“All you men want to do is to compare the length of your pricks while pretending you are talking politics!” she snarled back.
Their warm-hearted chat was interrupted by the arrival of the newcomers. Palladius led the guests into the hall and past the curious retainers, of which there were not many, to present them to his Lordship and Lady seated at the high table.
“My Lord and Lady Cyricus Doukas,” he called out loudly. “Sir Talon de Gilles and the Lady de Gilles.”
Cyricus blinked. A Frank! Ignorant sod; probably couldn’t speak a word of Greek, which meant he would have to dredge up what French he had gleaned at his tutor’s table. What was the fellow doing here?
He sat up and stared at the couple in front of him. What he saw was not so much a knight as an unkempt, slightly foppish looking merchant with, it had to be admitted, a very beautiful woman at his side. The man looked muscular, his beard barely concealed a long scar, and another, smaller one that ran from just under his eye down his right cheek gave a slightly sinister aspect to his visage. The curiously unsettling green eyes that regarded Doukas seemed, however, to be free of guile; they were friendly and respectful.
“If I may to present my wife, Rav’an,” he said in good Greek, after delivering an elaborate bow while sweeping off his hat. Cyricus barely heard him. He could hardly take his eyes off the woman and couldn’t remember her name within seconds of being told. He stared rudely at the apparition in front of him who, despite being in an advanced state of pregnancy, was stunningly beautiful. The pale olive skin and almost heart-shaped face with the huge gray eyes and the full lips of a mouth that was ever so slightly too large left him speechless.
His own wife scowled at him. “Where are your manners, Cyr?” she demanded, having had enough of this ogling. “I apologize for my husband, he sometimes has lapses of attention,” she said to the visitors.
“Shut your mouth, Cyr, it’s drooling,” she snapped in an undertone to him, then she simpered at the visitors. “Please join us for supper. You arrived just in time.”
Talon bowed low again and smiled. Rav’an dropped a demure curtsey. They were shown to seats to the right of their hosts at the high table overlooking the retainers who sat below.
Cyricus managed to pull himself together and sat back, taking a long swig of wine from his silver cup. He tore his eyes away from Rav’an and glanced at Talon, who was seated at the table looking slightly amused, but who also seemed keen to talk.
“De Gilles? Isn’t that a Frankish name?” Cyricus demanded in Attic Greek.
“It is indeed, Sir. You are very perceptive.”
“So where do you come from, Sir Talon?”
“Originally we came by ship from Sicily. I am in the service of King William. You know him? We visited Paphos and met with the emperor—alas, very briefly; then we were on our way north.”
Cyrus sat up. “King William is indeed a friend of the emperor,” he stated with surprise and a touch more respect. He had not expected to be conversing with one of the barbaric Franks in Attic Greek. Perhaps this merchant knight had influence with Isaac. It could, therefore, do no harm for him to treat him civilly. “What brought you to this remote area of Cyprus, Sir Talon?”
“Thank you for asking, my Lord. Yes, yes it is remote, isn’t it? It was the foul weather and God’s grace. We ran into a storm while on our way north towards Rhodes, where my wife has family and I have business, and our ship sustained some damage. We were blown far off course; hence we were forced to put into the nearest place of refuge, which turned out to be your harbor. I hope you don’t mind? I will willingly pay for our stay.”
Cyricus shrugged his shoulders dismissively, but he was becoming interested in how much he could lever out of this bland-looking man.
Talon continued. “They have no accommodation in that small village which would be suitable for my wife and her condition. I decided to throw myself upon your mercy and kindness and beg a few nights of sanctuary in your home while repairs are underway.”
Flavia had by this time turned to Rav’an and was attempting to engage her in conversation, with minimal results. Rav’an only spoke a smattering of French, and little Greek. Flavia switched to her own limited French and tried again. The results were less than satisfactory.
