Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  Talon and Reza arrived at the house in time to see a cart being unloaded by Guy and Henry that contained some of the other items Talon had requested. They were now almost ready for the next stage of the plan.

  After eating a large meal of mutton with bread and olives and drinking the horrible, vinegary stuff that Henry claimed was wine, Talon brought up the subject of Max.

  “From what you have told me, Brother Martin is one of the few people outside of the citadel who knows where Max is located inside?” he asked Henry.

  “I believe so, but the man who might be able to find out more is Simon.” Henry cocked an eye at the now recovering old Templar servant, who looked up from his food.

  Talon sent a contemplative look over at Simon. The old man had recovered some of his color and looked rested. “How many times did Martin come and see you, Simon?” he asked.

  “Sometimes every day, but mostly every other day to make sure I had something to eat. He often tried to get me to an alms house, but I refused, so he would bring me some scraps from his kitchen when he could, Sir Talon,” the old man rasped. “I believe Brother Jonathan lives quite well.”

  “I am sure he does.” Talon remarked. “Would you consider going back there just one more time in rags? I want to meet Martin.”

  Simon nodded. “I would be glad to help, Sir Talon. But you will not hurt him?” he asked, his lined face looked apprehensive.

  “May God be my witness, I will not harm Brother Martin, Simon. I just need to know where Max is. Perhaps you can pry the details out of him yourself?”

  Simon nodded. “I shall try my best. You will need to know exactly where Max is held?”

  “Yes. As exactly as you can get him to tell you.”

  The next morning, very early when there was only a glow in the east, Talon and Reza escorted Simon along the still deserted streets to the gates of Talon’s old property. They both noted that there was a watchman at the gates squatting against the wall. He appeared to be asleep. They sat Simon down in his rags, and then departed to observe from several streets away. Talon wanted to make sure that Simon was going to be all right. “Observe this place very carefully, Brother,” Talon told Reza. “For you and I will be paying it a visit one night very soon.”

  “What do you want to do, my Brother?”

  “I want to leave a message,” Talon muttered.

  Reza smiled in the dark. He had been informed about the events leading up to the banishment of Henry and Guy from this place. It was rare that he had seen Talon so angry. Dawn arrived slowly, and once again the city awoke, rubbing its eyes or clutching its head, depending on how the night before had been spent.

  The two concealed men, hooded and in the deepest shadows, listened to the noises within the property, which indicated a household waking up. There was a rasping sound as the bolts of the house gates were withdrawn. The watchman hastily clambered to his feet as the smaller door to the main doors creaked open. Someone in a monk’s habit stepped out. He nodded to the watchman, who knuckled his forehead and pointed to the recumbent figure of Simon about twenty paces along the street. With an exclamation of surprise the monk grasped his lower robes and pattered along the street towards Simon. There he bent over the apparently sleeping man and gently shook him awake. Talon smiled as he watched Simon pretend surprise as he awoke and then greeted the monk. From where he was Talon was sure it was Martin. The monk would be up early. He had to go to Prayers; besides, he used to work in the scriptorium and was probably hastening to his labors.

  Martin was clearly delighted to see Simon and crouched down besides him to talk. Talon had told Simon to look as worn and sick as he could to ensure that Martin was concerned, which he certainly appeared to be. They talked for some time, with Simon waving a bony hand about as he spoke, until finally Martin placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder as though to reassure him and took his leave. When Martin had disappeared from view, Simon shakily got to his feet and limped along the street. He lifted his hand to the watchman, who paid him scant attention, and then Simon was walking past the place where Talon and Reza were concealed.

  “Psst.”

  “Is that you, Sir Talon?”

  “Come down this street and join us.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at the still disinterested watchman, Simon did as he was told and joined the two men.

  “It was Martin?’

