Talon decided to buy some small gifts for his parents for when they met up.
By nightfall of the third day they were riding through the small village of Bagard, with its low stone houses clustered almost at the base of the Templar preceptory of Mas-Dieu. According to Max the preceptory was not old, having been awarded to the Templars in 1138. Candles were being lit and there was a bell tolling somewhere in the huge group of buildings as they came up to its entrance. Max pulled on the rope that rang the bell near the door for admission.
A grate opened in the middle of the door and a face peered out at them. Without a word, the wooden door was opened, and Talon’s group of men rode into the wide courtyard surrounded by the stone walls and tall stone buildings. It was an imposing place with two tall towers that dominated the approaches. Although he had been informed that it was meant to be a hospital and a farm as well as a recruiting station, to Talon it resembled more a defensible fortress.
Philip called back to Gareth to bring his men in with him, as there would be security within the walls and they would be fed and given places to sleep. Then, as he was expected to go through the formalities when visiting a Templar station, he dismounted and went off with one of the attendant knights to pay his respects to the captain of the post.
While he was going about this duty, Talon, Max, and the bowmen settled the horses. Talon gave Jabbar a good rubbing over his head. It was clear Jabbar enjoyed that; he moved his head up and down while Talon simply held the blanket. After that he made sure Jabbar and the other horses were given good feed and then looked about for some form of accommodation.
A man, a sergeant by his dress, came out into the dusk as they were finishing and told them to follow him. He looked askance at the Welshmen, but when Max told him that they were with their party he shrugged and led the way toward a stone archway. They tramped after him, lugging their baggage while he led them down a long, stone corridor to a doorway at the end. He opened the door and took a rush light from the sconce in the wall and held it high.
They saw a room that held ten basic pallets, each with clean straw upon it. The sergeant indicated that the Welshmen should bed down in this room. The room was quite bare apart from the pallets, but to the Welshmen it was a place out of the weather and a lot better than they might have expected had they been on their own. They made their thanks known.
The sergeant then led the way to individual cells that he offered to Max and Talon. Talon saw a bare cell with a slit for a window higher than he could reach. It reminded him uncomfortably of the cells he had inhabited another time when held in captivity by the Templars while they waited for his uncle to come and identify him. However, it had a truckle bed with clean-looking blankets and looked comfortable after the rough accommodation of the ship and the open-country sleeping they had done for the past three nights.
It was time to eat, so they followed the sergeant back along the corridor toward the smell of food. Talon was hungry, so he was looking forward to a meal of what smelled like stew. His mouth began to water and he realized that he was very hungry. They were led into a bright, candle-lit multi-arched hallway crowded with men. This was where the knights and their sergeants ate their evening meal. It was stuffy and full of men in various stages of dress, some still fully armored in chain mail while others were in leather or woolen tunics. There was not a lot of noise apart from a low murmur of conversation. There were to Talon’s eye about forty knights and perhaps twice that number of attendants and Sergeants-at-Arms.
The Welshmen joined him and Max, then they went up to the opening in the wall that led off to the kitchens and took their food from the cooks doling out stew into wooden bowls along with chunks of bread.
Talon was awakened the next morning by a bell in one of the towers, tolling as it called the Knights to prayers for Matins. Despite the chill and severe surroundings of the cell he had slept well and comfortably. He dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes, donned his clothes and sleepily followed the other people in his vicinity to the tall, roofed chapel. There he saw all the knights standing in two rows along the nave fully dressed in their uniforms.
The eldest were nearest the altar. Talon remarked to himself that some seemed really old. Their long, flowing beards, in many cases fully white, gave them the look of great wise men. Those nearest Talon were mostly not much older than his uncle Philip, who was standing among the men in the middle of the group, saying nothing. There was complete silence, punctuated only by the ringing of the bell high above in the tower. Everyone, the knights and the crowd of lesser beings near the door, with Talon among them, waited without speaking.
The bell stopped. In the ensuing silence all that could be heard was the occasional shuffle of feet and the sounds of the pigeons in the rafters. Then the crowd parted and the captain of the post marched in with his adjutant accompanying him. There was a low command and everyone went down on his knees for the first of a long series of prayers.
It was the first time Talon had attended a service by the knights. He was impressed by the simplicity of the ceremony and the apparent devotion of the men who took part.
Talon took the time to remember his old mentor, Jean the priest, who had died at the hands of Rav’an’s cruel uncle in faraway Alamut Castle. How brave he had been. Jean had put aside his dread of violence in order to protect the young boy, Talon, whom he considered his ward. His actions had enabled Talon to escape from Alamut while he himself remained and died under torture. Talon said a fervent prayer for Jean’s soul, but his thoughts were wandering by the time the service came to an end.
It was time for breakfast; he sought out Philip to find out what he wanted to do. He found Philip engaged in conversation with a tall, thin man dressed in the Templar uniform with a badge of rank on his breast. The man had a long, gray beard and piercing eyes.