Talon smiled at Flavia. “You must forgive my wife for not understanding, my Lady. She is from Sicily. I am having a hard time teaching her my own language! Ha Ha!” he laughed loudly as though he had made a joke. Flavia shook her head and stared at Rav’an, who, head down, was nibbling at the roasted grouse in front of her. Cyricus joined in the laughter and slapped Talon on the shoulder. “To have a beauty like this for wife? I wouldn’t care what language she spoke! Or none at all!” He glanced at his wife, who glowered, and he subsided into his cups again.
Once they were past the pleasantries Talon had no difficulty in passing along the news of Isaac’s movements. Cyricus nodded his head. “He is probably meting punishment upon the merchants in that foul city, Paphos. It does not pay to be disrespectful of our new Emperor. He appointed me Castilian as a reward for helping him take Famagusta, you know.”
Talon wondered what part the heavily overweight man might have played in storming a fortified town like Famagusta.
“How did you know my name?” Cyricus asked him. His voice had become slightly slurred, as he had drunk copious amounts of wine under the disapproving glare of his wife. His eyes rarely left the demure form of Rav’an, who kept her eyes downcast the entire meal. Talon had a shrewd idea what was passing through the lecherous man’s mind. They would have to be very careful.
“I know of you by reputation, Lord Doukas. The people of Paphos told me of your exploits, and several told me that I should try to meet you. Fate has stepped in and allowed me that opportunity. I am honored to be here.”
Cyricus beamed, then belched and took another swig. He shrugged depreciatingly, pretending modesty. “I did my part for the emperor and he rewarded me appropriately. This is a very important stronghold, and the emperor wanted only the most trusted of his people to hold it.”
Talon raised his cup. “I would toast you, my host. To trusted and loyal servants of the Emperor!” he said, pretending to quaff his wine.
Cyricus chuckled and then gulped his cup down. Even Flavia, who had given up trying to converse with Rav’an, took a large swig—probably to soften the blow of not having anyone to talk to other than her pig of a husband, who was signaling for the wine bearer to refill his cup. She noticed with disgust her husband’s gaze wander back to Rav’an, who now looked up and smiled innocently at him.
He nearly spilled his wine, he was so surprised.
“How... how long would you like, I mean, intend to stay?” he asked Talon, never taking his eyes off Rav’an and wiping his mustache with a gleam in his eye.
“As long as you will have us, my Lord, and the repairs are done. I was told it might even be a week,” said Talon with an ingratiating smile, as though he had noticed nothing.
Darkness had fallen and servants were placing torches in sconces along the walls of the hall. Expensive candles also graced the high table, shedding a sputtering light upon the table cloth littered with small bones and spilled food. His lordship was not a tidy eater.
“Tell me more of the emperor, my Lord. I heard that he is a strong man, even a great man,” Talon said, as he observed the coming and going of the servants out of the corner of his eye.
“He is a Komnenos, so of course he is brilliant. His distant uncle is also brilliant, but alas, there is no love lost between them. Isaac is a shrewd tactician. Prince William knows this and may use him to help take the empire of Byzantine away from Andronicus. I myself am a Doukas and related via his grandfather, who was the Komnenos Doukas,” Cyricus said proudly, and he placed his finger alongside his nose, looking cunning. Flavia looked surprised and then nervous at this display of confidence and placed a restraining hand on his arm.
Cyricus chose to ignore her and carried on. “The
way he took control of this island was a lesson to all men. Cyprus is rich—I don’t know if you noticed the fertile valleys on the way here—and there is much trade between this island and Venice, as well as the mainland. We have extensive copper mining, too. It won’t be long before he strikes out and takes what is his by right.”
“You mean... ?” Talon asked tentatively, his eyes wide open with feigned surprise.
“Oh yes, he intends to take for himself the Empire, and Prince William is going to help him do it.”
Talon continued to sound astonished. “Indeed, I can think of no one more worthy of the right,” he said.
Just at that moment Talon felt a wet nose on the end of a muzzle being thrust into his side. Turning, he saw it was one of the hounds he had met several nights ago. He fondled its ears and slipped it a morsel of chicken. Then its companion, seeing rewards were on offer, did the same and went off with a nice piece of pork between its teeth. Both seemed pleased to see him.