  “Yes, Sir Talon. It was Brother Martin. He wanted to know where I’ve been. He had been very concerned. I told him that I had been frightened off by some dogs that had menaced me one night, but that I returned to the one place where I still had a friend. Then I asked him about Max. Brother Martin told me that it had been nearly two weeks since he had seen him, but he had intended to go there this week. He said that he would do it today and let me know how Max was doing.”

  “He didn’t tell you where, then?”

  Simon shook his head. “No, I am sorry, Sir Talon. But he told me that he would be back this evening to bring me food, and to tell me where Max is and his condition.”

  Talon was put out by this but resigned himself to obtaining the information that evening. The town was by now wide awake with people walking down the streets, hurrying to their places of work. He and Reza didn’t want to be noticed, so they walked casually back to the house, where Simon rested until it would be time to resume his place on the street outside the residence.

  “Brother Martin told me that Max was holding up in the prison, but that his health was poor. Some of his teeth have become infected and this hinders his eating,” Simon volunteered when they were back.

  Talon’s anger at the treatment of his dear friend threatened to overwhelm him, but he shook his head, his features tight. Time enough for rage when the work was done.

  “Is that watchman there every evening?”

  “No. He sometimes comes early, but mostly he arrives late. He has supper somewhere, then comes by much later at night.”

  Talon thought about that. He didn’t want anyone to see what he planned to do that night. If the guard was there he would simply have to disappear. Reza could deal with that problem if it arose.

  In the meantime, there was much else to do. Guy had already found some men who were more than willing to work with him on going to sea again. Guy and Henry had concocted a story whereby they would recruit their old crews, such as were still in the city, still in good health and willing, and tell them that there was a voyage planned. They had impressed upon the crewmen that secrecy was of the essence, as the city was full of Saracen spies. If news of the impending voyage got out to the wrong people, then the ships and their lives would be in jeopardy from pirates, with slavery or death awaiting them just outside the harbor walls. The men they recruited were old hands and knew this to be true.

  The men who had formerly worked for the captains understood the risks, but the lure of the coin placed in front of them, with the promise of more, was sufficient for the moment. Almost to a man they were broke. Some were missing. Passage on other ships had been offered to a very few; others were dead or dying of some sickness or other. Guy and Henry were very careful whom they selected. They only took those who had taken care of themselves despite their privations. As they knew every one of their men by name it was relatively easy to put the word out to those they could trust. Talon’s name was not mentioned even once. These men would not know he was among them until the last moment. The danger of betrayal by stray word was too great, and Henry and Guy were well aware of this.

  Back at the dwelling, the three men discussed how they would take the ships back. There were no servants, nor would there be any, so cooking had been shared until Reza took over. “I cannot stand the disgusting mess those pirate friends of yours make of perfectly good vegetables and meat!” he’d exclaimed to Talon. “I shall cook, and you shall all eat what I cook and like it.”

  Talon had laughed and shrugged. “It cannot be worse than what Henry does.”

  “Your Henry is a barbarian of the worst kind with f
ood. I just hope he is a better sailor. When I first saw them in the light of day I could have sworn that the sea had tossed them onto the beach. Their beards were like seaweed, their clothes, if they can be called that, were rags, and their eyes are as blue as the sea they appear to love so much. At this moment I have no faith in him, nor the giant.” He waved dismissively at Guy, who was scowling at him. “At all!”

  Reza had then set to with Yosef to prepare the food, which had improved to quite a degree. Even Henry and Guy had to admit it, although grudgingly. “That dangerous companion of Talon’s knows how to cook, I’ll admit it,” Henry told Guy. “But there is something about him gives me the creeps.”

  Guy nodded agreement. “Talon has some strange friends, but I am sure they are loyal to him.”

  “Dear God, but I hope so,” Henry responded doubtfully.

  Now the group of men sat at another table and worked on some chainmail hauberks which they were tailoring to fit Henry and Guy. Henry had worn a hauberk before, but a long time ago, and Guy never. Those were for the knights or higher Orders, such as the Templars or the Hospitaliers.

