“Look,” Max said.
He pointed to a small caravan in the distance, making its way towards them along the road below. It was indistinct in the heat, so Talon did not pay it much attention at first, other than to imagine that it might be just another merchant on his way to a market somewhere. But even at this distance he noticed that there was a palanquin being carried on the shoulders of some stout looking men, which indicated that this was a more important caravan than he had supposed at first.
As the group approached, it became easier to distinguish the individuals. There were two outriders on good horses, well forward of the main party, armed with lances. The main party was similarly armed, their lance blades glinting in the sunlight, while the riders were in a protective ring around the palanquin. Trailing along behind the armed group walked a line of camels and donkeys heavily laden, their drovers walking, or in some cases seated high on the swaying backs of the camels. Talon touched Max on the arm.
“We should not be seen by those people, Max. We need to get well out of sight.”
Max nodded and slowly they eased their horses further back off the crest of the hill, till all that might have been seen of them from the road was their heads. “I count about six or eight men at arms and two scouts out at the front,” Max said.
“I agree, but look over there. Those other people have disappeared. I wonder where they went and why?” He pointed to the grove of trees where they had seen people seemingly resting in the shade. The grove was now still, with no sign of life, where formerly there had been much activity. From their vantage point of just under half a mile, the two men had had a clear view of the people in the grove and had supposed them to be fellow travelers, but now all of them were gone, including their baggage animals. There was something very odd about their sudden disappearance. Talon’s eyes flicked from the clump of trees to the caravan and back.
“No they have not gone, Talon. Look,” Max said, pointing, “they’re hiding behind trees. I can see them.”
“Do you think they are afraid to be seen…like us, Max?”
“I do not know, but I think we are about to find out.”
The caravan, its pace dictated by the strides of the men carrying the palanquin − Talon assumed they were slaves − slowly approached the trees. The two front riders arrived and stopped in the shade. Suddenly, just as they were beginning to dismount, the people hidden among the trees ran out to surround them. To Talon and Max’s utter surprise, they dragged the riders off their frightened horses, threw the men on the ground and began stabbing them.
It was unclear exactly was going on, but neither Max nor Talon doubted that the attackers were about to ambush the small caravan. He could not hear any shouts, which made Talon think that there had been no time for the two scouts to do so. He watched in grim silence as the murders took place before them. Max, a hardened warrior, grunted in disgust.
The killers hurriedly dragged the dead bodies out of sight and led the horses into the cover of the trees. Again the small copse seemed bereft of life, and the caravan, oblivious of the danger, continued to approach.
Talon looked at Max. “I know it is not our quarrel, Max, but someone innocent is about to be murdered by that band of thieves. What should we do?”
“I was thinking the same, Talon. Do you remember why the Templars came into being?”
“Was it not for the protection of the pilgrim along the path to Jerusalem, Max?”
“Indeed it was, young Master, and here we are, two Templars, watching an offense against God taking place right under our noses. It might not be the road to Jerusalem; but by God’s good graces we need to at least warn them.”
“Max, you are a wonderful man and I agree whole heartedly with you. We should go down there and warn them of the danger and then leave. Come, my friend. We will do this in the service of God this day.”
Excited now, they kicked their eager horses into action. The two Arab horses needed no persuasion. This was the direction of the water, and they were thirsty. They leapt over the rocks and onto the crest of the hill. But Talon could see that they might even now be too late. He drew his battered sword, as did Max, and they shouted as they galloped their sure-footed steeds down the hill, waving their swords in the air, yelling and pointing.
But the caravan had already stopped. The guards, seeing the ambushers rushing at them from the woods, tried to defend themselves as well as the occupants of the palanquin, but they were quickly surrounded and a fierce fight broke out. The shouts and clash of steel upon steel came clearly to his ears and Talon hoped the guards could hold their own. But there were at least twenty men with spears among the attackers, while the men of the caravan had to control their frightened animals and defend the palanquin. Men began to fall, despite giving a good account of themselves. It became a melee of shouts and screams, flashing knives, stabbing spears and hacking swords.
“We cannot let this happen, Talon,” Max said as he stared at the fight going on a few hundred yards away. “We must help them.”
“I would rather we did not have to, as we are without shield or mail and our steel is not of the best, but you are right. Come, we fight!”
Together they rode knee to knee, and shouting the words “Deus Lo Volte!” they charged recklessly into the rear of the melee.
Talon drove his animal directly into the backs of several men on foot who were trying to take down a large man in chain armor who was wounded, blood pouring off his right shoulder and down his fine mail shirt, but he continued to hack bravely at them with his wounded arm.
With a straight thrust, Talon ran one of the attackers through the back and let the shocked man fall off, and then with a ferocious back hand, he slashed at the neck of another who disappeared into the dust of the road. The third was caught between Talon and a rider who leaned over and stabbed the cringing man in his exposed neck.
After a quick look of gratitude the horseman glanced around and exclaimed, “They are at the palanquin and my Lady and my lord, her son, are in danger! May Allah bless you, Sir, but I need to go to them.”
He tried to turn his horse but was weak from loss of blood and too slow. Talon instantly understood and danced his mount forward to the palanquin, striking an armed footman as he rode.