Rav’an looked askance at him, but he just winked at her.
“Lord Doukas also noticed. “I see you like hounds, Sir Talon,” he slurred with genuine surprise in his voice.
“I have always had a soft spot for hunting hounds, My Lord,” Talon responded with an easy smile.
This seemed to revive their host somewhat. He actually sat up straight in his chair and beamed. “Then while you are here we must go hunting! I have hawks and hounds for both the small and the large game, which are plentiful here,” Cyricus announced.
Talon smiled again. “I look forward to that, Lord.”
Later, as they were preparing for bed in a guest room at the end of the same passage as the Lord and his lady, Rav’an made sure that their door was securely closed and forced a wedge in to keep it so; then she turned to Talon with a grimace of disgust.
“You once told me that the Byzantine Greeks were civilized people, Talon. I saw no evidence of that tonight. And do those smelly hounds have to be with us all night?” she demanded, pointing to the two huge animals that had attached themselves to Talon and were now settling down on a large mat near the window.
Talon grinned in the flickering light of the candle. He couldn’t resist saying, “You look enchanting and so demure, my Love. Who would have thought it?”
He laughed at her glare, then waved his hand at the hounds.
“Yes, they do have to stay. If they wander, who knows what they might find creeping about in the night? You are spoiled, my Love. We spent too long in China. We find everyone else is a barbarian by comparison. But... this man is not typical. He might use the fork, but he really is a pig.”
“His wife isn’t any better. Did you see how she shoveled the food into her mouth?” Rav’an exclaimed. “Yecch! I wonder what is living in our beds!” She went over and drew wide the curtains shrouding the bed, then pulled the bed clothes open to examine them by candlelight.
“I am making a huge sacrifice here, what with flea-ridden beds and dogs in my bedroom, my Husband. Nor shall I rest comfortably until this plan of yours is done, I swear it. How much longer will it be before you have the castle for ourselves?”
“Shhh!” He put a finger to his lips. “I hope that by midday tomorrow all will be changed,” Talon said. “Come here,” he whispered.
She slipped into his arms. “I hope he doesn’t try to get into this chamber tonight, the lecherous old fart.” She giggled and clutched at her throat theatrically with one hand as though trying to choke herself, while pretending to be sick.
“He’ll never get in.” Talon shook with mirth at her antics. “I’ll set his own hounds on him. There’s no love lost there.”
He glanced out of the narrow opening in the wall that overlooked the north side. There was nothing to be seen at present. He looked up at the sky. There was a thin crescent of a moon tonight, which would help Henry and his men with the slave pens, and Guy’s men who were going to secure the harbor.
Later that same night, Yosef and his men, having waited patiently for the inhabitants of the fortress to go to their beds and the candles to be extinguished, began their preparations for the next morning. Each one of them had a task to perform and he needed to be in place well before dawn.
Yosef and Junayd first walked casually past the kennels, which Talon had described to them, and some meat went into the compound. There were scuffles as the half-dozen dogs growled and fought over the scraps, which were covered with a strong powder to make them sleep. Yosef and Junayd waited in the dark shadows until there were no further sounds from the dogs, then went to the north tower and lowered ropes to the waiting men below. Guy had selected the toughest of his men to join Yosef. It didn’t take long for them to climb the ropes and to gather on the deserted ramparts.
Yosef led them to various places in and around the walls, the bailey, its kitchens and storerooms where servants slept, and especially near the barracks. There they were to hide until the word was given by Talon. There was only one time when Yosef thought he might have to deal with one of the guards. The man seemed to be restless and walked around the bailey tower, peering into the night, but all that greeted him were the usual night noises of owls and the squeaks of small animals in the nearby forest below. Yosef kept an eye on the man, ready to take him out with an arrow; but eventually the fellow yawned, stretched, then returned to the barracks, closing the door behind him.
