Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  There were many that night who prowled the field, plundering the corpses for their armor, weapons, ornaments, gold and coin, or whatever else they could take off the dead.

  Yosef saw a man hold up an odd looking sword and examine its workmanship by the light of the thin moon. Yosef recognized the curved blade immediately; it had belonged to Talon. At the sight of it his heart lifted. He hastened up to the man, who staring at the weapon curiously. Yosef’s hand closed over the scavenger’s mouth and he slipped his knife into the back of the luckless fellow, who struggled violently for a few long moments before sagging in his arms. Yosef laid him down on the ground and retrieved the fallen sword. In the dim light of the nearby torches, he knew without a doubt that the sword belonged to Talon.

  He slipped the weapon into his sash, careful of its incredibly sharp edge, and continued to search for any sign of his leader. It was fruitless, gruesome work which brought him close to retching, as he turned over one disemboweled corpse or headless body after another. He could not find any sign of Talon anywhere. He searched until dawn lit the sky on the horizon, when he concentrated even harder on finding his fallen Lord.

  Most of the scavengers were gone by then, some chased off by friends of fallen comrades, to whom they wished to give proper burial. Salah Ed Din’s army had not won without heavy losses. To his growing despair Yosef found nothing. He did, however, find Talon’s horse. It lay on its side, stripped of its saddle and accoutrements, with an arrow protruding from its chest. Yosef recognized the white mark on its forehead and the white sock on its near foreleg. Someone had obviously put it out of its misery; its jugular had been slashed open, but there was no sign of its rider.

  Yosef cast a bleak look about him. The field was littered with the dead, horses and men lying in heaps where the fighting had been at its most savage, but also scattered thinly about over a wide area. The carrion birds were already coming in from everywhere. The stink of death had brought them in great flocks: black crows and vultures converging on a feast beyond reckoning.

  The human scavengers who had swarmed the field during the night had succeeded in stripping the dead of their clothing and anything remotely valuable, leaving only naked corpses and broken shafts of spears, useless scraps of leather and iron, and the odd broken sword hilt. The stench of blood and faeces was so powerful so that it forced Yosef to cover his face with a part of his loose turban. The ground was blackened by the fires that the Sultan had ordered his army to light the night before the battle.

  A thinning pall of smoke still hung over the battlefield from fires that continued to smolder. In his wanderings Yosef drifted towards the area where Salah Ed Din had accepted the surrender of the King of Jerusalem. The headless bodies of many former Christian men were sprawled in scattered heaps. Piles of heads were massed nearby.

  He paled with horror as he stared at the pallid faces and dead eyes. His first fear was that Talon might be among the dead here, but then he noticed something significant. All the heads were bearded, unkempt, with long, straggling hair. He was certain Talon was not among these corpses. Just then another man, one of many still poking around the field, ambled over. Jerking his thumb at the headless heaps, he said, “God has had his revenge. The Sultan took the heads of all the Templar infidels. These and these alone he beheaded. I think it is because he fears them so much. Nonetheless, he broke one of the laws.”

  Yosef was almost too shaken to say anything. He just nodded, but then he asked, “How did he break a law?”

  “The law says that when a man surrenders he is to be protected, but the Sultan broke that law.” Then he walked off. Yosef was glad of the man’s lack of interest in his presence. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just another soldier who had been in the battle.

  A few dozen paces away, a couple of foot soldiers were arguing over a piece of gold chain they had found. “This is meagre fare compared to the ransom some of those infidel lords will be able to pay,” one of them complained. “We only get the scraps, we who did all the fighting, while our masters get all the gold from the ransoms!”

  “There were few enough of them taken for ransom, even after the Sultan, May God preserve him forever and forgive him for sinning, executed all those Templar whoresons.”

  A tiny flicker of hope arose in Yosef’s breast. He wandered over to where the two men were standing. At their feet were several half-naked corpses, Franks without a doubt, but as far as he could tell, Talon was not one of them.

  “God’s blessings on you, friends. I could not help overhearing you,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Did you say that some of the Frankish lords were captured and are now prisoners of Lord Sultan, may God protect him always?” he touched his heart in a pious gesture as he spoke.

  “Very few, but some. God be praised, the King of the infidels was captured, as were some of his lords, God damn them. Not many others, though,” one of the men responded without looking up.

  __________

  Map of Cyprus

  Chapter 16

  Intruders

  Treacherous time has put me in prison

  where I’ve chirped away like a bird in a snare.

  How pure and fine my inspiration

  is, and was, and will be there.

  —Yosef Giqatilla

  As dawn brightened over Tiberius to illuminate the carnage of the Battle of Hattin, the skies above were dark with carrion eaters. They had come to feast.

  The sun also rose over the palace in Famagusta, the capital of Cyprus. Diocles the Chief Minister awoke after a restless night, during which he had worried over reports concerning not only the Emperor but the Ambassador. It wasn’t exactly news to Diocles that Isaac had regained his virility; there had been a lessening in the intensity of the all too familiar rants echoing along corridors, and the general behavior of the erratic man had calmed down; the eunuchs had informed him of the visit to Tamura’s quarters. They also told Diocles of something else that had occurred at more or less the same time the previous evening.