Philip turned with a smile to Talon. “My Lord Sir Greves, I would like to present my nephew, Talon de Gilles, who came with me from the Holy Land.”
The man held out his bony hand and shook Talon’s firmly. “Your uncle was just telling me what a remarkable life you've had.” He looked shrewdly at Talon from under his bushy eyebrows. “He tells me that you speak French, Latin, Arabic, and Persian. Is that so?”
Talon nodded. He wondered if Philip had told the knight just how he came to be in France. He hoped not. The knight was speaking again.
“I know your father, Sir Hughes. A good man. We could have done with more of his kind in the Holy Land. Are you seeking a life in the Order, young man? With your language talents we could find good use for you, I am sure of that.”
Philip spoke for Talon. “He has come back to this country to show his father that indeed he still lives, Sir Greves. After that, we shall have to see.” He laughed and clapped a hand on Talon’s shoulder.
“If there is a way to go back to Palestine that lies with the Order, sir, then I might consider it. However, not as a monk, nor am I as yet a knight, sir,” Talon said respectfully.
There was a gleam of amusement in the older man’s eyes. “For talents of the kind you seem to have we might make some accommodation, Talon. Also you are young; there is time. In the meantime, I wish you a safe journey to your reunion with your father. Please give him my best regards. Sir Philip, I shall ensure that the letter is sent.” He bowed slightly to them by way of dismissal and made his way out of the chapel, followed by others who had been waiting on him.
“We should leave soon, as we have a long road to travel to Albi,” Philip said. “The Master informed me that it would be quicker to take a route other than the one via Carcassonne. We take the road south to Beziers and then head over the mountain pass at Saint Chinian to Castres by way of St Amans-Soult and Mazamet. It will take at least a week of steady travel and it will be cool up there. Be glad of your cloak, Talon.”
The group of travelers set off soon after breakfast, leaving a bustling courtyard behind. Many of the people were junior knights who were grooming their own horses. Others worked t
heir horses in lines out in the fields while still others, in a small area, hacked with their swords at upright poles. Other men from among the retainers went purposefully about the daily chores necessary in an establishment of this kind. To Talon it was a well-ordered society that was dedicated to the cause and seemed to do well.
He asked Philip what kind of men would want to become Knights of the Templar Order.
Philip shrugged. “Some among the knights are raw recruits who, while used to violence, are unused to the strict discipline of the Order; but there are many knights of experience who hear the voice of God and volunteer to come. They bring their own equipment and horses with them. Some of the knights were once thieves and murderers who have come to the Order as the last place on earth where they would be useful in God’s work. Their sins are forgiven on the condition that they serve the Templar Order for the rest of their lives. If a man is a knight on arrival at a Templar station, he is given a horse for battle, and armor. If he has his own, he keeps them. He also has full use of the services provided by the Order for his food and upkeep.”
“Who provides the horses and armor?”
“The Order will, but a knight may, if lucky or wealthy, have a second horse for travel purposes. In some instances—such as in my case—he would have the services of a sergeant while on some mission, but this is seldom. A knight can have a servant, a sergeant, and a palfrey to ride upon while not in battle, depending upon his seniority. Those men are very senior men and probably need a less fractious horse than a Destriere to ride.” He sounded dismissive to Talon’s ears.
He began to pay attention to their surroundings. It was a beautiful country, quite different from the rugged dryness of the Palestinian hinterlands, although there were similarities, as both bordered the Mediterranean and shared some similar characteristics, though the country here was more convoluted and heavily forested; these areas became dense pine forests higher up the slopes of the hills to the south. It was very much greener than anything he was used to. The high mountains of the Pyrenees, faraway to the south, maybe three days’ ride, formed a barrier to the land of the Catalans, Iberia, and the Muslim lands still held in the peninsula.
They rode through villages, which were often nothing more than a collection of stone hovels set off the road, some going up into the hillsides; some, the larger, more developed ones, boasted a wooden stockade built upon a stone bank and a modest church which stood head and shoulders over the small stone houses. He noted with surprise that some of the towns were perched high on the sides of the steep hills far above the main road. These often huddled behind formidable stone walls. Max told him they were well protected from the incursions of robber bands—led as often as not by a renegade knight who had a small castle to retreat to—and the depredations of roaming landless knights with a bent for booty.
There were small castles perched either alongside the towns or higher still on some peak where they dominated the surrounding countryside. People built with stone in this country, Talon observed, just as they did in the mountains of the Alborz, in distant Persia. He noted the many crude stone shrines along the route. The inhabitants of this country seemed very devout in their faith.
He noted that they used white limestone that was easily dressed for walls and buildings, either around their villages or to construct the low, Romanesque churches. The color of the stone reminded him of the color of the walls of his father’s old castle in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
It was a mixed assembly of people in their now larger group of travelers that proceeded along the main highway in the direction of Carcassonne. They had left the Templar stronghold of Mas-Dieu in the company of only their own Welshmen, but a party of monks and several men easily identified as peddlers with huge packs on their backs had joined them along the route. Talon suspected that many of them had slept rough last night, and were thankful that they had Philip to take care of them.