  Now it was urgent to have both men, as well as Talon, dressed appropriately and correctly for the coming event. The three men, helped by the experienced Simon, fumbled with the needles and thread, unevenly stitching the cloth emblems onto the over-tunics with many a curse as a needle went into a finger or thumb instead of where intended while they went at their task. Hours later, Talon looked up and checked on the position of the sun.

  “We have to go,” he said. “Simon, are you ready?”

  Simon nodded an affirmative, and together with Reza they set out again to meet with Brother Martin, should he come by.

  It seemed hours that they waited, but it was not wasted, as Reza spent the time prowling around the area examining in minute detail how to gain access to Talon’s former property. Talon had told him that there would likely be hounds at the back, which would have to be dealt with. One of the items he had asked for from Rav’an had been some powder for just such a purpose; it worked for humans and dogs alike.

  Talon was just beginning to fidget with impatience when he noticed the figure of the monk walking along the by now quiet street towards the gates of the house. Even in the gloom he could see it that it was Martin. Talon nudged Reza, who was watching the other end of the street to make sure there would be not unwelcome surprises from that quarter. The watchman had not arrived yet to take up his station.

  “He comes; get ready.”

  Martin approached Simon and stooped over him. Simon gave him a feeble wave, pretending to be weak. Talon clearly heard Martin speak.

  “How are you, Simon?”

  “God willing, I am alive. Blessings upon you, Brother Martin, for you are very kind,” came the feeble response as Simon clutched at the half-loaf of bread the monk handed to him.

  “Pray, good Brother, what news of Max?” Simon asked.

  “Oh yes, that’s right. I did visit him today, which is why I am a little late,” Martin responded.

  “Is... is he well?”

  “As well as anyone could be who has been in jail for two years,” Martin said, with heavy sarcasm. “At least they feed him, but his health is failing. There has been no trial and I am concerned. They will not let anyone see him except me. Not even his own friends within the Order are allowed near him for fear of contamination.”

  “Contamination from what?” Talon asked.

  Martin lifted his head and turned slowly to face the dark figure that stood close behind him.

  “I would recognize your voice in any crowd, Talon,” he said, with a catch in his voice.

  “I would thank you for taking care of a retainer of mine, Brother. You were always charitable in your thoughts and ways.”

  “It is not only my duty but also my own desire to be charitable towards those who need it most,” Martin replied in an even tone.

  “Am I condemned then in your eyes, too?”

  Martin shook his head vehemently. “Much wrong has been done here, Talon. I know of what you did those years ago at the battle of Montgisard. Everyone knew, including... ” he gestured towards the house. “They, too, knew of your courage and sacrifice, but still they continued with malice and vengeance.”

  “Then you agree that I am innocent of these false charges of witchcraft, and so is Max?”

  Martin met Talon’s gaze, eye to eye. “I am aware of the charges that were brought against you by the diocese of Albi. Yes, I read the documents, although I did not tell Jonathan; he would not have allowed it. I have never seen any evidence of this witchery of which you are accused. In my heart I cannot agree with this. Max and yourself have been wronged. But, Talon, you must know that, should they discover your presence here in Acre, you would be in mortal danger.”

  “Then help me to gain Max’s release and I shall be gone from this rat hole,” Talon grated. Then they heard the sound of someone walking towards the gates behind them.

  “It is the watchman, Talon,” Simon whispered.

  Abruptly the sound of footsteps was replaced by a stumble, followed by faint choking sounds, then an eerie silence. All three men turned to stare down at the dark canyon of the street, but there was no further sound, and none saw any movement near to the doorway.

  “That is odd. I could have sworn that I heard someone walking towards the street. Its about the time when the watch-man arrives.” Martin continued to peer into the darkness.

  “Martin,” Talon whispered urgently, to get his attention back on the subject of Max. “I need your help to get Max out of prison. I know it will be very dangerous for you, but I am asking for your help for someone we both know is innocent. I do not care what they think of me, but Max should not be falsely accused, neither by his own Order nor the church.”

