Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  “That is what the rumors at Elat told us. Better to be prepared for anything. Dar’an!” he called. Dar’an cantered forward to join the two men ahead of the camel train. “Yes, Master.”

  “Are you ready for my signal?”

  “All is ready, Master Talon.”

  “Good. Let’s hope that we do not have to resort to drastic measures,” Talon said. He was unsure what kind of reception committee they faced. He intended to speak to the leaders and use persuasion. If that didn’t work, there was an alternative. He noted the pennants and the dress of the riders. They were without doubt Franks, but at this distance he could not determine whether they were Knights Templar or otherwise.

  “Close in the camels and guard them,” he ordered Yosef, who touched his forehead and rode back, shouting orders. Now Talon could see the dull gleam of sunlight on chain armor and spear heads as the group of men that far outnumbered his small band came at the canter towards them, raising a veil of dust on the road.

  “Stay back some, Brother, but be prepared for my signal,” he murmured to Reza, then he rode forward to position himself even more in front of the caravan. Reza dropped back so that he was just ahead of the camels.

  Talon stopped on a rise and waited. He took off his shemagh to show his face; perhaps that would help. He felt tense. Every time he had met with Franks after some time away, he reflected, it had not been a good experience. The riders were coming along the rough track that passed for a road in these parts, and now he could see clearly that they were a mixed bunch. Some wore dirty uniforms of the Crusaders, with cloth patches that passed for crosses on their tunics. He searched for the pennant of the Templars among them but could not see one. So these men were simply bandits? Who might be leading them?

  He was not long in pondering that point, as the fore rider raised his hand in the air just before they were upon Talon, and they halted in a heavy cloud of dust.

  Talon failed to recognize the man initially, but as soon as the leader opened his mouth and spoke, he remembered.

  “You are crossing my land without permission, Saracen! I want a tithe!” the man shouted, although he was only ten paces away. Talon had halted his animal in the middle of the road, right in front of the men and in full view of his own people.

  “I know you... Raynald de Châtillon. Why do you stop me?” he called back. “I am on the King’s business. Are you then here to offer me hospitality?”

  There was an initial shocked silence when the rough looking crew heard the man in front of them speaking French. He leaned comfortably on the pommel of his mount and regarded them with narrowed eyes.

  Raynald blinked, then wiped the sweat off his florid face with a cotton rag, for under the chain mail he was sweating copiously. The sun burned in a cloudless sky and heat radiated off the desert sand and rocks all around them. But Talon gave the impression of being cool and relaxed.

  “Who in hell’s name are you? Saracens are not allowed to pass without my permission!” he bellowed.

  Talon opened his over cloak, which had covered the tunic beneath. He too wore chain mail, but his tunic, the surcoat, displayed a red cross on his left breast. He had had all his companions dress in a similar manner to be displayed when and if needed. It seemed the appropriate moment to do so. The men in front of him goggled.

  “I am Sir Talon de Gilles. Surely you remember me?” he said in a loud, clear voice that reached all the men gathered in front of him. He smiled as he observed their surprise.

  Raynald was shocked, that much was clear to see, but he shook his head and bellowed back.

  “Sir Talon is gone to God or Hell, take your pick, this long while back. You must be an impostor.”

  “No impostor, Sir,” Talon responded, all the while assessing the mood of the men in front of him. They looked hot and frustrated, having just realized that the caravan was not going to be their prize.

  “Why are you with this caravan?” Raynald demanded. “Why would you not be with a squadron of Templars instead?”

  Talon chuckled. “You know very well that there are no Templars south of here, and while I crossed the desert I needed protection from those carrion, the Beduin,” he replied.

  “I want to check for myself if you are who you say you are!” Raynald blustered, and he made to move his horse past Talon. “I want to see what that caravan is carrying. Perhaps they harbor spies!” he sneered.

  He found Talon barring his way. Now the two men were very close, and Talon could smell the foul breath coming from Raynald. It contrasted sharply with the hot, clean smell of the desert.

