Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  Siranus was also weeping, but in between chokes and sniffling he said, “He must have known the emperor would be away, and so would a lot of other people, you included, my Lord. I am sure he would never have attempted anything like this had you been here. He is... has been obsessed with my Lady. He came in, he knocked me over,” Siranus showed Pantoleon a bruise forming on his upper cheek bone, “and, and then he attacked my mistress! God protect us all,” he whimpered.

  Pantoleon sensed the sobbing had eased on his shoulder as they spoke. He gently pushed Tamura away from him, still holding her by her upper arms. “Will you be all right?” he asked with concern. She nodded with her head down and her eyes half closed. “Yes, yes, I think so. I had no choice. He would not listen to me!” she sobbed and choked on her tears.

  Pantoleon took her around the other side of the bed and made her sit. “There now. It’s over. Sit here and get your breath,” he advised her. “You,” he pointed to the slave. “Get her some water to drink and help clean her up. Find her some clean clothes; she can’t remain in these.”

  “I have to ask,” he said as he crouched in front of Tamura, who was weeping silently with her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together in an agitated manner. “Did he violate you?”

  She shook her head and her hair flurried about her face, half hiding it from him. “Almost, he was nearly on top of me. He was so strong I could not stop him! He did not get beyond that but if the emperor ever hears of this he won’t believe me, then I shall die!” She wailed and reached for his arms. “Oh, what am I to do? That monster came here to, to... ” she didn’t finish, but the tears began to flow copiously again.

  Pantoleon had little time for tears and wails normally, but the girl’s distress affected him enough to elicit some sympathy for her plight. He came to a decision.

  “You need not worry, my Lady. I shall deal with this,” he told her. “Now you must calm down and we must make sure that no one knows but us. I shall have my people dispose of the body, and no one will be the wiser.”

  He almost smiled. He could take care of the problem, the emperor need never know, and the woman was his now without any shadow of doubt. The best kind of ally, right in the emperor’s bed chamber.

  “Oh, Exazenos, my Lord. How can I ever thank you?” she snuffled.

  “I am sure we can think of something,” he smiled over her shoulder as she came back into his arms.

  Seeing the narrow path before you

  Without any room to the left or the right

  Will you boast of what you are?

  With death and destruction like a wall

  On either side, will your heart hold out

  And will you be strong?

  —Hapenini

  Chapter 33

  1186

  News from Jerusalem

  Talon noticed that there was a newcomer in the population of the castle. He was a square looking man of about thirty years, with grey beginning to form at his temples, and oddly marred features. He also wore distinctive robes, and Talon realized that the priest had arrived. On a signal, Max brought the man to Talon’s work chamber and left him at the door. Talon stood up and waved the man to a seat opposite him. The priest walked into the chamber, looking nervous, and introduced himself as Psellos. He accepted a cup of wine and drank it appreciatively.

  “This vintage is coming along, Lord,” he said respectfully. “The villagers told me that you had taken an interest in their crops and their wine. I thank you for your mercy, and may God bless you.”

  Talon smiled. “Bless me for making a better wine, or for encouraging the villagers, Psellos?”

  Psellos chuckled. “Both, perhaps.” There was a small silence, then Talon asked bluntly.

  “What happened to you?” the man’s nose was virtually destroyed, and he breathed sonorously through what was left of it.

  Psellos’s gray eyes regarded Talon without fear. “A Frank called Châtillon, a murderous Lord from the Kingdom of Jerusalem, once visited this island. When he did, he ordered that all the priests, of the Orthodox Church, mind you, should have their faces disfigured.” He indicated his face. “This is what happened to me.”

  Talon leaned forward. “I know this man, and I heard that he came to this island and disgraced himself. Did Manuel pardon him? I think I heard that?”

  “He did, and I forgive him for it, although it was without provocation and some died as a result.”

  “He is a very mean-minded man, that Châtillon,” Talon said, his anger visible on his features. “I am sorry for what he did, and I do not forgive him. Perhaps God will one day, but he is loathsome.”