  Without doubt, they reported, the Ambassador had been seen leaving the palace, disguised as an entertainer, escorted by Siranos. They believed that the Ambassador had been in Tamura’s apartment at more or less the same time the Emperor had arrived!

  Diocles was consumed with alarm and curiosity. When a suitable hour arrived, he paid a visit to Tamura, who greeted him calmly enough and offered him wine and sweet cakes as she normally did. However, she appeared to be brimming over with barely suppressed excitement.

  The Chief Minister allowed himself to be led to the table where the sweetmeats were laid out and a silver beaker stood full of wine beside two cups. He sat down, keeping his face impassive. He poured wine and raised a cup to Tamura, who responded in kind, but then blurted out, “I have news!”

  “I dare say you have, my Lady,” Diocles replied. “Pray do tell me.”

  “The Ambassador is here for the gold,” she said in a low, conspiratorial manner. Diocles frowned and said, “I think we more or less agreed that he probably was.”

  “But he is only here for the gold, nothing more! And I think he and Zenos are hatching a plan.”

  “How do you know this, my Lady?”

  “Well, I, er, I invited him here, and he told me!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, I know, my Lady. Have you any idea how foolish that was? You not only endangered his life but your own!”

  She shook her head impatiently, making her curls jump about her flawless features.

  “I needed to make sure. He is here for the gold that was stolen by Pantoleon. He actually said it!” She chortled with glee.

  Diocles frowned again. ‘The problem with this, my Lady, is how you obtained the information.”

  Tamura looked annoyed. “I didn’t do what you are thinking, Diocles!” she protested indignantly.

  He shook his head and smiled. “No, I am sure not, my Lady, but don’t you see that the Emperor or the Gatherer of Information will assume you did, should you say anything
at all?” He shook his head again.

  Tamura looked hurt, then pensive. “What if we warned them?”

  “Warn who?”

  “You know perfectly well who I am talking about, Diocles.” Her pretty eyebrows came together in a frown.

  “Yes, yes I do,” he conceded. “We should warn the Lord Talon. Leave it with me. I’ll deal with it… somehow,” he ended, sounding vague.

  He had a lot to ponder. When Zenos had left for Beirut, Diocles had had one of his eunuchs search the man’s private quarters. Later that day the man had brought a bar of gold to him and described where he had found it. The stamp and the other markings matched the gold bars in the treasury. Diocles had gone on his own to the locked chamber and verified both the amounts against his records and the similarity of the bars. The tally had been one bar short. After that, there had been no doubt in his mind that Zenos had helped himself to the bar.

  This alone was enough to have the man executed, but Diocles wanted to find out more. If there was something going on between the Ambassador and Zenos, he would need solid proof if he was going to denounce the two of them to the Emperor and remove them both. Going after Zenos precipitously might warn the Ambassador to be more circumspect. Thoughtfully, he returned to his room and summoned the eunuch, giving him instructions to replace the gold bar where he had found it, and followed to watch as he did so. He had resolved to bide his time.

  Events were to take an unexpected turn. Diocles and the Commander of the Guard finally managed to persuade Isaac that the depredations of the pirates called for some defensive or retaliatory action on his part. Weeks before, Diocles had suggested a visit to the harbor of Limassol to inspect some towers that the merchants had begun to construct, pointing out that the Emperor should be there to endorse them and also to help finance them. The commander of the mercenaries, when consulted in Isaac’s dilatory way, had agreed. Three days later, Isaac abruptly departed with his usual entourage—but without Diocles. Nor did he take Tamura, and she was uncertain what that meant. Was he growing tired of her?

  “I shall see what can be done about those pirates the merchants are always complaining about,” the Emperor had told Diocles. “They will have to pay me for my endeavors, of course!” No doubt he wanted to avoid hearing Diocles plead with him to pay for the construction with money from the treasury. “Make sure that those roof repairs are carried out, and keep a close eye on that so-called ambassador. I have no reason to trust him, but as long as he is kept under a close watch there isn’t much he can do. When I get back, I shall decide what to do about him.”

  Diocles was quite sure that the Emperor had no intention of paying for any deterrence that would ward off the pirates, even though their depredations were becoming a real problem. His intent, Diocles was sure, was to gouge the merchants for what he could squeeze out of them, and take their young daughters to bed. Now that he had regained some of his vitality, he seemed intent upon spreading it about again as much as he could. Diocles had watched the Emperor and his colorful mercenaries depart with mixed feelings.

  Zenos returned from his travels a day after the departure of the Emperor. There was a distinct change to his manner that did not go unnoticed by Diocles, whose antennae were always well tuned. Zenos, for some reason, appeared much more confident, and addressed the Chief Minister with less respect than before. He was also accompanied by some new faces, which the minister found very disturbing. These were rough-looking, and, while they were not unlike the Emperor’s men in appearance, these seemed to be loyal to Zenos.

