He remembered too well the painful lessons of knife, stick, spear, sword, and the stealth mandated by harsh instructors. All this passed through his mind. Then of his parting from Rav’an, the girl he had fallen in love with while they escaped the clutches of her cruel uncle. His sense of loss extended to his brother assassin Reza, who had been through so much with him while they were boys. Everyone on the ship knew that he had been brought aboard in chains by Templar knights and only released when the ship was well on its way out to sea. Few on the ship aside from his uncle and the sergeant, Max, who accompanied him, knew the reason for this.
It had been because of a fight he had had with one of the Templars who had taunted him beyond the point of no return. This same knight had captured Talon while on a patrol that intercepted him, imprisoned him, and despite his entreaties, had prevented him from finding a way back to his friends.
He had slain the man in a knife and stick fight which, though fair, had nearly cost him his own life—the people of the castle had wanted to hang him there and then. It had only been because of the timely intervention of an understanding man, Sir Guy de Veres, who had taken Talon under his protection and sent him back to France with his Uncle Philip, that Talon had escaped the crowd’s anger. Sir Guy had admonished Philip to make sure Talon met his parents and stayed there while things cooled down in Palestine.
His Uncle Philip told him, once they were at sea and his chains were removed, that Sir Guy had seen much potential in Talon and expected him to return to Palestine one day. Talon had said nothing then, but this had confirmed his resolve one day to do just that. Right now he wasn’t eager to share his personal experiences with anyone, even these newfound companions.
Gareth and his crew were not so reserved about their time in the Holy Land.
“We followed a Norman Marcher Baron, the Devil’s curse be on him, in the hopes that we might find plunder in the form of gold and wealth while on crusade,” Gareth told Talon. “Instead, we found sickness and disease, harsh conditions and worse. Because we were Welsh, we were treated very badly by the English. Several of our number—we started out as fifteen—died of the bloody flux on one of the sieges, and others from festering wounds.”
“Why would the English treat you so badly?” Talon asked.
“Because we are Welshmen! Our land is not governed by the kings of England, although they would like to take our land. King Henry of the English has tried again and again.”
“Do you then have a king of your own?”
“Our Princes owe fealty to the King of England, but we are a free people,” Gareth said proudly.
Gareth counted himself lucky he and his companions had been able to break away from the English baron’s army and come home. Talon wondered if they had deserted. He thought he might have, under the circumstances. He doubted that they had lacked courage; he had seen firsthand how they took to fighting.
Philip, who had been listening on one of the occasions they were talking, had suggested that they all travel together. He needed to go in the direction of Carcassonne in any case, once he had visited one of the main Templar strongholds called Mas Dieu.
Talon had formed an attachment to Max. The sergeant was a scarred, hard-bitten man who had seen many fights in the Holy Land but was now attached to Philip for the duration of their visit to France. He seemed to like Talon.
“Mas-Dieu is one of these places along our route on the other side of Montpellier. It was originally a number of farms that supplied stores and food to the Templar cause, young master, but over time has become much more. They are training establishments and depots for the shipment of supplies to the Outré Mere.”
“That must be expensive, Max,” Talon said.
His education in Persia had included numbers and he was aware of the costs of armor, and the accoutrements of war were expensive in any quantity.
“You're right. The money is often donated by highly placed barons or lords who support the Templars, but also from the Church. Mas Dieu is one of these places.”
Philip, who had been listening, said, “There is another near the town of Roussillon. They are well protected places of refuge for Templar and travelers alike, and many have become almost wayside stations for travelers of the poorer kind.”
“Are they like castles?” Talon asked. He had in mind the castle of Montfort that was full of Templars.
“No," Max replied. "The Order doesn’t have a need for castles in this country, but they're still well protected, and they have churches or chapels. All of the Order’s buildings have these, because the Templar Order is very pious. They are often dedicated to Sainte Marie the Virgin,” Max said. “But they are centers of more than that, they are places where we can rest and provide news and gain news of events elsewhere.”
“I hope to pick up news of events in the region and also to be able to send a letter back to Acre to report our arrival,” Philip said.
After some discussion Gareth and his men agreed to come with them. Numbers would always make a difference, and the additional fact that Philip was a Templar was a guarantee of safety in itself; it would ensure that they would not be harassed as much as they would if they traveled without him.
Then it became a matter of the captain obtaining a berth alongside the crowded quay and unloading the horses, while Talon with his uncle and Max obtained supplies and clothes for themselves within the city.
The captain had embraced Philip, Max, and Talon as they left the ship, saying that he owed them his life, and so did his passengers and crew, to Talon’s quick thinking. He waved off the remaining fee saying that he had covered his costs and would be glad to forego the profit, as he still had his life.
Talon experienced a sense of excitement as they came ashore; the noise and bustle that went with a busy port town pounded on the senses. The waterfront was a hive of activity beneath the great walls with their numerous towers; the shouts of the sailors and landsmen were joined by the screaming of the gulls that flew in low arcs around the harbor basin, looking for scraps of garbage being tossed off the anchored ships. There were several very large ships lying at anchor in the roads, their sails furled, bearing the distinctive cross of the Order of Templars on their sides.
