Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  “It’s all right, leave it be,” Talon said, then he addressed his men. “Today we gave the Sultan a bloody nose.” He watched them beam with pleasure at his somewhat parsimonious compliment. “The drilling should continue with the shield wall, Brandt. Give Hugh of Tiberius a leadership role. He looks to me like a good man.”

  Brandt scowled but nodded reluctantly. Hugh was a scarred and experienced fighter who had served Raymond of Tripoli and had fought with them at Hattin, but he was a Norman, and everyone knew Brandt’s opinion about them.

  Talon continued, using a mollifying tone. “I have talked to the Count about larger shields and longer spears. He agreed, so we should see some before long. I think that the citizens and even the knights are beginning to realize their value. Today made that point very clear. I also expect the Sultan will lose interest before long. He has another objective in mind.” He absently stroked the little dog as it pushed its nose into his hand.

  “You two,” he addressed the archers. “Even if you cannot find any other longbow men, I want you to keep those Genoese hard at it. They can still fill a role in the defense.”

  Dewi nodded. “They are a scummy lot, but as long as they are safe on the walls we can use them, Lord.” He glanced at Brandt. “Our Saxon would not want them in his shield wall, of that me and Caradog are certain.” Both men sniffed derisively.

  Talon could only agree. The Genoese were a flighty crew who were confident enough high up on the ramparts, but wary of close quarter fighting.

  They talked for some time about the training and shared their views on the way the siege was progressing. Eventually Talon dismissed the three men, who decided to go and raid the kitchens, leaving him alone with Yosef. He watched them leave, still arguing and teasing, but there was different note to their banter now.

  “Yosef, we have no eyes in the enemy camp,” Talon remarked casually.

  As though he had been waiting for this, Yosef smiled. “We need to know what he plans next?”

  Talon smiled back. “I would come with you, my friend, but… I think in this case I would be a liability. What do you think?”

  “If he learned anything today it is that the city can easily repulse his army from across the causeway.” Yosef said. “But we are not very many compared to his thirty thousand,” he remarked, his tone thoughtful.

  Talon nodded agreement. “Which is why we need to stay one step ahead of him. That leaves the sea, and getting across it somehow. It would be useful to know what is being planned in that regard. We should discuss how we can get you into the Sultan’s camp and back in one piece.”

  ___________

  Chapter 27

  Assassins

  Pain is a country of its own

  where the roads are memories

  stationed with regrets.

  In this land lamentation rains…

  one curses sunlight

  and cowers from the moon.

  —Stephen T. Vessels

  Diocles, the one time Chief Minister to Isaac Komnenos, woke up and groaned. He rolled over onto his side, paused for a long moment, then he pushed himself slowly up the prison wall until he was finally standing but still leaning against it. He was cold and ached in every bone He clasped his hands over thin upper arms in a vain attempt to warm himself; the damp of the cell had penetrated the thin material of his tunic, making him shiver.

  He groaned again, more with irritation this time, and scratched under his arms, then his belly, and then his legs. It seemed as though every flea that existed had decided to take up residence in his clothing and was busy sampling his wearied flesh. He stared down at the sodden, filthy straw on the floor, which had not been changed out for a very long time, the stink of which clogged his nostrils. He could not get used to it and felt like weeping because he wanted a bath so badly.

  He noticed that someone had pushed his supper under the bars, and shuffled forward to pick up the wooden platter, only to contemplate the stale bread and mush on it with distaste. The guard who had pushed it into the cell was not someone he knew, and that disturbed him. Where were all these new men coming from? They seemed to be working only for Zenos.

  It gave him cause to wonder whether anyone other than these men even knew he was down here! Perhaps there was a coup taking place and he would soon be joined by the Chief Steward. Surely his absence should have been noticed by now, and someone should be asking questions as to his whereabouts? The lady Tamura, for instance; would she not be perturbed by his absence?

  He had of late paid her regular visits, which they had both seemingly enjoyed. He certainly had; she was a very beautiful woman and even he, an old man, was not immune to her charms. While the conversations had more often than not been an excuse to simply gaze upon her as they dissected the gossip bouncing off the walls of the palace, it had become just a little more than that, for him anyway, and he missed it.

  Now, however, his prevalent fear was what they would do to him before they killed him. He had become resigned to the idea that his fate was sealed, but feared the ugliness of torture and execution. As he picked up the piece of bread his hand was shaking. He slid down the wall into a squatting position again and bit into the stale bread.

  He looked around his cell. Its rough stone walls bore the marks of previous occupants who had scratched their names into the hard stone, or used food or even excrement to make their marks. This was a hopeless place where people came to spend their last hours on earth. He was doubtless doomed to be escorted from here to the executioner when the Emperor returned, which must happen soon, although he could not tell the duration of his imprisonment. The turnover of the sentries gave him some idea. It had to have been at least three or four days.

  No one had come to see him in all that time, not even Zenos, which puzzled him, as Zenos had made it clear he planned to extract information from him at the earliest opportunity. Nor would the guards speak to him. Lately they had become tense and watchful, which puzzled him and made his feeling of isolation even more profound. He tried to compose himself, but it was hard. Wishing he had left the palace a long time ago when he’d had the chance, he sighed, then scratched some more. After a while, as happened more and more often these days, he dozed off.

