He was fully aware of the distrust that existed between the Count and the allies of Sibylla. The Count had been at peace with Salah Ed Din to the extent that most Christians thought he was a traitor in league with the Sultan. Few of them bothered to work out the subtleties necessary for coexistence in this country, not appreciated how many attacks and retaliations had been prevented by Raymond’s treaties.
Talon sighed and shook his head. The Count looked deeply disappointed, but Talon said, “Very well, Lord, but I must be sure that my brother is well on his way to safety with my people before I follow you to Jerusalem. I will not leave Reza’s side unless I am confident that he is safely on my ship and in the care of my men.”
The Count nodded. “I understand the sacrifice you are making, Talon. But know this: I am leaving Tiberius to join with the King, and should Salah Ed Din come this way he will surely lay siege to this city. My family is here. All that I possess and all my people will be in peril.”
“Then we must waste no further time, Lord. I shall prepare Reza for the journey and instruct my men.”
“I shall provide a large escort for Lord Reza to Tyre,” Raymond assured him.
Talon knew the journey to Tyre would be very hard. Reza thought he could ride, but the Armenian physician was adamant. “If you are going to move him, Lord, which by the way I do not recommend,” he told Talon, his faded old eyes flashing with annoyance, “then do not let him ride. He must be carried on a litter.” Talon looked over at Reza, who was resting on a bed with his chest tightly bound, his eyes half closed.
Artemus said, “I have stitched him up. There was a deep wound from some kind of spear, which runs across his chest through his right chest muscles. It glanced off his ribs, which are not broken as far as I can tell. There is, however, always the risk of infection. I doubt if the metal was clean. Above all, keep him away from those Latin Leeches. They will kill him.” The old man’s lips curled with disdain. “Be it upon your head, Lord, if he goes with you.”
Talon spoke rapid Farsi with Reza. “The situation here is going to be untenable before very long, my Brother. The Arabs killed all the Templars, and Count Raymond thinks Salah Ed Din will be back very soon, so I want to send you to Tyre and put you on the ship. I am sending you home.”
“You’re not coming with me, Talon?” Reza croaked. He sounded incredulous.
“No. I am keeping Yosef with me, while Junayd will go home with you and everyone else. Yosef has agreed to stay and keep me out of trouble.” Talon grinned at his friend, trying hard to hide his concern. Reza looked pale and weak from loss of blood and the recent ordeal, and although the distance was manageable Talon was concerned about the journey. His brother still managed to protest. “I can recover while here.”
Talon shook his head vehemently. “Don’t argue with me, Reza. You are out of this mess, and I want you to do as I ask. I will not be able to work with the Count if I am worrying about you, too.”
Reza stilled the protests forming on his lips and lay back. “When do we leave?” he murmured.
“Tonight.” Talon turned to Junayd. “I entrust him to you, Junayd. Keep him safe.”
Junayd nodded. “I shall, Lord. Will these people provide a litter?”
“A litter and a strong escort,” Talon assured him. “The Count is to be trusted, and so are his men. The distance to Tyre is about forty leagues, which will be very tiring, but Guy’s ship is there, our ship. You are to leave Tyre the moment you get to the harbor, and make haste to Cyprus. Rostam will get you there.”
“I am sure he will, Lord,” Junayd smiled. “That boy is a navigator.” He paused. “But what of you and Yosef, Lord? How will you get back to us?”
“Have Henry come to Tyre when you get home, and he can wait there for us there. I think that city is safe for the moment. Warn him to be careful, however. Things are changing very rapidly. A war is about to begin.”
Junayd looked alarmed. “Is it as bad as that?”
“Yes, God help us, I think it is, Junayd, which is why I want Reza out of the way as soon as possible. The moon is high and your escort will be large enough to deter any bandits, so you should be safe enough.”