Talon nudged Max. “There are many ships here, Max; they are huge compared to our ship. Where are they bound for?”
Max, who seemed to be well informed, pointed to those vessels. “This is the main outlet for the Knights Templar to the middle sea and the Holy Land. I came this way several years ago when on route for the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” he explained. “They are part of the Templar fleet and will soon be leaving for the Holy Land.”
Talon saw many men dressed as was Philip, their cloaks billowing around them in the brisk wind, men who strolled to the side of one of the huge boats and shouted across the water to them. They might have recognized one of their kind, as Philip was dressed in his uniform, but they were too far off to be heard. Philip waved, but they continued rowing toward the quayside.
As they clambered out of the boat onto dry land, Talon found that he had to regain his land legs. Now that they stood on the solid wood timbers of the quay the ground seemed to be moving.
The three of them picked their way along the quay around coils of rope as high as a man’s shoulder, along with piles of bales, barrels, and other cargo waiting to be loaded. Large wagons drawn by teams of oxen creaked by. They were full of sacks of wheat, iron, armor, weapons, and bales of leather, among many other supplies.
“This is the Templars’ lifeline,” Max explained. “They're making their way toward the town harbor to complete the loading of the ships we've just seen.”
“I've never seen ships so big,” Talon exclaimed.
“These ships, although full of tempting plunder, are rarely attacked, because they sail in small fleets and can well defend themselves against the kind of pirates we encountered,” Max said.
“One day I shall sail back from here to Palestine.”
Max looked at him
. “I do not doubt it, young master, but first you should see your father and mother and let them know you live. After that, it will be God’s will as to what path He shows you.”
They came to the great gate named Porte De Moulin that comprised two enormous towers with a twenty-foot long passageway which constituted a portal. Talon was impressed with the solid walls of the town. They passed through the tunnel to enter the busy, narrow streets crowded with hawkers of sweetmeats, cheese, and other foods. These people were very aggressive about their selling, pulling at the sleeves of passersby and thrusting baked eel or other pies under their noses. Peddlers, carrying huge packs on their backs, and laborers were going one way or the other. Talon noticed that there was always a respectful space made for Philip as he strode along. Talon thought it was because of the uniform he wore.
Everything was new to Talon. His last days in the Holy Land had not prepared him for the crowded streets, the shouts and curses of stevedores, and the calls of the vendors. He was jostled rudely as men carrying huge loads on their backs, shouting to “clear away,” trotted by, often barefooted, heading for the gates that led to the docks. The rancid smell of the people, their dirt-encrusted clothes and the stink of the ditches and other filth on the streets made him want to gag; he did hold his nose. The people were clearly not interested in being clean and there was no evidence that they ever cleared the streets of the offal and other filth that was piled high in corners. This was quite unlike the cities of Persia he had come to know.
They were following an urchin to whom Philip had promised a coin if he would take them to a good clothier. The filthy, ragged child took them to a slightly better-built house along a narrow street that was less crowded than the others and pointed them to a sign hanging out into the street. It showed a crudely painted figure stooped over a cloth, appearing to use a needle and thread. The urchin disappeared the moment he had caught the copper coin Philip flipped to him.
Philip told Talon, “We have to change your appearance somewhat, young man. You still look like a Saracen and some idiot back from the wars might pick on you.” Then he laughed. “I would hate to have you kill someone within days of having arrived.” He shook his head with amusement. He had by now developed a fine respect for Talon’s martial abilities.
Talon smiled at his uncle. “If you say so, Uncle, I'll wear what you suggest, but I want to keep my old clothes all the same.”
So it was that Talon came out of the shop accompanied by Philip and Max holding a bundle of his former clothes and wearing the latest in fashion. He still kept his boots, but he now had close-fitting Chausses, or hose, of dyed green wool that made his legs feel exposed. He also wore a linen undershirt, and a loose tunic of brown dyed wool with a well-stitched border. He sported a leather jerkin that was well cut, with some leather work decorations on its edges, and a new, green-colored wool cloak over that.
Philip had insisted upon a cloak. He told Talon that the nights in the country were both damp and cold except in mid-summer. Talon felt a lot warmer than previously, his thin cotton clothes had not provided much warmth from the sea breeze as they had come up the river to Ayga Mortes. The wool itched, though, and he yearned for a bath. Philip showed no inclination to find a place to bathe, so he bore the need stoically and hoped that they would be able to find one sometime later.
They returned to the quayside, carrying some supplies in leather satchels that Max had obtained for them, to find the ship had berthed alongside one of the wooden piers. The horses were being unloaded under the watchful eyes of Gareth and his men. The Welshmen looked at Talon’s new clothes enviously, their own being ragged and filthy by comparison. Nonetheless they greeted him warmly.
Jabbar nickered as Talon walked over and stroked his horse on the nose; Jabbar was his last contact with his previous life. He had started this journey with Jabbar long ago in the Assassins’ castle of Samiran, deep in the Alborz mountains of northern Persia.