For the period of about an hour there was intense activity as the phantoms, guided by Yosef and Junayd, found their hiding places; and then Talons ‘servants’, augmented by crew members, settled down to await the dawn. Much now depended upon how successful Reza and Dimitri were with the slaves.
Henry and his men were waiting under cover of darkness. Dar’an, Maymun and Nasuh were in Reza’s charge; their task was to first immobilize the guards and the overseers at the slave camp. Then Henry and his men would enter the compound and try to ascertain who was capable of joining with them for the uphill trek in the morning. The goal was to give the appearance of the usual movements of the slaves arriving for the day’s labor.
Talon had made it clear that should the alarm be raised by some alert guard, his people inside the castle would take out the sentries and open the gates, but he would prefer their strike to be completed without excessive loss of life. As he explained it to his officers.
“Lord Hsü taught me that it preferable to surround your enemy, even as he watches you doing so, and then you have a choice of whether to annihilate his forces or take them prisoner. A pitched battle could go badly at any point, as they still outnumber us, and thus is undesirable, so control your more bloodthirsty men.”
But some bloodshed was unavoidable. Talon and Reza had discussed whether to allow the camp guards to live, but finally agreed that it was far too risky. So Reza and Dar’an slipped forward in the dark to began their bloody work. The drink-sodden camp guards were killed first, and then the two assassins hunted down the overseers in their beds. It was over within minutes, and Reza appeared at Henry’s side to tap him on the shoulder. Henry jerked; he had not heard a sound, but there was Reza pointing to the compound. Shaking Dimitri awake, Henry passed the word along to his waiting men. It was time to move.
Quietly, as they didn’t want any noise to alert someone in the nearby village, the crew, with Henry in the lead, passed through the gates of the compound. Henry saw shadows moving swiftly about the compound: Reza and his killers making sure that no one other than the slaves inhabited the noisome place. There were three huts, more like open-walled sheds, where the prisoners were clustered in exhausted sleep.
As he stood over the pitiful groups of half-starved men, Henry shook his head. The slaves had no form of comfort, lying in their own filth, unable to go anywhere without dragging along the other men who were chained to them.
“Wake them up, do it as quietly as you can,” he told his men.
Soon most of the slaves were awake, their scared, drawn faces looked up at a large group of heavily armed, bearded men who were complete stra
ngers.
“Who speaks Greek?” Dimitri demanded.
Many raised their hands. A frightened murmuring began.
“Be quiet! We are not here to harm you!” Henry raised his voice. The murmuring quieted.
“Who are Franks?” Several others raised their arms in mute surprise.
Then Reza asked if there were any Arab speakers, and still more raised their hands.
“Well, we have quite a party here,” Henry remarked. “Dimitri and Reza, will you translate what I have to say?”
They both nodded the affirmative, and Henry then explained what he wanted from the slaves. When he finished, he asked, “What time in the morning do you leave for the Castle?”
Sergeant Palladius began his rounds as always by checking that the guards at the gate were awake. It would not be the first time he had come across one of the younger, more callow youths who called themselves soldiers asleep in a corner when they should have been watching the trail below.
While he was quite confident that they could hold off an army because of the castle’s perch on the ridge, Palladius knew that an enemy could always surprise the unwary and the careless. He talked briefly to the sentries, who assured him that nothing untoward had occurred during the night. Even the dogs had been quiet, which was a little unusual. The only thing of passing interest had been that one of the men had taken a walk along the North side just as a routine check in the early hours and had seen some torchlight down in the slave quarters, but he had heard no alarms. The sentry only mentioned it as a point of interest in another boring night.
Palladius noted the report, but he was too busy kicking the day guards out of bed and threatening them with a flogging if they didn’t show up for duty within the half hour to ponder the event. Having then dismissed the night guard and shoved the gate guards into place, he awaited the inevitable arrival of his Lord and master. He needed to compose his features into one of respect; his contempt for his master sometimes made him forget himself. Palladius was a professional mercenary who believed in good soldiering, and this was not it.
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