He heard Max’s roar as he shouted his war cry and saw a decapitated head bounce on the road. Despite their peril, Talon laughed out loud with the exhilaration. He need not worry about Max. Instead, he concentrated on saving the people in the Palanquin.
He noted that the slaves had vanished, but there were men on foot struggling to protect the palanquin which now rested on the ground in disarray. The curtains were torn and there were screams from within. A large man dressed in a filthy abaya was leaning inside and poking with his sword at someone. Two others were yelling their approval and laughing as they looked on and tore at the remaining fabric surrounding the palanquin. Talon kicked his horse through the struggling footmen and brought his sword’s edge down as hard as he could onto the large man’s back.
With a roar of pain he staggered back, trying to reach the gaping wound, but Talon leaned down and skewered him through the chest. The body fell backwards without another sound, spurting blood everywhere. His two supporting accomplices witnessed this ferocious attack from behind and scrambled out of the way, shouting with fear. Talon spun his mount on his quarters and knocked one over with the shoulder of his horse and then pierced the other before he could turn away. Quieting his now excited horse, Talon danced it back to the palanquin. Leaning over the disordered conveyance, Talon had a glimpse of a disheveled young woman kneeling with a knife in her hand that she held high in defiance. Next to her, a young boy, also kneeling, held a long knife up like a sword. Behind the two of them was a teenage girl huddled against the back frame, her knees drawn up, crying hysterically, her hands to her mouth and her eyes huge with fear.
Talon’s eyes met those of the young woman, but nothing was said. He nodded, and she lowered the knife a little in ackno
wledgement. Their eyes held, he grinned, and then he glanced around to make sure they were all relatively safe. He turned his attention to the fight still going on nearby.
Three of the horsemen were down and there were still attackers darting about from the trees, but fewer now, and Talon sensed that they were disheartened by the unexpected attack from the rear. Some were even beginning to run away. He spurred his horse over towards Max, and on the way slashed down a man who was about to spear another horseman engaged with two men on his other side. Talon’s victim fell away with a scream. He saw Max lean over his horse and deliver a mighty blow to one of the ruffians who was trying to stab up at him: the man lost an arm and fell away with a shriek, but another with a spear came from behind and drove it into Max’s back.
Talon gasped with horror and drove his horse alongside his friend, dispatching the spearman as he went, but it was too late. The tip of the spear had penetrated right through and the point broke the skin on his front. Max was staring down at it in disbelief.
“My God, but I am killed, Talon,” he gasped, his face suddenly gray. Then he slowly fell from the back of his excited mount and landed with a thump in the dust.
Without thinking, Talon leapt off his horse and ran to his friend. Max was arching his back in agony. Talon knew what he had to do but he felt more like vomiting. With trembling hands he grasped the haft of the spear and pulled hard. The head of the spear came out of Max’s shoulder where it had penetrated high up under the shoulder blade. It came out with a sucking sound and then a rush of blood. Throwing the spear away Talon lifted his friend’s head from the dust. There was blood on Max’s lips, but Talon could not tell if it was from within. Max’s eyes were glazed with the pain but he recognized Talon.
“I am gone, my young Master Talon. I beg of you to say the prayers for the Templar for me, although I am not a knight.”
“To me you are a Knight Templar, my dear friend. Oh God!” he cried, “What have we done to deserve this?” He wept while he held his friend close. He seemed to be going fast. Talon repeated the prayer for the dead, oblivious of the noise around him, as the battle came to a close.
He was bent over Max reciting the prayers when a blow to his head knocked him forward and he landed atop his dying companion. He knew only blackness.
* * * * *
Talon awoke in darkness and groaned. His head hurt at the back and he had a pounding headache. His body felt like it was burning up. Then it all came back in a painful rush. He groaned again, as much from the pain in his head as the anguish he felt. He tried to sit up.
A hand held his shoulder and forced him back onto the bed. A cool damp cloth was placed upon his forehead, while a gruff but somehow calming voice spoke out of the darkness.
“Be still. You received a nasty blow from Jalal before I could stop him. He regrets his mistake but he thought you were one of our enemies. You were lucky he did not take your head, he was so angry.”
“My ...my friend, where is he? What have you done with his body?”
“Your friend is very badly wounded but he might survive if Allah so wills it,” responded the distant voice.
Talon jerked almost upright with the news, but then fell back, while tears coursed down his face. “Do you…is he? You said he lived?” he croaked incredulously, as he thought of the cruel fate Max had come to. If only they had not come down from the hills in their madness to help the caravan, his friend would not be wounded and they would be well on their way.
“You weep for your friend,” said the voice. “That is good in the eyes of Allah. Friendship and a warrior do not always mix well. But he lives yet, and we are taking care of him. Is he your servant or a companion?”
Such was Talon’s relief that he forgot himself and said, “He is my Sergeant and…and my companion. I must see him. Where is he…where are we?”
The firm hand came back and pushed him down, as he again tried to sit up.
“Drink this, it will ease the pain and let you sleep,” he was commanded. A shallow bowl was placed in front of his lips. He sipped some bitter tea which soon made him feel drowsy.
