Joscelin looked up and said smoothly, “We shall have to postpone Sir Talon’s story, as here comes the Duke.”
Raymond of Tripoli strode up and halted in front of the group.
“Gossiping like a group of fishwives again, my Lords? I see you are here, Sir Talon.” He gave the others the ghost of a bow and took Talon by the arm. “Glad you could make it today. The King is impatient to see you,” he said, with a backward look at the others.
“Ibelin, please join me,” he called over his shoulder.
The three of them made their way to the exit and along a silent corridor to the doorway of a chamber. “This is where you go in alone, Talon. Be aware that the King is very ill and cannot see well. Speak up, and tell him who you are. He is expecting you,” the Duke said, then turned to Ibelin. “What were those snakes talking about today, my friend?”
Talon walked through the door which had been opened by a guard and looked around the room. It was an airy place with a light draft coming in through the window, lifting the almost transparent gauze curtains. He was surprised, because the Frankish physicians hated fresh air, and cleanliness was not a part of their creed, yet here was a clean smelling room with fresh air all around.
In the center of the room on a bed that more resembled a bier he saw a figure lying very still. The still young King wore a mask, even when in bed. Talon had remembered the commencement of the disfiguration, but now it seemed to be well advanced.
“Who goes there?” The voice was low and rasping.
“Sire, it is I, Talon de Gilles, My Liege. I have come as promised.”
The figure on the bed had been lying very loosely but now it tensed. “I heard yesterday that you had come back, Sir Talon. My heart is glad that you have lived to see wondrous things which, alas, I never shall. Will you tell me of where you have been?”
“You exacted a promise from me before I left that, should I return, I must relate to you all my adventures, Sire. I kneel before you and will freely tell you all I can,” Talon said.
The King lifted his left arm. “Come, be seated and take some wine. I know, I know, you are not supposed to, but in this one instance take some; it will relax you more. I sense that you are very tense.”
Talon smiled. “I am indeed, Sire. I am not used to sitting before a King.”
The figure on the bed gave a weak bark, which Talon took to be a laugh. “We have a little time and you have much to tell, so now tell me all. From the very beginning. Firstly were you successful in your quest?”
“Yes Sire, I was.”
The figure on the bed sighed. “It pleases us to hear it, now …continue Sir Talon. Tell me all.”
An hour and a half or so later, Talon left the King lying still on the bed and walked out of the chamber. He could not prevent the tears from falling. With a deep sigh he dashed them away, and then noticed Ibelin, who was still there waiting by a window. Talon joined him and leaned on the sill.
“The Duke asked me to accompany you to his house. He said he was not done with you yet, Sir Talon.” Ibelin said. “But you look distressed. It is very hard to see our King thus.”
Talon looked up. “Were you at Montgisard, Lord?”
Ibelin gave him a sharp look. “No. Why?”
“Because there he gave us the inspiration to face impossible odds and win. I have admired him ever since and deeply mourn his condition today. It was very hard to say farewell.”
“I apologize, Sir Talon. I had not known quite how you felt about our King. I, too, feel the same, as does our Duke. It is regrettable that there are others who care not for him as you, we do.”
They set out, and soon they arrived at the Duke’s gates and were admitted. The three men passed the rest of the day discussing the situation in their world.
At one time Talon asked about Salah Ed Din.
“Ah,” said the Duke. “I wish fervently we still had Sir Guy to help us with the sort of information he excelled at gleaning, but my own information is that Aleppo and the surrounding country is slowly falling into his hands. With his back protected by that city it means that in effect he can now strike anywhere he choses into the Christian lands.”
“There was a treaty, my Lord, was there not?” Talon asked.
“Yes, we do have treaties with him. The King has one that encompasses the Kingdom, and I have a separate one, as do the lords of Armenia and Antioch. It remains to be seen who will break them first,” he added with a scowl.
“My bet is that Châtillon or that idiot Joscelin will break it first, and then we are in trouble,” Ibelin said.
“Salah Ed Din appears to have fully recovered from the defeat at Montgisard,” Talon remarked his tone was dry.
“He has indeed, and goes from one success to another, but he has a quarrelsome group of princes to manage. Nevertheless, I suspect that they, despite their internal jealousies and fickle behavior, believe in him and that,” said Raymond, “is worrisome.”
After more discussion the Duke asked, “What are your plans, Talon? Do you wish to remain here in Jerusalem? Has Gerard finally come to understand your unique talents and allow you to fill the role your mentor left vacant?”
“I doubt that I can fill boots as big as those of Sir Guy. I don’t know yet, but I must go to Acre and take care of business there first.”
Both Raymond and Ibelin shared a look and a frown.
“If you care to take my advice, Talon, it would be to take precautions when you arrive back in Acre. There have been changes, and furthermore rumor has it that the bishop is... shall we say unfriendly towards you. There is a fanatical monk there who has been investigating you for witchcraft.”
Talon scowled. He remembered the bishop, and he guessed who the fanatical monk might be.
As he parted from the house, the older man said, “Come back to us one day, Sir Talon. We have need of you, even if those fools in the palace don’t know it yet. I will always have a place for a man like you; there are few enough of us left here in Outremer.”