Reza spoke up. “Khoda Hafez, my Brother. Come home as soon as you can. This is no place for you either,” he gasped, as speaking made his chest hurt. “I don’ t think it is your fight.” They clasped hands hard, and Talon had to turn away; there were tears in his eyes. “Khoda Hafez, my Brother,” he whispered.
“And keep him from talking too much! He never stops and it is bad for his chest,” the physician said testily, speaking Greek as he washed his hands.
“What did that grumpy old man say?” Reza grunted in Farsi.
“He said you talk too much,” Talon told him.
Reza snorted, then winced. “Might be right. But he wasn’t very gentle with that needle, the old bastard.”
Talon grinned with affection at his old friend. “Be safe, both of you. God protect.”
He and Yosef watched as Reza was carefully placed on a litter. The escort formed up and the gates were opened. The small cavalcade with the horse-drawn litter moved off out into the dusk. Reza, looking unhappy at being for the first time in his life completely helpless, lifted his hand tentatively, and then they were gone into the night.
“It is a clear road and my men know it well,” the Count assured Talon. “I thank you for staying. We leave on the morrow. I must alert the nobles, especially Ibelin.” He turned away. “In the meantime, I have work to do.”
Sir Matthew began to shout orders to his Frankish men, who formed up in the square in front of the citadel. The Count addressed them in French.
“All the Saracen men who have been staying at this garrison are to be removed. Not one is to be allowed to stay. Do not harm them, but ensure they are all gone by the morning. Every one of them!” he finished sharply.
Sir Matthew and his men immediately sought out the confused Arab and Turkish men-at-arms who had been sent to help garrison the city and, roughly at times, marched them out of the gates. The bewildered men left, shouting imprecations and curses at the watchers on the walls.
Talon understood why the Count had done this, but Raymond was at pains to explain himself early next morning as they watched the dawn spread across the clear sky to the east.
“I can no longer sit on the fence. Our arrangement with Salah Ed Din is at an end, regardless of who started that battle yesterday,” he told Talon. The bright light slid over the formerly dark hills of the Golan Heights, which reared up on the other side of the leaden-colored waters of the lake. The still, dark slopes of the hills bore a strangely ominous feel today. From the walls Talon looked west to where he could just discern the twin peaks of Hattin. Past those hills the road led to Acre. The land around was dry as a bone this time of year, which seemed incongruous when there was a vast lake right in the middle of the valley.
“They accuse me often enough of being in league with Salah Ed Din,” the Count ruminated, as they stared over the still waters. The usual fishing boats were missing this dawn. Even the fishermen were staying home, fearful of what the future might hold.
“They conveniently forget the three basic rules we pullani have had to live by: diplomacy, trust and gold. All of which are in short supply now. Those zealots in Jerusalem think all this is just about God. I wonder sometimes if God has had enough of our squabbling over his holy places and will leave us all to go the Devil.”
Talon wondered if he wasn’t right.
______________
Chapter 12
Reza
Horror of wounds and anger at the foe,
And loss of things desired; all these must pass.
We are the happy legion, for we know
Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass.
—Siegfried Sassoon
Reza succumbed to the pain, passing out for long stretches of time during the journey to Tyre. The men who formed his escort were as careful as they could be, but t
he lurching and jolting took its toll. By the time they had crossed the low mountains to the north of Tiberius, Reza was feeling terrible. His chest felt as though it was on fire, and although Junayd did his best, changing the dressings as per the instructions of the irascible doctor every dawn, it became clear to him that there was a problem; infection was setting in. He noticed how blackened and tight the stitches had become, and the edges of the wound appeared inflamed. They arrived within sight of the city at dawn of the third day, by which time the entire party was exhausted, including their mounts.
Good news could travel speedily, but bad news flew faster than the wind, and people had already heard of the crushing defeat the Templars had suffered at the Springs of Cresson. People who normally made their living in the country were making for the safety of the walled city of Tyre. It took several hours for the small cavalcade to push and shove their way along the narrow causeway which separated the mainland from the island city. It was not designed to handle so many carts and refugees at one time. The men used their spear points to make a path through the frightened throng of peasants and merchants. At one time they came across a heavy cart that had a broken wheel blocking most of the road. The oxen stood stoically amid the chaos, placidly chewing cud while all around them men shouted and women screamed at the luckless carter, who stood helplessly looking at the broken wheel.
