Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  “Don’t worry, Talon. Go home and look after the Lady Rav’an. We are all thinking of her, so please wish her well and God protect her. We all wish you a son.”

  Talon left that afternoon on board Guy’s ship. As they were leaving, with the rowers straining at their work to bring the large vessel out of the main shipping pack, they passed another vessel some distance away which Guy stared at as they passed. There were several men aboard, but his attention seemed to be riveted on the ship itself.

  “What are you staring at, Guy?” Talon asked as he observed his captain’s interest.

  “I don’t know for sure, Sir, but that ship looks very familiar. I could swear it is Nigel’s old ship, but that would be impossible.”

  Talon gazed back at the receding ship. He doubted that he could recognize it, but Guy seemed profoundly disturbed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “No, Talon, I am not sure, but for a moment I thought indeed it was the ship that Nigel used to captain. It must be my imagination.”

  Guy returned to his duties and before long was bellowing to the crew to hoist the sails and to hurry up about it. They had to get to their haven before nightfall. Talon stood at the after rail, looking back at the town and its walls, the beacon they were just passing and the shipping clustered back in the safety of the harbor. He was worried about Dimitri and his people. The game had just become very much more dangerous and Dimitri would need all his skills to avoid running up against the emperor’s new man.

  Back in the harbor of Famagusta, another man watched Talon’s ship leave the confines of the protected harbor and recede into the distance. Nigel had been stunned to see Guy standing on its deck and then to also see Talon, whom he recognized almost immediately.

  He had dived out of sight the moment he saw the two of them, but as soon as they moved past he found a place where he could observe without being seen. After they had gone, Nigel hastened to leave the ship and hurried off up the quayside to find his new master and pass along the news.

  “Are you sure you saw Talon and his ship?” Pantoleon demanded of Nigel, who had come running up to the villa to tell him. Nigel was still panting.

  “I am very sure indeed, Master,” he replied.

  “Hmm, this ties in with what I heard today,” Pantoleon said to Gabros. “But the fact that he is brazenly coming and going from this city is incredible! Well, the next time we will have him, and then the emperor will see how I operate.”

  He complimented Nigel on his discovery and invited him to stay the night.

  Dimitri’s found out soon enough that there were others watching the villa, and he concluded quite rightly that they were from the palace and belonged to Malakis. He simply told his men to stay as far away from these people as possible and watch the villa for any activity that might indicate either a hurried departure or a trip to somewhere by land. He felt a small thrill of excitement as he realized that he and his men were now at the center of something big.

  However, events were to prove dangerous within the space of two days. In the dark of night one of his men woke Dimitri unceremoniously with some unwelcome news. “What is it?” he grunted as he struggled out of a deep sleep.

  “Laskaris is dead!” the man whispered in a frightened tone.

  “What?” Dimitri was wide awake now. “What happened?” He pulled on his pants and boots and tried to collect his confused thoughts. Laskaris had been assigned to watch the villa that night, along with two others. They had not been clustered together, but each alone in their solitary look-out positions around the compound. Laskaris had been at the back, in a narrow alleyway that ran behind the villa walls.

  “Strabo found him when he went to replace him! His body was still warm. Strabo saw men sneaking through a doorway in the wall of the villa.”

  “Where is the body?” Dimitri demanded.

  “Er, it is still there. We did not move it.”

  Dimitri swore under his breath. They could have at least hidden the body. “I have to go and see for myself how he died, and we must bring him back.”

  They approached the darkened villa with caution. With his bow at the ready, Dimitri followed Strabo and Maymun. No lights showed anywhere, and the walls were black against a starry sky. They were far to close for comfort to the walls. On a clear night like this, anyone could peer over and see their silhouettes.

  They came across the body lying in a dark recess, just off the street. Dimitri nearly gagged; the stink of effluence and other waste was very strong. In the otherwise silent alley he could hear the squeaking of rats and rustle of other creatures. He squatted down and investigated. An arrow protruded from Laskaris’s back.