Ivory palaces built on earth
And mansions lined with galleries—
With marble columns on inlaid floors
In spacious halls that filled with parties:
In a flash I saw them all as rubble
And weathered ruins without a soul
—Moshe Ibn Ezra
Chapter 6
Acre
The small boat bumped gently against the rocks at the base of the fortifications and Reza stepped silently onto the narrow, rocky shoreline, glanced upwards, then turned and held the boat while the others disembarked.
Standing on the wet, black rocks with ripples of the sea washing at his feet, Talon stared up at the walls of Acre, which towered above them and listened hard. It was very dark but sounds carried, even the small sounds down here on the shoreline. A gull, annoyed at having its sleep disturbed, squawked at them from a rock ten paces away. Everyone held their breath. An alert sentry might out of curiosity peer down and see the boat and the dark figures crouched against the wall. However, no dark silhouettes appeared leaning out over the battlements, and there were no alarms. Talon tapped the edge of the boat with his hand. The two men who had been rowing the boat whispered. “Go with God,” then rowed the boat silently off into the darkness of the sea, heading towards a cove some distance away where they would haul it onto the beach and go back to the encampment; their work was done for this night.
No so for the men at the base of the city walls. Their objective was to get into the city and find out how things stood with the men of Talon’s company. The reason Talon had not gone in through the city gates was because of something the Duke of Tripoli had told him:
“The Church is out to get you, Sir Talon. Some trumped up charge of witchery, from what I have heard. Pah! More likely the Bishop wants your wealth for himself. I would be very careful when you get to Acre.”
Getting over the walls had not seemed too difficult when he observed them from the beach during daylight, but now, crou
ched under the tall stone works, he felt less sanguine. Reza, however, was all business. “I shall climb them and send down the rope. Dar’an is not experienced enough, and you are too old,” he whispered with a low chuckle.
Talon grinned in the dark. He could hardly see Reza, let alone hear him over the low roar of the surf. The edge of the water where they were crouching stank of rotting fish, offal, and other unmentionable things that had been tossed over the walls for years. He wrinkled his nose and patted Reza on the shoulder. “Go!” he hissed in his friend’s ear. “Before I show you how it is done.”
He watched as his brother seemed to climb the wall without effort. Talon never ceased to marvel at how good Reza was at doing this. All the same, he did slip once and hung there for what seemed like an eternity, while the men below held their breath. He recovered, however, and finally made it to the top, where he paused and very cautiously checked for any unwelcome guards, then he disappeared like a cat. A few seconds later the rope was given a shake, meaning that he had secured it. It was time to move, and quickly; a patrol could come along the footway behind the battlements at any time and discover the rope.
Talon was the first to go, walking up the rope easily until he reached the top. He slid onto the footway and, following the hiss from Reza, slipped into the darkness alongside his friend. Dar’an followed close on his heels; the young man was not even out of breath as he joined the two older men. Talon looked down the length of the battlements. They had chosen a good place to enter; there was a wide gap in the number of pitch torches placed at irregular intervals along the pathway.
They quickly hauled in the rope, coiling it, and Dar’an shrugged it over his shoulder. The three men were all dressed in dark clothes with their faces concealed, leaving only their eyes visible. They were armed with their daggers and swords; after some debate they had left their bows behind.
Now it would be Talon’s turn to lead the way, because he knew the inside of this city well, having prowled it often enough when he lived here. He wanted to scout out his house and meet again with his captains. He felt a keen sense of anticipation at seeing Max again after all these years.
They left the shadows and slipped quietly down the stone steps that led toward the first street. Just in time, too, as two sentries could be seen ambling along the parapet some distance away. The three men huddled in the darkness of the buildings and waited until the sentries, conversing in low tones, sauntered past, their spears casually held over their shoulders. They disappeared into the tower at the far end.
Talon led the way unerringly along the maze of filthy, stinking streets, moving from one dark shadow to another. The very few people who were on the streets were either in a hurry to go home, it being very late, or too drunk to notice the phantoms that flickered past them.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to arrive at the street where Talon had formerly lived. It was very quiet here; that had been one reason he had chosen to come at this hour. There was only one dark bundle crouched against the wall, not far from the large wooden gates of his property. Bidding his friends to wait in the darkness of an alley nearby, Talon strode across the street with the aim of knocking on the door and gaining admittance. Late it might be, but he was, after all, the owner, and had every right to do so.
Just as he was about to knock, the bundle nearby grunted and sat up with a groan and noticed him. “Good Sir, can you spare a coin for a sick old man? God will bless you for your kindness.” The thin, reedy voice cracked with age and despair.
It was not the words that arrested Talon and made him turn. He knew that voice! He stepped closer to examine the bundle of smelly rags. “Is that you, Simon?” he asked in disbelief.
“Who... who are you?” the figure asked him tremulously. “Please do not harm me. I only ask for a coin to live—”
Talon gasped. “It is you, Simon. Dear God, what has happened to you?” He leaned closer.“It is I, Talon. Do you not remember me?”