  “You know I am who I say I am, Sir. You do remember who brought the Templars to the battle of Montgisard, do you not?” Talon had raised his voice.

  Raynald hauled his horse in and his hand crept towards his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Talon saw the men behind him closing in. “I would not do that if I were you, Sir Raynald. If the King hears about this, I think he will be very upset. He might not forgive you this time.”

  Raynald’s face had become red with frustration. There was no doubt that he recognized Talon, but the allure of pillage was very strong. Pickings must have been lean of late, Talon mused, and Raynald wanted to strike Saracens where ever he could and for no better reason than to see them in pain.

  Talon’s green eyes bored into Raynald’s. “Do not be tempted, Sir. It would give us both pain, and that would not be good in God’s eyes now, would it?”

  Raynald grunted and his rheumy blue eyes shifted.

  “I would be more than glad to give the King your greetings and to assure him that you are truly the guardian of the South, Sir Raynald,” Talon assured him in a soft tone, but one that left no doubt that, should it not be so, then Raynald would be one of the first casualties. Raynald, sweating under his chain hauberk, leather, and heavy clothing, drew his horse back apace.

  “Very well, Sir Talon. You may pass. I shall provide an escort past the castle, but then you are on your own across the hills of Jordan.

  “I accept your offer, Sir Raynald. However, I want the word of a ‘Nobleman’ that your men will not misbehave towards anyone in the caravan. I gave my word to these people, as a Templar knight, that I would protect them once we were within Christian lands, and here we are.”

  Raynald grimaced, he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.

  “You should not be demanding my word of me in such a manner, Sir Talon. I find that insulting; but nonetheless you have my word and you may pass. You are still spoken of in Jerusalem,” Raynald said gracelessly.

  Talon nodded and said, “So be it, Sir. We will continue. Please wait here and I shall inform the leaders of the caravan that we are in safe hands.”

  He left Raynald fuming with his restless men and turned his horse back to talk with Reza. While the earlier contact had been dangerous, the next phase might be even more perilous. Talon knew what an out of control man Raynald had been, and nothing he saw today after so many years indicated the man had changed for the better.

  “We are to continue past the castle with them as escort. Be very alert, they are like jackals,” he warned Reza in an undertone. “These men are bandits, not Templars, and I don’t trust any of them, least of all their leader. He is the most treacherous of all.”

  The caravan began to lumber forward, everyone grateful that they were again in motion. The late afternoon sun burned.

  Raynald wanted to have his men ride side by side with the people of the caravan, but Talon insisted that the drovers and people attached to the caravan were so afraid of the Franks that they refused to continue unless the Franks led the way.

  Very reluctantly Raynald agreed, but insisted in turn that Talon ride alongside him as they approached the turn off to the castle.

  “Where have you been these many years?” he asked civilly enough, as the caravan got under way again. Talon cast a sharp eye forward to where the Franks were riding as the vanguard. None of them had managed to slip past him, now he and Raynald were between them and
the caravan itself, so he felt more secure. Anyone who did try and get in among the camels would come to a swift end, and that he didn’t want.

  “I have been exploring the lands to the East of us and have even been to the land of the silk,” he responded absently.

  “You must have accumulated much booty in the process, no?” Raynald asked with a sly nod of his head back towards the caravan.

  “As a Templar I am unable to hold wealth, Sir. You must know that,” Talon responded, his tone cool. He looked forward and up at the enormous fortress on the stony hill to his left. The immense glacis that sloped up to the walls themselves alone would deter anyone rash enough to try and storm it, he surmised. This, of course, was precisely how Châtillon managed to hold onto it. He could pick and choose his attacks on merchants and travelers who perforce had to come this way; otherwise they were routed into the deeper desert to the East where there was no water at all.

  His next question was blunt. “Why do you prey upon the caravans, Sir Raynald? Is there not a truce with Salah Ed Din still in place? There was one being negotiated when I left.”