  “You clearly have met him.”

  “Oh yes, we have indeed met, and on that occasion we were lucky. We sent him back to his lair with his tail between his legs.”

  The priest’s eyes flashed; did Talon detect that he was pleased?

  “They say...,” Psellos hesitated. “I do not wish to offend, Lord.”

  “You may speak to me freely.”

  Psellos continued. “They say that you are a... magician, and that many fear you and your close followers, Lord, but... they also say that you are a fair and just man.”

  “I hope that the villagers feel that way. But you should know this, Priest. I do not harm those who would befriend me, nor my retainers, nor those under my protection. I shall use my powers only to protect them, the villagers and the herders, and you.”

  “I will serve you as best I am able, Lord.”

  “Do not betray me, serve the villagers well, and I will ask nothing more,” Talon responded. “If there are improvements needed to the chapel, let me know and we can make repairs. I wish to be informed when next you have a service, as I intend to be there.”

  Psellos looked pleased. “Thank you, Lord. This I shall do. May God bless you for your kindness.”

  Psellos rose to leave, and after a bow, departed.

  A little later there was a light knock on the door and Theodora put her head in the entrance.

  “Talon, may I come in?”

  “Of course, Theo. You are always welcome here,” he said rising. “I have just met the priest.”

  “Psellos? Yes. He was a little nervous, having heard all those lurid tales about you.”

  “I did what I could to reassure him.”

  “Give him time. He has only heard from the villagers, and they think you can fly, hurl thunderbolts when enraged, and work all sorts of magic.” She smiled mischievously at him. “The rest of us will tell him about the real Talon over time.”

  “How have you been since I saw you last?” he enquired, leaning over the table with a smile.

  “Very well. I am kept busy and that is good... given what is going on in Famagusta.”

  “Dimitri tells me that affairs are somewhat chaotic in the palace. Somehow the emperor’s retainers are dying all over the place.” He chuckled.

  Theodora looked apprehensive. “Does that mean that Pantoleon is consolidating his hold?”

  Talon rubbed his face with both hands. He was tired. “That might be the case, but we have a spy in the middle of it all, so we will be kept informed of anything that he or Isaac thinks of doing.”

  “He will bring terror to this country,” she said, her tone bitter.

  “I fear so, but the emperor had already done that. What we have to do is to anticipate their next moves and try to stop them where we can. You are safe here, Theo. Remember that.”

  “I know, Talon, and I am very grateful. I love Rav’an and Jannat, who have made us more than welcome. On that note... ”

  “What is it, Theo?”

  “Jannat is going to have her baby soon, which is to be expected; but Simon is not doing well.”

  “How bad is it for him?” asked Talon. He felt guilty that he had not gone to see his old retainer since his return.

  “I do not think he will last another month, Talon.”

  “Then let’s go and see him now,” he said, standing up.

&n
bsp; The visit to Simon was short, as he was asleep, but it was clear to Talon that his old retainer was not going to see the winter through. His cheeks were sunken and his breathing labored.

  “I have given him herbs to ease the difficulty with his breathing, but there is little else I can do,” Theo whispered to him as they left.

  He shook his head sadly. “So many are leaving, or have left. God be kind to their souls,” he murmured.

  She squeezed his arm. “You have provided a haven for those you trust and protect. Be proud of that, Talon,” she said in a low voice.

  Life began to settle into a comfortable routine. The main event was that Jannat gave birth to a healthy boy, a few days later than anticipated and after a long night. The two men were again excluded from the birthing chamber. It was almost dawn and streaks of light had already begun to show in the east when Rav’an came down the stairs and told Reza he could go up and see his wife. Without a word but a dazed look and a gulp, he scampered up the stairs.

  “It is a boy, and Jannat wants to call him Firuz. I hope that Reza is in accord,” she told Talon, as he came to sit next to her and took her in his arms. “You look tired, my Love,” he said.