The commander brusquely told his men to shove the cart off to the side of the causeway. They took him at his word, cutting the oxen loose. The wagon toppled over and, before anyone could stop it, tumbled down onto the stones below the causeway, then rolled into the water with a big splash, its belongings sinking with the overladen vehicle or floating away, to the wails of despair from the family to whom they had belonged. The crowd cursed the men-at-arms, waving fists and calling on God to punish them, but no one wanted to physically dispute passage with such grim and well-armed men, so they gave reluctant way.
Junayd was grateful that the commander of the party was known to the nervous sentries on the walls, because they were admitted almost immediately. To his immense relief, Guy’s ship was still tied up to the quayside. Guy hurried on deck at a shout from one of his crew, quickly followed by Rostam and Junayd. They were aghast at the sight of Reza, lying on a litter and looking much the worse for his uncomfortable journey. Without ceremony they brought him on board, while the commander of the escort, clearly relieved to hand over his charges, hurried off as soon as it was decent to do so, taking his men with him.
“What happened, Uncle?” Rostam demanded as they shifted Reza below decks.
“Questions can wait, Rostam. We must get him comfortable and dress this ugly looking wound,” Guy warned.
Reza had only a hazy memory of the final stages of the journey as they’d jolted along the road, and the worried face of Junayd hovering over him.
“Where are we?” he croaked as they lifted him onto the bunk. He became aware of familiar faces looming over him, Guy’s and Rostam. “Hello, where have you all been?” he asked.
“I think a fever is beginning,” Junayd said. “We must leave as soon as possible to bring him to Kantara.”
Guy nodded, his features grim. “How long will we be at sea?” he asked Rostam, who looked up at the deck above their heads and made a mental calculation.
“We will have the wind behind us for a day or so, which could bring us to the peninsular. After that it will be in God’s hands, because the proximity to land can play havoc with the direction of the winds,” he finally replied.
“Then it will be all hands to the oars and a prayer to God,” Guy stated. “We have sufficient provisions and water. We leave at once. I’ll make sure our prisoner is chained up until we are out of sight of land.”
He stepped out of the cabin to deal with their departure. Rostam could hear him shouting orders, and in a very short space of time he felt the ship shifting under his feet and knew they were about to exit the harbor. The oars slid out and soon the regular beat of the drum heralded the familiar sound of the creak and grind of many oars pulling hard in time.
He leaned over the dozing Reza. “You are safe with us now, Uncle. I shall come back later when we are at sea. We have to get you to Auntie Theodora. She will put you back on your feet.” He kissed his uncle on his hot forehead and left.
“What has happened to Father?” he demanded of Junayd, who was on the steering deck talking with Dar’an and Guy.
“He chose to remain, Rostam,” Junayd replied, sounding dispirited. He usually called his young lord by his first name. He had known him for a long time and they were close friends.
“Why would he want to do that?” Rostam shook his head. “Mama said that it is not his quarrel, that they don’t like him and would harm him at the least excuse.”
“I cannot disagree with you, Rostam. Look what they did to Reza. But your father avenged him. Oh, yes he did, by God!” Junayd nodded his head, remembering the speed of Talon’s reaction. He went on to tell them what had followed.
“I did not see the battle, but Lord Talon was a witness. He told us the Arabs used a new tactic. They opened their ranks, swallowed the charging knights, then destroyed them.”
“I still do not understand why he stayed. It sounds like there will be war, and he should not be involved,” Rostam stated, his young features frowning with exasperation.
“I am almost sure it is because of Count Raymond of Tripoli,” Guy interjected. “He has some kind of hold over your father.” He sighed. “Talon has always had this ‘honor’ compulsion. I think the Count has taken advantage of it, damn him!”