  “I detest the Saracen and all they stand for,” Raynald snarled. “Our King is sick and not fully in control of his faculties. These people are heretics and infidels, they need to be destroyed and have no rights in our Christian world.”

  Talon was taken aback by the vehemence of the response. “You have not been out here all that long, so how can you decide all this?” he asked.

  “I came from France with the spirit of crusade in me. I find that people who live out here are corrupted by the lures of the East. You even dress like they do, for Heaven’s sake!” He flicked his fingers contemptuously at Talon’s dress and at his turban.

  “Tell me something, Sir. In that chain mail of yours and that iron helmet you wear upon your head, are you cool? Do you not find the weather here hot?”

  “What has that got to do with it?” Raynald demanded, his tone truculent.

  “I wear the clothes of this region for a reason. The one is to be less obvious, but the other is for comfort while I put my mind to things other than the discomfort of sweating. There is much we Outremeres have learned from these people that is worth knowing, aside from any religious differences.”

  “Pah! They are savages and should be put to work building our castles, nothing more.”

  “Can you read, Sir?”

  “A soldier does not have to read. His is to do the work of God and destroy the infidel.” Raynald stated this as though it were final. They rode on in silence for a while and the castle above them loomed larger. It was almost time to part ways.

  “I was just wondering if you had read the details of the truce. That is all. How is the King these days?”

  The response was short. “Sick. He will die soon. Then we shall see.”

  Talon didn’t like the tone. “How old is his son?”

  “Too young, and my guess is that the King is going to appoint the Duke of Tripoli as his guardian. Much good that will do. That scum is a friend of the infidel, hence not to be trusted at all with the future of this country.”

  “You have Odo still leading the Templars don’t you?”

  Raynald pulled up his horse and looked back at Talon. “You have been gone a long time, Sir Talon. Much has changed. Odo died in a Saracen prison four years ago.” He grinned through bad teeth; it was more of a snarl.

  “Here our ways part, Sir Talon. I cannot escort you beyond this point, but I am sure you know the way. Farewell.” He kicked his large horse into a canter and rode off to catch up with his men who had turned off the main road and were waiting for him.

  Talon watched him go with a thoughtful frown, waiting for the caravan to catch up, and when Reza rode alongside he murmured, “Rarely have I encountered a man so filled with unreasoning hate. He is as treacherous as a snake. We must be ready for anything. Bring the caravan past them, but be on your guard.”

  Reza grunted acknowledgement and called back orders for the drovers to hurry it along.

  As her camel passed, Rav’an murmured, “They look dangerous, my Talon. Are we safe from them now?”

  “They are very dangerous, my Love, and I do not think we are safe... yet.”

  He deliberately sat his horse on the cross roads in front of the Franks, who remained watching the caravan like wolves contemplating a good meal; but then Raynald, with an impatient flick of his fly switch, turned his mount and galloped up the road to the gates of the fortress without a backward glance. The knights followed him, but it was with reluctance. They could sense that this was not a lean caravan, and they had noticed the women.

  Later that evening when they had put another ten miles between them and the castle, Talon called a halt. Dusk was settling in, and it would do them little good to be spread out along an unfamiliar road during the night.

  “We should camp on the top of a knoll; that one over there will do.” He pointed to one about half a league away. “There would be a good place, I think.”

  “Defensible, up to a point.” Reza agreed, and took charge of the camp. The camels were anchored firmly to posts which they could not pull out in a panic should there be alarms.

  Tents were erected and fires begun on the far side of the hill away from the distant castle. The people of the caravan were on edge. They had seen that Talon’s avoidance of a clash with the unpredictable Franks had been tense. His words to them that evening, as they ate sparingly of the goat meat and drank the already brackish water, were hardly reassuring.

  “We must double the guards tonight, and everyone goes to bed fully armed,” he began. He sat next to Rav’an and Jannat, facing his men.

  “Do you then anticipate trouble tonight, Talon?” Yosef growled, the firelight flickering on his lean, wolflike features.