  “Not as tired as Jannat, I dare say. Or Theo, who took care of matters. That woman is a wonder. The Byzantine Greeks seem to be far ahead of the Franks when it comes to medicine and care.”

  “You are correct; the Latins have nothing to match it. The Greeks are in the same league as the Persians and the Egyptians. The Doctor Habbib would have enjoyed a visit to Constantinople; their hospitals are similar to the ones he is used to.” He sighed. “Or they were. From what Theo has told us, the hospitals have suffered from the political upheavals. Were there not so much conflict, I think everyone would be further along with their medicines.”

  At that moment Max wandered into the room, blinking like an owl. “Well, has she had the baby yet?” he demanded, with a smile at Rav’an.

  “She has, and it is time we all went up and congratulated the proud parents,” Rav’an told him.

  They arrived just as Reza was picking up his newborn son with a look of wonder on his dark features. “We have a son!” he exclaimed with a huge grin.

  “What is his name?” Talon asked, when he had finished admiring the bundle in Reza’s arms.

  “His name is Firuz, we have agreed,” Reza stated with a fond look at Jannat, who gave him a tired smile, strands of her hair still wet with sweat. Talon glanced over at Theodora, who was cleaning up while watching them.

  “Thank you, Theo, for looking after our sister,” he said.

  She smiled back. “It was not too difficult. Jannat is a very healthy girl,” she stated. “Now all of you must leave her to rest. It has been a long night for all of us.”

  But Talon was awakened by Rostam, who tentatively spoke to his father from the doorway of the bedchamber only a few hours later. Talon got out of bed, trying not to disturb Rav’an, who murmured. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, my Love,” he told her. “Go back to sleep.” he glanced back at her as he was leaving. Her hair was strewn about her in a tumble of tresses while she burrowed under the blankets and furs. He wished he was back there with her, for the morning was chill.

  “What is it, Rostam?” he asked his boy as they headed down the stairs to the kitchens for something warm to eat and drink.

  “A message has come in from Dimitri and another from Boethius, Father.”

  “Did you read them?”

  “Yes. Dimitri said that ‘P’ is now fully in charge of gathering information in the palace. All opposition gone. And Boethius said that Jacob is in Paphos and wants to see you. He said it is urgent and that he will bring Jacob here.”

  Talon digested this information as he munched on a piece of bread and sharp goat’s cheese at a kitchen table, while the cooks and servants went about their business around the two of them.

  So Pantoleon was now virtually in charge. Talon hoped he had not made a terrible mistake. On reflection, there had not been very much he could have done. This would mean hard times for the island, of that he was sure. He wondered what Boethius wanted. His daughter Irene seemed happy enough at present. Talon doubted she should go back, however. It was precisely young girls that Isaac targeted on his regular rounds of his “empire”. She was safe here.

  A week later Boethius appeared at the castle, accompanied by Jacob from Acre. They had been ferried to the harbor by Henry, who was doing some trading with the eastern coast, often going to Tripoli to buy and sell, since he no longer sell in Famagusta. He also stayed well away from Acre. The crops and olive products were coming along, and so was the production of copper ore. In exchange they brought back Gaza fabric and silk which Rav’an and Jannat, with the help of some of the more adept village womenfolk, turned into clothes. Much else found its way back—including news.

  Talon and his extended family welcomed the the Greek and the Jewish merchants, and over a good feast of venison, new-baked bread and vegetables hoarded for the winter, they heard tell of the general events going on in Palestine. Talon knew he could wait for Jacob to pass along the more important information later in the privacy of his work chamber.

  When they were seated before a blazing fire and Boethius had been given a cup of wine, which Jacob declined, Talon asked the question. Max and Reza were with him, and all were eager to hear what Jacob had to say.

  “Tell me, Jacob. Why would you risk the dangers of a winter sea just to come all this way to see me?” Talon asked with a smile at his agent.

  Jacob smiled back and warmed his hands at the fire before answering. He looked older than Talon remembered: careworn.