  He was rudely awakened by a fierce rattle of the door by one of the guards. “Wake up, old man! You have a visitor.”

  Zenos strode into the area in front of the several cells, one of which Diocles occupied, with an entourage of hard-looking armed men bearing torches that smoked and flickered. Leaving them to chat with the prison guards, he came and stood before the barred door of Diocles’ cell. His face was tight and grim, his mouth turned down as he glared at his prisoner through the bars. Diocles might have been miserable and exhausted, but he had spent a lifetime reading faces, and what he saw did little to reassure him.

  “So, you did manage to warn them!” Zenos hissed without preamble. “For that you will be executed as a traitor. But you know that, don’t you? Would you like me to describe how you will be executed?” There was pure venom in his tone, which baffled Diocles almost as much as the words themselves.

  “Warn whom?” he croaked, trying desperately to collect his wits and maintain his composure. It was hard under the circumstances. Zenos appeared to be very angry and his presence was intimidating.

  The furious Chief Gatherer of Information almost shouted, “You know perfectly well what I am talking about! The castle, fool! You warned them, didn’t you? I will personally enjoy taking you apart, old man, so that very little is left for the executioner.”

  Diocles felt some mixed emotions then. On the one hand he was relieved that the castle had been warned of something bad; on the other hand, here was Zenos threatening him with dire consequences for having done so. He wiped a shaking hand across his beard. “I really do not know of what you speak. I swear to God!” he exclaimed.

  Zenos was so angry he shouted. “They were waiting for us when we arrived! They had already seen to the pirates, and somehow they took c
are of the assassins, so when we arrived they were waiting to greet us. Oh, they greeted us, all right!” He shook his head at the ugly memory. He had been scared out of his wits when the people on the castle walls sprung the trap, and he was still astonished that he had escaped with his life. More than half of his recruits from Beirut had died on the cursed mountain.

  Diocles sighed, and for a brief moment he failed to keep his feelings of relief under control. Zenos, despite his rage, noticed and shouted, “You did warn them! I shall make you pay and pay! You will beg me to end your life before I am done!”

  Mustering the remaining tatters of his courage and dignity, Diocles drew himself up. “I wish to plead my case before the Emperor. I have that right.”

  Zenos laughed. “You do not have that right! I will see to that. Besides, there is a fleet coming, and they are going to deal with him when he returns!” Zenos had not meant to let that slip out, but he was so angry at having lost his once in a lifetime opportunity that he didn’t care any more what he said to Diocles. No one knew the old man was down here, and he was soon to disappear forever anyway. There and then, Zenos decided to execute Diocles in his cell and dispose of the body in a lime pit. He would have to make certain preparations, quietly, before he could carry out his plan. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as denouncing him to the Emperor and overseeing public torture, followed by public execution, but he dared not allow the old man to speak before Emperor.

  Diocles was stunned. “I beg pardon, but what did you just say?” he demanded.

  “Nothing of interest to you, old man, nor is there anything you can do about it, so forget what I said and make your peace with God.”

  He whirled away and strode down the tunnel past the other subterranean chambers, which included the treasury, followed by the torchbearers. The two remaining guards were silent as their comrades’ steps receded, and silence once more descended.

  “Better make yourself comfortable, old man. He will be back before too long,” one of them called over, not without sympathy.

  “What happened out there to make him so angry?” Diocles rasped. “May I have a drink of water?”

  One of them brought him over a leather cup full of bad tasting water and stood waiting while he gulped it. “You really don’t know?” the guard asked him.

  Diocles drew himself up again, trying to appear more formal. “No, how could I? I have been in here for the last…how many days? So no, I do not know. I have no idea what he is talking about. What has been going on?” he insisted.

  The guards proceeded to tell him what they knew. One of them had accompanied Zenos in the attack. He was still shocked by the reception they had received and told Diocles in some detail what he remembered.

  “They are wizards up there, and we should never have gone near them. I don’t care for what reason. It was a disaster! As soon as I get paid I shall be leaving for Beirut and I never want to step on this pestilential island again,” he added with some fervor.

  Diocles wondered how the people up at the castle had been forewarned, but it would not have surprised him if they had used wizardry. The Lord Talon certainly possessed unusual powers. Diocles could guess accurately enough as to why the operation had taken place. He surmised the plot to take the castle revolved around the gold that was supposed to be hidden up there. It explained much, but what about the slip of the tongue by Zenos about a fleet?

  What was that all about? How to reach the Emperor and get him to understand that it was he, Diocles, who was looking after his interests and not Zenos, who from the sound of it was indeed planning some sort of coup in the Emperor’s absence. The information about the gold had to have come from the ‘Ambassador’, which meant that treason was afoot right here in the palace!

  Having failed at the one enterprise, Zenos might just be mad enough to try and join the forces of Constantinople, which appeared to be in the wings waiting to strike, or even to try for the crown for himself! Whichever way it went, after what the guard had said Diocles doubted that he would survive the night. His mind raced as he pondered the situation. His life was not worth anything, so all he could do was to pass along what he knew to someone who could make a difference.