“We shall talk more of this in the morning. We owe both you and your friend a debt of gratitude for what you did, and this we shall discuss when you are better rested. What is your name?”
“Suleiman,” Talon whispered as he fell asleep.
He did not wake up the next day. Some kind of fever had struck him and he was unable to rise from his bed. The fever kept him in a stupor for many days, during which time he had nightmares.
He even found himself fighting lions again, which seemed to be very real, and he sat up in the bed sweating profusely and shouting, as he tried to get away from them. On another occasion, the terror was so stark, although he could not define it, that he was frozen in place, paralyzed and unable to move a limb to protect himself while terror moved closer and closer.
In other, calmer moments, he thought he might be in some kind of litter, going somewhere, but he knew not where. Then he would come out of his delirium and all was still. He dreamt that a beautiful woman was talking to him and bathing his face and forehead with cool water. He thought he had died and that Rav’an had come to him, and he wept with happiness, calling her name. But then he would fall into blackness, as the fevers gripped him and the image faded away. During one of his more lucid moments, he found a man leaning over him who told him his name.
“I am Malek, and I am the servant of Emir Abbas Abdur Rahman ibn Athir Faysal, a nobleman who is in the south, fighting alongside our Sultan’s brother against the Nubians.” Talon barely registered the words, and soon fell back into his torpor.
When he did finally wake up from the nightmares and free of the fever, he found himself on a bed in a sunlit room, with rich furnishings both on the low sleeping platform and on the floor all about him. The floor was decorated with many colored tiles forming intricate patterns. There were fine carpets of red and black designs in profusion on either side, while the covers of the bed itself were of silk and finely woven linen. He thought he recognized the patterns on one of the carpets; it might have been from somewhere in Persia. This was a rich man’s house. He briefly wondered if he had finally gone to the Paradise that had been promised to him many years ago in Alamut castle, that wondrous first night.
He fingered the sheets as he contemplated his situation, and realized that he had been very sick. He felt exhausted, but no longer feverish. The sunlight was welcome and he could hear activity outside, including a squabble going on between a young boy and someone female not far from his window.
“I want to go fishing today. Why can I not?” The boy demanded truculently. Talon smiled, he could almost see the boy’s pouting face.
“Because Malek is away, and it is dangerous for you to go outside our compound or even to the gardens, until he or another is with you,” a female voice stated firmly. “Come and read to me instead. Your sister and I enjoy it when you do.” The voice was gentle but assured, and Talon was intrigued by its quiet melody.
At this point, a slave woman, as he could tell by her dress, came slip-slapping on bare feet into the room where Talon lay. She looked over at him, and then gave a short gasp when she saw that his eyes were open. She ran out of the room.
“He is awake…he is awake, my Lady!” There was an exclamation and then hurried steps. He could not hear the words exchanged after that, but within a few minutes there was a light step outside his open doorway.
A woman walked into the room followed by a young boy. Despite the fact that she was veiled Talon had no trouble recognizing her and her son. They were the two he had seen in the palanquin the terrible day of Max’s injury. He tried to rise in deference to her presence but she raised her hand indicating he should lay back. She was beautiful, and it was hard not to stare.
He opened his mouth to say something, but only choked. Clearing his throat he tried again.
“Salaam Aliekom... My lady, what am I doing here? And forgive me for being disrespectful
, but who are you?”
She took a little time to answer, as though unsure as to what she should say. But before she could speak the boy spoke up.
“Salaam, Sir. You saved our lives, my sister, my mother and me. Suleiman? Is that your name? Malek told us that it was, when we arrived here. You had the fever. Are you better now? I am sorry about your brave companion and his terrible wound. You are both great warriors. They still talk about you!”
“Kazim,” the woman spoke sharply, “where are your manners?” “We must not tax the man with silly questions; he is still recovering from the fever. Sir, I am glad that the fever seems to have abated. Malek tells us that you had the river sickness. Have you been traveling long on this road?”
Just as she finished speaking, there was the patter of small feet and another child arrived breathless at the door.
“Mother, is he awake at last?” a breathless young girl enquired.
“Yes, my dearest…our visitor is awake, at last. Now, be silent both of you, I want to hear what he has to say.”
She repeated her question. “Have you been traveling long, Sir?”
“No… my Lady,” Talon answered. “I…we have come from the north near Alexandria.”
“It does not matter …you are better, and we, my children and I, are grateful to you for what you did. Allah be praised that he placed you nearby when we were attacked by our enemies. We owe you a great debt that will not easily be repaid.”
Talon shook his head, “It was nothing, my Lady. We could see you were in distress. What else could we have done?”
Her veil slipped and he could now see her fine features, light translucent olive skin and huge amber-brown eyes.
“Sir, you could have left us to our fate, but you did not. You have paid a terrible price with the wound to your friend. This I…we shall not forget. Please rest until Malek comes to talk to you. He will return this evening. Come, Kazim, Jasmine, we must leave now.”
“Madame…I must know. Will my companion live? Where is he that I can see him?”
Assassination in Al Qahira Page 8