  “I shall be glad to talk about that in due course, Sir Talon, but first, perhaps, some news which will I hope substantiate what comes next.”

  “Tell me what you know,” Talon prompted him.

  “The first thing is that the King has died. But you knew that,” he said with a sharp look at Talon, who nodded. “Yes, I knew,” he responded. “March of last year,” he said, his tone curt. He had mourned the King, whom he had respected enormously, and dreaded the future now that he was gone.

  “Now the boy King, Baldwin, the late King’s nephew, is very sick. The nobles are bickering endlessly over the succession, even before he is dead! The loudest voice belongs to one Raynald de Châtillon; do you know of him?”

  “Oh yes, we do indeed. If ever there was a man who should not be allowed to dictate events, it is he.”

  Jacob nodded his head sagely. “You know your man, Sir Talon. Alas, it is indeed unfortunate. The young King is not expected to live beyond this year.”

  Talon was startled. “Is not Count Raynald of Tripoli still regent? Is he not in control of events in Jerusalem?” he demanded.

  “That is his appointment, but alas, in name only. Lord Joscelin, Count of Edessa, Raynald de Châtillon and Gerard de Ridefort have all but usurped power for themselves and have accused My Lord Raymond of Tripoli of conspiring with Salah Ed Din. Châtillon in particular is most vitriolic about this, saying that he has become more of a Saracen than the infidels themselves.”

  Talon snorted with contempt and poured a cup of water, which he handed to Jacob.

  “What is to become of the kingdom if young Baldwin dies?” he asked.

  “Now therein lies the problem, Sir Talon. We talk about it endlessly, trying to see into the future, and we see much trouble ahead for our kind.”

  “Go on.”

  “To answer your question, Sir Talon, it is very likely that the three lords in question will choose Sibylla, the late King’s sister. Raymond of Tripoli favors her half-sister Isabella, but he lacks support.”

  There was a long silence at this point. Talon explained what was happening to Reza, who had not followed the intricacies of the discussion, while the rest of the men in the room were silent. Then Talon said, “So this brings us to what is going on in the camp of Salah Ed Din.”

  Jacob looked up from his musings. “Ye
s, that is right, Sir Talon. I personally do not think it will be long before he makes another attempt upon Jerusalem. His spies must be telling him the time is ripe.”

  “If I am not mistaken he has his own problems with his tribes,” Max remarked.

  “Although that is true, he is in a very strong position now. He holds Damascus and Aleppo, which are the two most strategic cities in Syria. From there he threatens Antioch and the kingdom of Armenia. The Christians of the Kingdom cannot protect them. So they, like Tripoli, have made separate treaties with him. Which, being the man he is, Salah Ed Din will honor, and that is more than can be said of men like Joscelin and de Châtillon,” Jacob responded. “For Salah Ed Din it is a question of timing. His tribal leaders cannot war all year around. They have to supervise their harvests and be present for tribal meetings. Without them he cannot threaten the Christians.”

  “Should we then be so concerned?” Reza asked. He had followed that part.

  “I feel that we should be, Reza. I do not think it will be this year; however, next summer is another matter,” Jacob said. “Salah Ed Din has made the commitment that he and he alone can take Jerusalem back from the Christians, but he is very dependent upon his tribes and their quarrelsome leaders.” Jacob gave them all a wry smile. “I sometimes wonder who is the most quarrelsome of either side,” he said.

  “Now that we know this much, what is your concern, and that of your people?” Talon asked.

  Jacob was silent for a long moment before answering. “Acre is no longer a safe haven for Jews. When princes quarrel and fight, they want treasure, and they will take it from whomsoever is most vulnerable. We Jews are the most vulnerable, and the Bishop of Acre would not stop someone like Joscelin from coming in and taking what he wants from us.”

  Talon thought about this. “Where would you go?”

  “That is a difficult question, Sir Talon. One which we are still pondering.”

  “One thing is certain. You cannot come here,” Talon told him. He held up his hand to forestall a rely from the surprised Jacob. “Hear me out,” he said.