  A a signal from Dimitr, the three of them dragged Laskaris out of the stinking gutter and turned him half over. His head lolled back, displaying a dark, gaping gash in his throat. Again Dimitri had to control an impulse to retch. Behind him he heard Strabo sob. Why would someone cut his throat, having just killed him with an arrow? Dimitri asked himself. However, they had no time think beyond this point, as Maymun seized Dimitri by the sleeve and hissed, “Someone over there!”

  Dimitri peered into the darkness further up the street. “I don’t see anyone,” he whispered back.

  “It is man, and he runs away.” Maymun was still struggling with his Greek but the meaning was clear.

  “Deal with him! We can’t let anyone see this!”

  Maymun’s bow twanged and an arrow hissed away to land with an audible thump in the back of the running man, who pitched forward onto the dirt. He cried out and jerked several times, then went still. In the ensuing silence the men held their breath, listening and barely breathing. A sentry abruptly appeared on the walls of the villa and looked down towards them—the noises must have alerted him. They all froze in place, hoping he would leave, but he leaned over the low parapet of the wall and stared straight at them as though trying to discern their shapes more clearly. Abruptly he stood back, took up a bow and knocked an arrow. He couldn’t help it; Dimitri flinched. The sentry was about to loose off an arrow straight at them.

  Then Dimitri heard the twang of a bowstring in his ear, again from Maymun’s bow. The black silhouette on the wall gave a choking scream, fell forwards, then toppled down into the street to land with a heavy thump only a few paces from where they were hiding, to lie completely still, face down. Maymun leapt forward, kicked his victim over, broke the end off his arrow, then did the same to the first man. He rejoined them, carrying the fletched parts of both arrows, which he tucked away in his shirt.

  He nodded to Dimitri. “Time to leave. He go with us?” he asked, pointing to Laskaris.

  “Yes! Come on!” Dimitri whispered, frantic with worry now. They seized Laskaris by his arms and legs and rushed along the street to an intersection, down which they raced until Strabo pointed to another turn and there, well out of sight of the villa, they slowed to a walk, panting.

  Behind them they could hear shouts as the alarm was raised. Someone, another sentry perhaps, had heard the scream. Dimitri hastened his men along the darkened and deserted streets, praying that they would not be discovered by the night patrol, which on rare occasions had been known to do its duty.

  “No time to rest. We must hurry, for this whole town will be awake soon,” Dimitri chided his men.

  Gasping for breath, for Laskaris was not a lightweight, they arrived at the doorway of their own villa, and after a rapid tattoo of knocks were admitted by a very concerned group of men. His entire household was wide awake. Dimitri leaned over his knees. Only Maymun seemed to be alert and ready for anything.

  “Were we followed?” he asked Maymun, after he had taken a few wheezy breaths.

  “I do not think so, Dimitri,” he responded. “I watch out all the way home.”

  “Take him into the back room. I have to think.” Dimitri said. “Maymun, come with me.”

  They sat at the kitchen table and went over the events of the night.

  “Someone knows that we are w
atching the villa,” Dimitri said, taking a gulp of watered wine.

  “Just as importantly, they don’t like it and killed Laskaris because of it,” Strabo interjected, as he came into the room.

  “By now our other two men will have left. No one wants to be caught anywhere near that place,” Strabo stated. “Not if they have any sense, that is.”

  Dimitri had to agree. “But that means we have no watchers in place.” That bothered him, but he did not see how it could be helped. “The question is, who did it? And did the killer recognize Laskaris? Are we under suspicion?”

  As though he had forecast it, there were knocks on the front door. They all froze in place, until it had been established that it was their own men arriving from the villa.

  The two other watchers stumbled into the kitchen, looking worried and furtive. “Were either of you followed?” Dimitri immediately demanded.