There were even a couple of wealthier merchants, better dressed than the peddlers, riding on donkeys and leading other donkeys loaded with their merchandise. Talon was informed by one of the monks who had joined the group that the road they were traveling had once been a Roman road. Talon, remembering his history lessons from Isfahan, asked if the Romans who built the roads had been prisoners and slaves.
Somewhat surprised at his question, the monk, who introduced himself as Claude, gave him a short history lesson. “Young master, the Romans legions built the roads themselves in order to reach distant lands, and while they used prisoners, for sure these prisoners were not Romans. The Romans were the engineers who did the design of the roads and bridges, and more often than not it was the Gauls who were the slaves who built them.”
He pointed out to Talon on several occasions the work performed by these men as they walked along. They even went beneath the great arches of a structure that Claude called an aqueduct. Talon was awed by its size; it seemed to have been constructed almost entirely of stone and spanned the entire valley, completely dominating the surrounding countryside.
Their conversation continued in this vein for a while. Claude pointed out landmarks to Talon as they moved at a brisk walking pace along the road. Talon could not help but see that there were many vineyards over the cleared hills that looked well established. Claude assured him that the same people who had made the roads and the now distant aqueduct had also established the vineyards, which had been around almost as long as the buildings. Talon was impressed; he had seen signs of order and cultivation in Palestine and in Persia, but nothing as well cultivated as this land. He was interested in what Claude had to say and asked many questions.
He had dropped back to where Claude and his companions walked, dismounted, and was leading Jabbar, leaving his uncle and Max at the head of the convoy as it moved along the dusty road. The monks were dressed almost all the same way in simple, coarse-woven habits of dyed brown wool, much patched and threadbare in places. Their heads were crudely shaved at the top and all carried a staff and a bag of leather hung off their shoulders on wide straps to carry their effects. Claude and one or two of the others wore small wooden crosses hung on a length of twine around their necks.
Claude in his turn was pleased to provide answers when he could about the people of the land they were crossing. He told Talon the region was known as Languedoc, that it was a duchy belonging to the powerful Viscount of the Trenceval family. Most of the people traveling with them spoke the dialect of Languedoc, which was hard to follow. Talon’s mother had spoken it to him as a child. Talon had to concentrate on what people were saying, as he had not heard it spoken since he had been a very young boy.
He did surprise Claude when he inadvertently reverted to Latin to ask one meaning. The surprised monk stared at him with his mouth open for a moment before responding in kind.
They conversed in Latin for awhile and Claude complimented Talon upon his mastery of it. Although it was clear he was rusty, the monk told him that it was correct for the most part.
“Few people of the knight’s class,” he told Talon dryly, “can speak even a few words of Latin.”
On being asked his destination, Claude told Talon that he was going to an abbey very close to the town of Albi. He asked the same of Talon and received the response that Albi was near where Talon’s father held a small castle. Claude knew of the castle, more of a manor or fortress, and something about the family even though it was over twenty miles away. Claude looked speculatively at Talon when he said this as though about to ask him a question, but held back and continued instead to describe the land and its people to the inquisitive young man.
The morning passed quickly while they talked, and midday arrived. They came to one of the small towns which marked the commencement of the mountain route. The whole party gratefully passed in through the wooden gateway to head for the market place and seek out food and refreshment.
Philip was accorded considerable respect when he came into a town or village. It was clear the overskirt with its red cross sewn onto th
e left breast that Philip wore over his mail hauberk attracted attention. People would sidle up to the mounted man and touch his stirrup or his foot and then cross themselves as they moved off. Philip seemed unconcerned at this. Talon was disconcerted by it, but he got used to it as time passed because it was simply a gesture of respect for one the people deemed to be a fighter for God’s great cause in the Holy Land.
They arrived in the small square of the town to be greeted respectfully by vendors who offered them food. They refused to take money in Philip’s case, although he tried to pay, telling him that a soldier of God was entitled to food without payment.
Their horses were taken to the pond to water. Talon paid for Gareth and his men to eat, which drew smiles and thanks from the Welshmen. It was becoming clear to him that he had inherited them for the time being and would now have to pay their board. He didn’t mind. They interested him and he felt that it could do no harm to keep them with him for the time being.
Talon walked around for a while, stretching his legs, then found himself alone holding a loaf of bread that would have fed a family of three, some hard cheese that smelled very much like the rear end of a cow, and a wooden bowl of rich, steaming stew. He looked around and saw that the monk Claude was sitting with his three companions on a grassy knoll close to the graveyard of the town church. The Welshmen were sitting some way off, chattering in their own language as they ate.
The monks, however, looked tired and hot as the sun was high and the day warm. They were not eating, which puzzled Talon, so he walked over to them carrying the food with him. As he came up they greeted him politely, looking at the food wistfully, but obviously not able to bring themselves to ask for any. Talon realized that they had so little money they had to starve once in a while and could not ask for alms.
Knight Assassin Page 4