  “If I have judged that man rightly, the answer is yes. It is not if, but when. I suspect that a raid will be in the early hours just before dawn when they think we will be least alert.”

  “Then we should be ready for them.” Reza said, and tossed a small bone that he had been chewing into the fire. “Check your weapons, everyone. Bows and arrows, too; we will need them. Where do you want the women to be, Talon?”

  “Not here,” Talon began.

  “Our duty is to be beside you, my Talon. There is to be no discussion about that,” Rav’an said with a sweet smile. Reza chuckled.

  Talon looked at her and Jannat. “You, my Lady, are with child, Jannat also. I would be insane to put you anywhere near to danger.”

  “Why cannot we be near at hand with our horses to help at the right time, Master Talon?” Dar’an spoke up.

  Talon shook his head, exasperated. “Very well; but you, Dar’an are with me. Your skills with the devices is needed here. Yosef, you will leave when it gets really dark and find a safe place just a few hundred paces north of here that I noticed earlier. Take five men; the women and their servants will go there and await the outcome of the attack when it comes, for surely it will.” He held his hand up to prevent any discussion.

  “In the event that we are overrun, you will flee and go north without being detected. Head for Jerusalem where you can go to the Templars for help. There is one Sir Guy de Veres there who will protect you.”

  Rav’an opened her mouth to speak, but he turned on her. “No! These men will charge straight at us, they know no other means of attack. If they break through, and there is little enough to stop them, I cannot be looking over my shoulder worrying about you, Rav’an. Do this for me, I beg of you.”

  Reza nodded his head in agreement. “He is right, my Sister. Take the horses and be safe. We will come for you when it is done, have no fear. Jannat, do as Talon asks; I, too, am asking this of you for your safety and my peace of mind.”

  There was a long silence, but then Rav’an put her hand on his arm. “Very well. I—we—shall do as you say, Talon; but I will have Rostam with me, and my bow.”

  He smiled at her, marveling at her beauty in the firelight. “R
ostam, go with Yosef and be the protector of your mother and your aunt. Understand that this is no small responsibility for you to carry out. Obey Yosef.”

  Rostam made to protest, “But... Papa!”

  Talon took in deep breath and was just about to snap at his son.

  “Do as your father asks, my son,” Rav’an told Rostam in a low voice. He subsided, glowering. Talon subsided but felt a surge of pride in his son, who was clearly not afraid of what was to come. “Everyone will have a task to perform. Your task is to protect your mother, your aunt and the womenfolk,” he told Rostam.

  Rostam nodded in silence and got up to prepare the horses.

  The small party led their horses off around midnight. No one had slept, other than to catnap, but for Talon and Reza even that was not to be. With Dar’an to help, because he was familiar with the Chinese powder, they set up picket points half way up the small, wide knoll. All five faced the road, which was some one hundred paces to the East, and now the three men began to prepare the traps. A small barrel of powder was opened and shallow holes dug in the stony ground. The powder was poured, half covered with sand, and then rocks were placed loosely over the holes. Then a trail of powder was laid from each trap to where a stone wall in each picket was being hurriedly constructed by the nervous drovers who never stopped praying while they worked. Talon selected the sterner men who had volunteered to become his followers and distributed them among the pickets.

  “We will need to have at least four good arrow bombs ready which I shall shoot from the top when I deem it time. The first explosions should happen just before that. The men are ready?”

  “They are ready, although the drovers are scared silly, but they trust us and will follow when the time comes,” Reza assured him.

  The preparations having been carried out as best they could, they settled down to wait. Talon, to keep his mind from worrying too much, counted and named the constellations, marveling as always at the blaze of the stars against the night sky. In contrast, the low, sun-blasted, rocky desert around them and the scree-covered slopes of other hills were in complete darkness. There would be no moon tonight, for which he was glad. Light would favor the mounted enemy more than his men, whom he wanted in cover and well out of sight when the enemy came to visit.