  The two men shook their heads. “We came back by round about routes. There was no point in staying there. It was like a nest of hornets had come alive!” one of them said.

  “Laskaris was killed. We were trying to get his body away but someone saw us. Maymun got him, but a sentry on the wall heard something and then saw us. We had to kill him, and that raised the alarm.”

  His two other spies stood rooted to the floor with shock.

  Remembering how casually the sentry prepared to shoot whoever he saw down in the street below, Dimitri realized that was how Laskaris had died. Not because he was suspected of spying, but because he was there when the sentry wanted some target practice! He cursed out loud.

  “But that doesn’t explain the cut throat!” he exclaimed outright. Maymun heard him and offered an explanation.

  “Perhaps the man on the wall did not kill him immediately; from the way the arrow went in, that could be. He might have made noise and so the sentry finished the job with a knife?”

  Dimitri nodded reluctant acceptance of this possibility.

  “Perhaps. Well, we might have left them with a mystery of their own to solve. Oh God, what a mess! I hope it keeps the bastards awake at night, it certainly will me. We have to bury Laskaris, and it has to be now and in the garden.”

  A grave was dug in the garden by starlight. A prayer was muttered as the sheet-shrouded body was lowered into the deep hole and covered up.

  Dimitri posted guards and sent the rest of his men to bed. He, however, had work to do. A letter had to be prepared that could be sent to Talon with the dawn by pigeon, informing him of the disaster. He was not happy to note that he had only one pigeon left.

  Pantoleon had been woken by the alarm. He struggled out of his bed and hurried down to the ground floor, where he found Gabros.

  “What happened?” he demanded of his man, whose features were tight in the torchlight. Pantoleon wore only a robe but he carried his sword, ready for trouble.

  “Still trying to find out, Lord.” Gabros’s reply was curt. “Come with me. Whatever did happen occurred at the back.”

  They hurried along dark corridors past the occasional frightened servant, who huddled against the walls as they strode by, to arrive at the rear courtyard where the stables were located. Men were clustered on the top of the ten-foot tall walls, holding torches high and peering down into the street on the other side. The two men hurried up the stone steps and joined them. Seeing that it was Pantoleon, the men stopped their excited chatter and stood silent.

  “What has happened?” he asked.

  “Someone shot our man, Sir. He fell off the wall, do you see?”

  Pantoleon peered down at the figure lying sprawled at the base of his wall. “Looks dead. How was he killed?”

  “With an arrow, Lord,” Gabros remarked. “I can see it sticking out of him. But its fletch appears to be missing.”

  “Go and get him. We’ll find out soon enough,” Pantoleon ordered the men, who hurried off to do his bidding.

  While they were gone he thought about what had happened. Someone was sending a not too subtle message here, and he could guess who it might be. “It’s that toad, Malakis, I’ll wager,” he snarled to Gabros.

  “What’s the message, Lord? That we better not feel too secure?”

  “Just that, I think. Don’t say anything, and tell the men to keep their mouths shut. I will find out one way or the other, and Malakis will discover that it does not pay to kill my men.”

  Nigel had been woken by the disturbance, and he arrived on the wall as Pantoleon said this.

  “What seems to be the problem, Master?” he asked respectfully, looking around at the activity.

  “Our unspoken truce with the ‘Gatherer of information’, a prick called Malakis, has just been broken. We now do things my way, and he will be swept away with the same broom that takes care of the rest of my enemies.”

  Nigel nodded, not fully understanding.

  “You said you didn’t know where the ship Talon was on might be heading?” Pantoleon asked him.

  “No idea, Master,” Nigel shook his head.

  “Well, I have had time to think, and I suspect that I do. On the other side of the island are several harbors. Talon is in the castle Kantara, and I hear there is a harbor near there. That is where he will have gone.”

  He had their full attention now.

  “When and not if your friend comes back to Famagusta, we will be waiting for him. I want you to go back to your ship and find out from the people who hang about the warf what his ship was doing here in the first place. That should tell us where to begin.”