They were just passing between the two towers that protected the harbor, and the thump of the oars was a reassuring sound to Rostam. They were going home, well away from this cloying atmosphere of uncertainty and fear. He gazed aloft to see which direction the wind was blowing. It was a steady breeze that would pick up as they went further out to sea. The banner at the top of the center mast streamed in a north-westerly direction. Almost as though reading his thoughts, Guy commented on the wind.
“We might have a good wind all the way home, young man. God willing.” Then he glared at the steersmen, who had allowed the ship to come too close to the starboard promontory. “What the hell you are doing? Keep us in the center of the entrance or you’ll answer to me!” he bellowed.
Rostam sent a glance back at the harbor as they left. He could still smell the stink of offal and effluence from human living. The seagulls still wheeled and clustered about the idle fishing boats; the large, brightly emblazoned banners still streamed from the tops of the jumble of towers that made up the citadel. But for how long? Was it his imagination, or did he see storm clouds on the eastern horizon?
He could now see the causeway. It was black with people all moving in only one direction, fugitives seeking refuge in the city. He was glad to be leaving, but the anxiety for the safety of his father left a heavy feeling in his stomach.
He started when Dar’an put a hand on his shoulder. “You must not worry too much about Lord Talon, Rostam. He is wise and resourceful, and besides, he is with Yosef!” Dar’an tried to put on a lighter tone for Rostam’s sake. “I am sure we will see them both before very long. Our job now is to get your uncle to safety and a full recovery. You are our navigator, Rostam; Captain Guy and Master Reza needs all of your skills now.”
Rostam look up from his contemplation of the distant harbor and the city of Tyre and nodded. Dar’an, Junayd and Yosef had been his instructors, but they were also among his closest friends. He knew he must focus and make sure that they were at sea for the least amount of time for the sake of Uncle Reza. “You are right, Dar’an. I shall concentrate on that.”
The ship was cutting through a narrow gap between the four small islands that ran in a line to the north of the city. The passageway was not for every ship, least of all the great, lumbering Templar ships that plied the sea routes from Aigues Mortes far to the west of the Middle Sea, but Guy knew the way, and his vessel with its shallo
w draft could slip just above the rocks without difficulty. This route would shorten their journey by several hours. They arrowed through the opening, the sides of the vessel only a short stone’s throw from the city on one side and the nearest island on the other. Boys and men who were fishing waved as they passed and called out greetings.
Almost before they had cleared the hazard, Guy roared for his crew to raise the sails. Willing crewmen scampered to their work, while the rowers, all facing aft, still driven by the drum, continued to march three paces forward, drop the blades into the churned water, then haul back for three paces. The sun blazed down on them, and despite the fresh breeze from shore they were sweating as they worked. Others brought water in skins for the sweating men to drink, and poured some over their shoulders to cool them off.
Within moments the sails were set, cracking and snapping as they were hauled taut. The galley heeled slightly as the wind caught the sails and they began to move at a good pace, leaving behind the city and its string of small islands. Rostam glanced at the sky, noted the position of the sun and estimated their course. “Captain Guy, we should steer four more points to the north from west.”
Guy nodded. “You heard him. Get to it, men! Rowers, in oars!” he bellowed.
The rowers thankfully stopped what they were doing and hauled their dripping oars in and onto the deck. Once they were stacked, the panting men were allowed to rest. Leaving Guy to harass the crew for the slightest sign of delay, Rostam made his way below to look in on Reza and was relieved to see his uncle asleep. As though sensing that someone was there, Reza opened his eyes and looked up at Rostam.
“Rostam! Are we at sea?” he croaked, trying to sit up. He winced and fell back, looking flushed and hot.
Rostam stepped fully into the cabin and leaned over Reza. “You are on board the ship and Guy is taking us home, Uncle. You have to rest. Dar’an, Junayd and I will come and help care for you later, but for now you must sleep. Are you comfortable?”
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