  “May I ask a huge favor of you?” he called out to the guards.

  “What is it?” one of them grunted. They were playing Bones to pass the time.

  “Could one of you ask for the servant Siranos to come and see me and bring a blanket, as I am cold.” He gave an exaggerated shiver, which wasn’t all sham. “It cannot hurt, can it? He is just a eunuch and quite harmless. God will bless you for your kindness,” he finished.

  “A eunuch eh?” one of them snickered. “Yah, all right. I’ll send a message for him to come here.” He stood, hitched his trews up and adjusted his tunic and sword belt. He pointed with his chin at Diocles. “You don’t go anywhere while I’m away. Keep an eye on that old man; he might try to escape,” he joked to his companion, who laughed. “Go on, make sure you get back quickly,” he said to the departing figure.

  Nearly two hours later, they all heard a shuffling sound in the tunnel. The guards perked up and stood ready. Siranos emerged into the candlelight, looking scared. He carried a small bundle with him and a folded blanket.

  Upon seeing the guards he stopped and stammered. “I, I have come as requested. I brought…”

  “Let me see that!” One of the guards snatched the bundle away from him and opened it. There was only food, and this spilled out onto one of their benches: a small block of cheese, some fresh bread and onions, some olives and a strip of salted tuna.

  “I think we have a feast before us!” the other guard said with a broken-toothed grin. “The condemned man’s last meal! Here, take it and give it to him.” He snatched up an oily olive and popped it into his mouth as he spoke. Siranos scrambled to gather up the other food and re-wrap it in the large cloth.

  “Go on, get over there and give it to ‘im!” The guard spat out the olive stone and pretended to lunge for Siranos, who shrank from him and sidled over to the barred door where Diocles stood. He tried to smile reassuringly at Siranos.

  “It’s all right, they are only playing with you, Siranos,” he told the frightened youth, who thrust the bundle and blanket through the bars, before the guards changed their minds.

  “Chief M... Minister!” he stuttered. “I am shocked to find you in this condition! What in God’s name is going on?”

  “I have been falsely accused,” Diocles said loudly for the benefit of the guards, who might be listening. He scratched himself and apologized for doing so. “I am being devoured by these beasts,” he said with a wan smile. “If they keep this up there won’t be anything left of me to execute!”

  His lame attempt at a joke elicited a whimper from Siranos.

  “Stay calm, Siranos,” Diocles sighed, trying to sound calm himself. “You have to make sure that the princess knows I am here and not in a grave just yet. Tell my servants, too. Can you do that for me?” He hadn’t much hope that this would change anything, but it helped him to know Tamura was aware.

  Siranos nodded his head vigorously. He was too afraid of the guards to even speak.

  “Tell her to pass this along to… you know who. A fleet is coming to invade the island. We have to warn the Emperor!” Diocles then gave Siranos a quick summary of what he now knew about the disastrous events up at the castle.

  The guards were beginning to fidget. They had not been given permission to allow Siranos to come in the first place, and he mustn’t stay any longer. Zenos might come back at any time, and then there would be trouble.

  “Time to leave, master Eunuch!” one of them called out mockingly. “Don’t want the Chief coming back while you are here, or you will be in another one of those cells, I shouldn’t doubt.”

  Siranos needed no further persuasion. He grasped the old man’s hand in both of his and whispered, “Be of good faith. We will do all we can for you.” He scurried away and out of sight along the tunnel, leaving Diocles fee
ling very alone, but with just a tiny glimmer of hope for the first time since he had been thrown into his cell. He knew, however, that time was not on his side. Zenos had condemned him to death, and more than likely would take care of him long before the Emperor returned from his foray to Larnaca.

  *****

  That same day, a ship nosed into the harbor of Famagusta. The official who came to check the ship and its cargo was rude and peremptory.

  “What are you carrying?” he demanded, as soon as he had climbed clumsily aboard from the skiff that brought him to the ship.

  “Olives and cheeses from Sardinia, with some hides and copper ingots,” Rostam called down from the afterdeck.

  “Are you selling the full cargo? I need weights,” the short, hairy man demanded. He had brought some papers with him and flourished a quill, while an assistant, who had finally managed to struggle aboard with the help of some crewmen, opened the lid of tiny bottle of ink, which he held in front of the official.

  “Stand still, for God’s sake! I can’t write with you hopping about all the time! Turn around and give me your back!”

  His minion obliged, still holding the ink on high. The official dipped his quill and then looked expectantly up at Rostam, who recited from memory. “Four large barrels of salted tuna. Fourteen small barrels of olives in oil. Ten barrels of virgin oil.” The list went on until he finished with “Twenty-four ingots of prime smelted copper.”

  “You had better not be lying about all this,” the official threatened. Rostam gave him what he hoped was a look of disdain and said, “I do not have to lie to people like you. In fact, I can help you with the list.” He touched a small leather bag at his belt with his fingers. The official’s attitude immediately began to change. “Do you need gangs to help with the unloading?” he asked with more enthusiasm than before.