  Like all the people with any influence in the palace, Diocles had his own cadre of spies, eunuchs for the most part, who drifted about the palace on one errand or another, watching and then reporting. The Chief Minister ordered that Zenos be watched even more closely, and learned that he paid another visit to the villa housing the Ambassador. He also visited a place where some very sinister men, youths really, were now living, and these men had arrived more or less at the same time Zenos had returned. They kept to themselves and didn’t go out into the town, which was somewhat odd, as there was much to entertain young men.

  Diocles began to wonder whether it had been a good idea for Isaac to depart after all, but he had already left for Limassol and Larnaca, taking with him the bulk of his personal bodyguard. This left the palace guards outnumbered by the newcomers, which was profoundly disturbing to Diocles. He wondered if a coup was about to take place. Zenos might feel inclined to some excess or other.

  Then there was the unsettling news that finally reached Diocles, informing him that Zenos had not traveled to Paphos at all. Where, then, had he been? Diocles vowed to confront the Gatherer of Information. It was not that man’s provenance to bring complete strangers into the palace without asking the Chief Minister. Diocles, however, did want to tread carefully, because the unpredictable Emperor might have sanctioned Zenos’s behavior. All the same, he felt that he did have enough cause for alarm to send out a warning to the people on the mountain, and he set about preparing a letter which could be delivered via pigeon.

  What Diocles didn’t know was that some of Zenos’ new acquaintances were roaming the palace, unremarked by the palace staff and unnoticed by his spies. These were young men who looked fresh-faced and innocent; residents assumed they were new additions to Isaac’s collection of hostages. And so they investigated every corner they could access without drawing attention to themselves, and one of them noticed something.

  The old, balding man who seemed to be in charge of everything occasionally went alone up the winding steps of a tower. Out of sheer curiosity, the assassins decided to investigate. They found a collection of healthy looking pigeons. That would have been normal enough; people kept pigeons, primarily for food; but as they examined the contents of the room, it became evident that these birds were kept for another purpose.

  The next day, one young assassin brought Zenos up to the tower. There, amid the sounds of rustles and throaty cooing, he showed Zenos the birds, but also the bands that fitted around their legs, and a small copper tube on a shelf. There was even a scrap of paper with some writing on it. Although he could not make out the message, Zenos was deeply alarmed. The Chief Minister was a spy! But for whom? And did that fool Isaac know? Zenos saw an opportunity here. It might be his chance to get rid of the old man—and take his place.

  “We lay a trap for him. Let me know immediately the next time he comes up here. I want to catch him at whatever it is he is up to,” he ordered the youth.

  Two days later, one of the newcomers came sidling up to Zenos and whispered into his ear. Zenos jerked upright, terminated his meeting then and there, and followed the youth out of the main palace. Together they hurried across empty gardens, heading for the small tower. They slipped up the steps and found Diocles holding a pigeon in his hands, just about to release it. Zenos could not fail to see the small copper cylinder attached to one of its legs.

  “Stop what you are doing this minute!” he called out as he mounted the final step and charged into the small chamber. Diocles was caught by surprise, but not completely. He made one step towards the window and released the bird, which fluttered away.

  The youth beside Zenos moved with lightning speed. He had equipped himself with a bow when he had assumed surveillance of the tower, and this he now unslung from his shoulder. The assassin darted outside onto the parapet, an arrow appeared as though from nowhere, and the bow string twanged. It was a virtually impossible shot by any standard, but the arrow struck its target and the stricken bird fluttered to the ground just outside the walls palace. Diocles was aghast, but Zenos was triumphant.

  “We have you now, you traitor!” he snarled, as he strode forward and struck the old man in his face. Diocles raised his arms to protect himself, but Zenos struck him to the ground. “Guards!” he roared, “To me now!”

  Sentries and some of the newcomers who had heard him crowded into the small chamber. The Emperor’s mercenaries looked shocked and unsure, but the newcomers were
ready enough to follow orders. “Take this man to the dungeons and keep him under lock and guard. Now!” Zenos bellowed. “Someone go and fetch that pigeon.”

  As the bewildered sentries lifted the dazed and bleeding Chief Minister to his feet, Zenos hissed at him, “You are a dead man now, old man.”

  Once they had all departed, leaving Zenos and his assassin alone, he turned to the youth and said, “With the Emperor gone, now is the best time for us to act. However, there are other spies in this palace. One of them is the eunuch of the Princess Tamura. I want him watched and followed wherever he goes outside. Nothing must get in our way, and the very last thing I want is for the Emperor, or anyone else, to know what we are about.” The youth nodded and went off to talk to his companions.

  One of the sentries returned and handed Zenos the dead pigeon. Removing the arrow, he studied the fletching. These strange youths who belonged to Rashid Ed Din were Djinn; their skill in the arts of death was all they existed for. Then he examined the pigeon’s leg. Sure enough, there was a small copper cylinder attached. This he removed, then pulled off the tight fitting cap. Inside he found a tiny roll of paper with very small writing on both sides.

  Scanning it, Zenos became frustrated. It was no language he recognized. Realizing it was some kind of code, he cursed, but then shrugged. It would be easy enough to extract information from the old man, he told himself. Meanwhile, the day after tomorrow was the day for their plan to go into effect, and he had preparations to attend to. The old man could stew in prison until Zenos was ready to ‘talk’ to him.