  “Very well, Master,” Nigel said. “I shall get back there at dawn.”

  “Be very discreet. Malakis must not hear about this. Do I make myself clear?”

  Malakis woke the next morning feeling better. He had supped well the night before and had helped himself to one of the women hangers-on who lurked in the back recesses of the palace. His thoughts drifted to the man Exazenos. He felt sure he could deal with the newcomer if he was careful.

  However, when he slouched into the kitchens he saw Asanes deep in conversation with one of his spies, who was gesticulating and talking in an agitated manner, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish gasping for air. Asanes was looking very concerned. Suddenly concerned, Malakis strode foward and arrived just as Asanes dismissed the spy and turned towards him.

  “Good morning, Sir,” Asanes said, his eyes shifty.

  “What was that all about,” Malakis demanded.

  “We lost a man last night, Sir. It was at the villa.”

  “Lost? What d’yer mean? Killed?” Malakis said, scowling.

  Asanes looked very uncomfortable. “My men said so, Sir. Shot to death with an arrow.”

  “What!” Malakis bellowed. All activity in the kitchen ceased for a long, silent moment.

  “Get back to your duties!” he snarled at the frightened cooks and maids.

  “Come with me.” He took Asanes by the sleeve. They left the kitchens and found a quieter place in one of the deserted alcoves.

  “He was killed with an arrow. Which means, to me at least, that he was shot from the walls.” Asanes said, looking belligerent. He didn’t like being manhandled, even by his boss.

  Malakis stood back with a puzzled expression on his face. “When did this happen? Are you sure?”

  Asanes rolled his eyes. “We found him this morning. My men were concerned that he had not reported in. I know an arrow when I see one,” he replied, his tone defensive.

  Malakis made a mental note to discipline his man for being insubordinate. “No, you halfwit. Are you sure it came from the walls of the villa?”

  “There was no one else there, Sir. Where else could it have come from?” His tone was less disrespectful now. “If I was going to kill someone on the street in the dark I’d use a knife, t not a bow. It’s dark and the chances of missing are great. It is better to cut the throat!”

  Malakis found a stool and sat down to think. If this were true then Exazenos had sent a very clear message: “Don’t hang arou
nd my villa or I shall kill your agents.”

  He nodded to himself. If this was not a declaration of war then he, Malakis, was not the emperor’s man. “Very well, you goat’s turd, war it is,” he muttered. “I’ll see you grovel just before I kill you myself.”

  “What’s that? Goat’s turd?” Asanes began to puff up again, having misheard. He was slightly deaf in one ear. He was constantly picking wax out of it with a finger nail.

  “War!” Malakis said with a sigh of exasperation.

  “War, Sir?”

  “Yes, war, you great lump of a pig’s breakfast! This is a declaration of war.” Malakis said. He raised his voice. “Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you.”

  All we have of freedom, all we use or know—

  This our fathers bought for us long and long ago.

  Ancient Right unnoticed as the breath we draw—

  Leave to live by no man’s leave, underneath the Law.

  Lance and torch and tumult, steel and grey-goose wing

  Wrenched it, inch and ell and all, slowly from the King.

  —Rudyard Kipling

  Chapter 28

  The Herb Garden and a New Addition

  Talon made his way down the slope to the walled-in area that had been built between the bailey and the mews towards the newly constructed herb garden. He was in a thoughtful mood and was not relishing the discussion to come with Theodora. Simon, the old soldier who now tended the garden under her supervision, pointed him in that direction.

  “She told me she is preparing some herbs for the Time, Sir Talon,” Simon wheezed. He was aging fast but seemed content with the work, which was not onerous and gave him opportunities to sit in the sun.

  “Thank you, Simon. How are you feeling today?”

  “So so, Sir Talon. These old bones need to rest a lot more than they did,” Simon said with a toothless smile. He huddled under his blanket a little more.