They should be treated with the utmost respect.”
“Whom are you alluding to?” Zenos demanded.
“Why the Batinis of course, those ghosts from the mountains behind this city. You know of them, everyone does. The Assassins!”
Zenos felt a little cold prickle creep down his back. He nodded slowly, a frown on his face. “Yes,” he said. “We all know of them, but they are invisible! How could I even speak to them of what I have in mind?”
Himerius looked sly. “Even those people come to Beirut. To spy, to buy, and sometimes to offer their services,” he replied.
“You mean…?” Zenos didn’t finish.
Himerius nodded his head vigorously. “Oh yes, they are for hire too, but they charge a lot of dinars for what they do. They have never failed. And… no one has ever failed to pay them, either.” Himerius gave a dry chuckle, a wide-eyed expression on his pock-marked face.
“Can you arrange a meeting with these men?”
Himerius pursed his full lips thoughtfully, “That will take some time. Their leader is lodged deep in the mountains, and he has to give permission. You had better talk to the pirate first. This project sounds like a difficult one. I hope it is worth it for you and your Emperor. You appear to be playing a dangerous game, my friend.” He finished his tea and called for some arak. He noticed the look Zenos gave the serving girl when she came out again.
“You must be tired and in need of refreshment, Lord.” He gestured towards the girl. “Perhaps a little relaxation will help?”
For the next three days Himerius put the word out that mercenaries were wanted for a short job, the destination to be given out to those chosen for the work. The would-be recruits were told to come to a deserted warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where selection began. Zenos was to meet some of the most villainous and mean-looking hard cases he had ever encountered.
“These men make the crowd working for the Emperor look like babes,” he remarked to Himerius after a long day of recruiting. They had chosen half of t
he twenty or so they were interested in hiring, out of the nearly fifty men who’d paraded in front of them and told lies about their backgrounds and experience. Himerius used one of his own men to help with the choices. They all had to be riders, and they all had to have had experience in storming a fortress. There were not so many of these to be found.
After several grueling days they had their twenty men, who were told to report for duty within the week at the quayside.
The agent had also arranged a meeting with Abdul-Zinad, who, after playing coy with the request, had finally expressed interest. It was to be at the same tea house Zenos had passed when he first arrived.
He presented himself there late one humid evening to find the place almost deserted. Abdul had used his influence to empty the place. He was introduced by Himerius, who then discreetly went and sat by the entrance with the bodyguards, leaving the two men alone.
“I hear you are looking for men to take with you to Cyprus,” Abdul said, as he sucked on a water pipe. The smell of hashish was strong in the air. Zenos wrinkled his nose but said nothing. The meeting was too important for him to breach good manners.
“I am looking for a little more than just a few armed men,” he responded. “I hear that you had a small altercation with the man called Talon, who lives in the castle Kantara.”
Abdul-Zinad frowned. “Where did you hear that?” he demanded.
“I didn’t have to go far to find out. Word is on the streets everywhere. I knew almost the moment I arrived, and your ship tells its own story,” Zenos retorted. He didn’t add that the rumors were also rife on the island of Cyprus about the sea battle which had not gone unnoticed by people on the coast.
Storms of Retribution Page 17