The figure on the ground shook. “Dear God almighty! Is it really you, Sir Talon? But... but you are dead these long years! Are you then his ghost come to haunt me?”
Simon waved a thin, bony hand in the air. “I cannot see well in this light, but I hear your voice. It is you! Where have you been, Sir?”
“Yes, it really is I, Simon. I am not dead. Never mind where I have been; I have now come home. You must tell me, why are you lying here? Why are you not in the house where you belong?” He squatted next to the old, ragged man. He could see, even in the starlight, that his beard was unkempt, and his gaunt features betrayed his age and his destitution.
He reached out to clutch at Talon’s sleeve. “This is not your home any more, Sir Talon. The Church has taken it, these many years ago. Ever since... you left for the great battle,” his voice trailed off as he seemed to forget what he was saying.
Talon looked around him in alarm. Something was terribly wrong. “Are you saying that others live here now? Who would that be, and where is Max? Where is everyone?”
Simon plucked at his sleeve. “I can tell you what I know, Sir Talon, but it should not be here. You are in danger!”
“Come,” said Talon. “You are coming with me.” He lifted the old man to his feet and helped his bent and shrunken frame across the street towards his companions, who emerged from the darkness to stand around them, staring at Simon. No one said anything, but their surprise was very evident.
“We must get him to some place where he can talk and where we will be safe for a little while,” Talon whispered. He glanced up at Reza. “It would seem that I no longer live here,” he said, his tone flat. “Come, I know a quiet place where we can at least be off the streets and where Simon—his name is Simon—can tell us more.”
Talon led the way towards a derelict building they had passed while on their way to his house. It was some way back; a ruin, and the roof had fallen in, but there was enough space for five or six men to sit and lie under the beams. A couple of beggars hastened to depart when they awoke and found three dark, menacing figures standing over them. A small coin was given to each, and the frightened men shuffled off, muttering to each other. The moment the taverns opened the next morning they would be in to drink their new-found wealth away.
The newcomers crawled into the space, after having first ascertained that there were no others inside. In the darkness Simon was made comfortable, and then the questions began. Talon promised to find food in the morning, but he was frankly worried that Simon, being so frail, might not even survive the night. He forced himself to control his impatience as he drew as much information from the old man as he possibly could.
“Some time after you left,” began the old man, “and Max returned to Acre, wounded from the fray at the ford, the Church sent armed men to this house and demanded entry.”
“I kept them out and went to find Sir Max, but he was not there, at that time I thought he was at the Templar fortress. Henry was, though, and he came with me to the gates and demanded to know what they wanted.
Simon paused. “A skinny man, a monk, was at the head of the armed guard. He waved a parchment at us, then told us that we were all to leave at once, as this house now belonged to the Church,” he sighed. “Henry, bless his heart, refused, and again demanded to know why. The monk shouted that it was because you had been accused of witchery and that all who were associated with you could be prosecuted. We were very frightened, all of us. Witchcraft is a very bad accusation, Sir Talon.”
He paused again to catch his breath. Talon put a hand on his thin shoulder. “It’s all right. Go on, Simon.”
“Henry could not dispute this, and we were turned out. The soldiers came charging in and looted the place. They roughed up the servants and stole whatever they could before the Brother restored discipline. All of us were kicked out onto the street, told to keep our mouths shut and to stay away. Henry demanded to hear from Max, but the monk said... ” Simon paused and gave a whimper, “the monk said, that Max had been stripped of his rig
ht to be a Templar and was in prison. He has been there these long years, and I fear he could not have survived the trials they would have put him through.”
Talon was stunned. He squatted in the dark and ran a hand through his hair, trying to come to grips with the awful news. “What has happened, Talon? What is he saying to you?” Reza murmured to Talon after a long interval of silence. He had not understood a word.
“It would seem that I am dispossessed of everything I used to own here in Acre, Reza.” Talon gave his companions a brief outline of what Simon had related. Again the silence, as they absorbed the information. They, too, were shocked, for Talon had explained that this was to be their home. Now it appeared that they were not even safe here in Acre.
Talon took some time to compose himself, then he asked Simon, “Do you know where Max would be? Is he still here in Acre?”
Simon shuffled in the dark. “I... I think he must be, Sir. He was very well respected by the Knights. They would not have allowed the Church to take him. There is little love lost there.”
“So he could still be in the citadel?” Talon demanded.
“That is where the prisoners of the Knights are held. The Templars would not allow the Church to imprison him. He would be dead these long years ago, if they had. But... I do not know if he is indeed alive today. As you can see, my condition is pitiful.”
Talon reached forward and gripped his old servant’s shoulder gently. “You could do nothing else, Simon. Who now lives in my house?” He had a deep, sinking feeling in his gut.
“Why, I believe it is the Bishop, or some other high personage of the church who lives here at this time, but also the monk himself. He has become very powerful since he worked for the Bishop.”
Talon took this in, even while he was about to ask more questions. “Why then do you spend your time outside the house in the cold and rain?”
“Because there is another monk, Brother Martin, who brings me food in the mornings. He lives there with the others but... I don’t think he is a bad man. He has been very kind to me.”
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