  Matin was silent for a very long moment, then he said.“I agree, Talon. What will you ask me to do?”

  “Tell me how to get to him. Where is he exactly?” There was a long pause. “Will you do this?”

  Martin reached out to hold onto Talon’s arm. “Yes, Talon, I shall do this; because I deem it to have been a great wrong.” He went on to give Talon detailed directions where Max was interred. Finally he said, “Will I hear from you again?”

  “It is in God’s hands now, Martin, know this: I shall not harm you.”

  Martin seemed to shrink at this, but he simply said, “Very well, Talon. I must go now, as I am late getting back to the house and they will send someone out for me before long. Good night to both of you. God bless.”

  “God bless you, Brother,” Simon said.

  Talon stood back and watched Martin go, then he took Simon’s hand and helped him up.

  “Do you think he can be trusted?” he asked Simon.

  “He is a good and pious man, Sir Talon. I don’t believe he will betray you.”

  By the time Martin had arrived at the gate and glanced back, there was no one to be seen. Neither Talon nor Simon were where he had left them. It was as though there never had been anyone on the street. He shivered and went inside the gate. He ignored the murmured words of the guards and walked, in a pensive mood, towards the main house, passing the very bench where he and Talon had last spoken to one another those several years before. Much had changed since then.

  He was now a virtual secretary to Brother Jonathan but had insisted, much to Jonathan’s annoyance, that he share his time between his work for the senior monk and the hospital where the sick and the poor were housed. His work with the Hospitaliers had not gone unnoticed. Normally the Orders were wary of the church and there was no love lost between the Bishop, who endlessly insisted upon his privileges and rights as a leader of the church, and the two Orders of the Templars and the Hospitaliers in Acre, but Martin had earned their trust and respect over the years.

  Now he pondered his discussion with Talon with concern. If he assisted Talon he stood to lose all of that, and possibly be accused as well. Even so, weighing the injustice done to Max, w
ho had always been kind and courteous to him, a man of integrity and honesty, against the accusations leveled at him by Brother Jonathan, Martin had little trouble knowing on whose side he stood. Over the years he had watched as Brother Jonathan had become more intense and more cruel in his incessant hunt, not only for Talon but others who might be considered heretics.

  His fanaticism unnerved Martin, who believed in right and wrong, but also the forgiveness of the sins of others, and he did not judge anyone harshly. He shook his head. He had made a decision, and for good or bad he would stick with it. He resolved to say special prayers at the church the next day.

  He entered the main hall of the house, which was quiet at this time of the evening. He was hungry, so he made his way towards the main dining area where he hoped to be able to find some food. As he entered the room, he noticed the number of candles that were lit. The room was bright with light; he wondered at the extravagance. Candles were expensive, even for the church. The smell of wax and burning candles filled the stuffy room, while shadows danced in the corners as the flames flickered. One larger, darker shadow stirred at the end of the table.

  “Where have you been?” Jonathan demanded.

  Martin started; he hadn’t really noticed the Brother. His attention had been on the bread and other food laid out on the table. There was no one else in the room. He cleared his throat. “I was delayed. First at the hospital, and then I met Simon on the street.” He had not lied, so he would not have to confess to anyone.

  “Who?” Jonathan asked.

  “Simon, you know, the old Templar retainer who has been on our doorstep for some years. Ever since you.... ” Martin left it at that. He was not a man to seek confrontation.

  “Oh, him. Why does he continue to hang around this place, I wonder? Won’t they take him in at the hospital?”

  “No, he refuses to go.” Martin helped himself to a leg of roasted chicken and took a chunk of bread from the dishes on the table. He dipped the bread in a saucer of oil and ate thoughtfully, and nearly didn’t register what Jonathan said next. “I beg pardon, Brother. What did you say?”