But he had little time to dwell upon the past as his uncle wanted to get moving. They mounted up and, followed by the Welsh archers and the friendly calls of farewell from the crew, they joined the crowded street, looking for a way out of the town.
Talon stayed up at the front of the small column with Philip during the early part of the ride to Mas-Dieu. Max rode alongside them. He wore very dark brown clothes, almost black, in direct contrast to the white worn by the Templar Knight he served.
It took two days of steady riding to leave the sand and mud flats of the Camargue behind. They took the coastal route following the shoreline of the Étang de Vacarès to the east of the Rhone River that acted as a frontier dividing the domains of Burgundy and Provence.
They bought food as they needed it from the poor villages they came across and slept in sheltered folds of the ground at night. The nights were cold but Talon liked the salty air and the almost empty region along the coastline where only a few poor fishing villages hugged the higher sandy ground. They continued along the coast, wherever possible, to save time, otherwise they would have had to ride far to the north. Nevertheless, they often had to find a way north anyway; the coast was treacherous and full of creeks and mud flats that were often not safe for man nor horse.
They crossed another branch of the Rhone on a ferry with other travelers and then set out for Montpellier, a small but interesting city, according to Max.
They saw the walls of the city in the distance on the third day.
Max pointed. “You see the two towers, Talon? They are the two main towers of the city, the Tour des Pins and the Tour de la Babotte. We should stay in the city for the night, Master Philip,” he said, turning to Talon’s uncle. “There is much for young Talon to see here.”
They passed a pleasant evening at an inn within the walls where Talon had hoped to get a bath. But no one could help him in that regard and his horrified uncle even told him that he risked getting a cold if he did try to have one. Max smiled sympathetically but could only suggest the water trough for the horses.
This was the first real city in a western kingdom he had been in, other than Ayga Mortes, so he was interested in the defenses and the layout. Their arrival coincided with that of a merchant train.
Talon wondered if they were anything like the merchants of the caravans that he was familiar with. He asked Max.
“These people are much the same, Talon. They go from city to city, and in some cities they make great fairs where they trade with one another and with the lords of the region.”
“What do they trade in?”
“Why, silks from the Islamic south where they have brought the silk worms, cotton from the north of Africa, furs from the northern countries where the Danes live, raw wool from England and cloth from Flanders.”
Philip decided that he wanted to rest in the inn, so Talon and Max walked around the main square in the middle of the fortified city and watched the merchants, who clearly knew one another and formed tight groups. They stood around engrossed in discussions as they kept a watchful eye on their wares. Donkeys and laden horses stood all around and many bales of wares had seemingly been carelessly tossed on the ground, waiting to be opened.
There was a more varied assortment of people and garb than he had seen even in bustling Acre. Talon saw men among the crowd he took to be Jewish because of their distinctive dress, and he wondered why they were so far from home; these men seemed to follow a different set of rules from those expected from other men
He enjoined Max to sit at a rough wooden table and drink some wine, which they did, sharing one with other men that Max said he thought might be from the other side of the Pyrenees mountains, and watched the hubbub of the merchant train settle in for the evening.
One of the Jewish men, after watching them for a while, asked Talon where he was from.
“I come from the Kingdom of Jerusalem.”
The man looked hard at him and then spoke in another tongue than the Frankish patois he had been using.
Talon recognized the words as Yiddish
, which he could not speak, so he responded in Arabic. “I do not know that tongue well, good sir. But I do speak the Arabic.”
The man, a wiry fellow dressed in long, flowing robes with a prayer cap on his short, curly hair, laughed. His white teeth gleamed in his dark, weathered face. “You do not look like one of us, but you speak the Arabic very well, Franj. Just a few of the inflections give you away,” he said in a low tone.
“Why are you here, sir?” Talon asked, surprised.
“I am a merchant from the south, the Sultanate of Grenada. We can come here and trade with others as long as we stay with the merchant train and do not stray.” He laughed again, showing good white teeth. “I come here to trade but I am always glad to get back to my home and have a bath.”
Talon laughed ruefully. “Oh, wise man, I too, long for a bath and have not had one for weeks. I smell myself all the time, and as for my companions it is sometimes too much.”
“You will have to build your own. These Franj do not like to bathe, but they do like to trade. I earn good silver here; not much gold, but it is a fair trade. At least I can take this money home and keep it. The taxes in Grenada are so high it is difficult to do business there because of the greed of the officials. As it is, I will have to hide my coin with relatives outside the city when I get home, as the guards will search me and take what they will.”
Talon and Max stayed with the man for several hours. His name was Joshua and he and his brother were trading silks and silver trinkets and fragrant wood carved in the south from which he had come. Joshua introduced the two to several men, and Talon was struck by the independence and self-confidence of these people. They seemed not to owe fealty to anyone but the master of the merchant train, who was accorded much respect. Joshua told him that the merchant trains were becoming both more numerous and a more powerful entity in the duchies of Languedoc and Burgundy. He pointed with his chin to the west. “The English in Aquitaine are still difficult to work with, but they like our wares so we can trade. Men often put aside their differences when there is trading to do.”
Knight Assassin Page 3