Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  He sat down next to Claude and said carefully, “My Uncle Philip and I have more food than we know what to do with. I would not like to waste it nor insult the good people of this town by throwing it to the chickens. Will you share with me?”

  He was rewarded with a chuckle of appreciation from Claude and the others. Claude said gravely. “Young sir, you are very generous. We will be happy to help you save the honor of the people of this town.”

  His companions smiled with him and Talon carved the bread loaf up into five pieces and then held the stew out for people to dip into.

  The stew was a mixture of vegetables and meat pieces and made his mouth water as he dipped his bread into it. He was not familiar with the taste, however, and asked Claude, “What meat is this? I do not know it.”

  Claude looked surprised. “Why it is pork, young master. Surely you know of pork?”

  He seemed even more surprised at the expression on Talon’s face. Talon wore a look of shock and alarm that would have been comical except that Claude and his companions could see it was not a laughing matter. Talon spat the piece of pork out on the grass in front of him.

  “Why, young master, what ails you? Why do you look so alarmed?” Claude asked.

  “I-I have not known of pork for so long, I do not know if I can eat it,” Talon stammered, looking sheepish and worried. He was in fact appalled that he had made the mistake of eating pork, but also for having betrayed his feelings.

  Claude looked at him. “Where have you lived that they do not eat pork?” he asked, puzzled.

  Talon took a chance. “My uncle and I have come back from Palestine. We do not have pigs there, or at least very few. I am more used to mutton or goat,” he finished lamely.

  There was a surprised silence while the monks digested this, even as they themselves tucked into the remains of the stew.

  “I am content with the bread and the cheese,” Talon said, as though to reassure them, and motioned them to continue.

  “I do not think the pork will harm you, young master,” Claude said slowly. “It is very common food here in this part of the world, but we also eat many other types of meat. You must tell us about the Holy Land. We are men of God but we hear almost nothing of the one place in the world where the forces of good are fighting a great battle with those of evil.”

  Talon nodded a bit reluctantly, but he said firmly, “This I can do, as can my uncle, but I will want payment in kind from you, good Friars. I do not know this country, for I grew up in the Outré Mere, which is the name of the Crusader states that were formed after the First Crusade.”

  “We know of the Holy Land, but what do people like you who have lived there call it?” Claude asked.

  “The Christians govern four main counties: the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch, the County of Tripoli, and especially the Kingdom of Jerusalem. That is the only one ruled by a king that I know about.”

  Claude smiled happily. “Yes, we, too, have heard the names but you have explained it more clearly to me, as I did not know which counties were in the Outre Mere, other than the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Firstly, I will thank you for your kindness to us humble monks, young sir; then I must ask your name?”

  “It is Talon de Gilles.”

  “Ah, now a puzzle is about to be solved,” Claude said. “I have heard the rumor that tells of a young boy who disappeared from his father’s castle in the Holy Land.”

  One of his companions, Pierre, nodded vigorously. “Claude, that's right. They had an extraordinary tale of how their eldest son had been taken by the Saracen and never seen again.”

  Talon looked at him, saying nothing. His blood surged in his temples. He was nervous for some reason he could not explain.

  “The rumor goes on to say that Sir Hughes lost his son to the Saracen many years ago. He then returned to his wife’s property here in this land, as her father and family had died of the plague, but they came without the boy. Are you, then, that young man, Talon?” Claude asked, peering up at him from under bushy eyebrows.

  Talon nodded, still looking at the monk. His heart beat fast. He was not sure where this might be going.

  “We shall enjoy telling you of this land, young master Talon, but I do beg that you tell us of your life and where you have been, as I suspect that there are few from Christendom who have been where you have gone.” Claude smiled at him.

  Talon gave an inward sigh of relief; he felt that some kind of unspoken agreement now existed between him and the monks. Perhaps they were destined to be friends; he was not sure.

  It was time to leave so he stood up, as did the monks, and they waved him off as he strode back to Philip, who was looking around for him. Max was holding his horse, looking impatient.

  Talon trotted up and grinned at his uncle, then at Max, who gruffly asked him where he had been. Didn’t he know better than to run off to wherever without telling them first?

  “Uncle Philip, Max, I can look after myself as you well know. I was talking to the monks over there. They are good men,” he said, without being irked by his uncle’s fussing.

  His uncle responded with a grunt of agreement and smiled down at him from his horse. “Mount up, Talon. We are keeping them waiting,” he said kindly.

  Talon sprang into the saddle and kneed Jabbar alongside his uncle’s larger horse and they joined the group that was about to leave the town. Although now dressed as a young man of means, his accoutrements were the same as they had been at his departure from Palestine. He retained his bow in a sheath along the back of his left thigh and his quiver hung from his cantle. His sword was of the slightly curved, well-tempered steel used by the Seljuk cavalrymen and hung in a battered leather sheath from his waist.

  Talon found the clothes he was wearing to be warm for this season and now longed for the cotton pantaloons and long cotton shirt he had become used to. The climate alternated between sticky and warm during the day, and cold and damp at night. It had not rained since the one time just after they had left Ayga Mortes. Fine weather had followed them since then, but he had felt the chill, for they had been on an exposed beach with nowhere to take shelter.

  He no longer had the loose turban he had become used to. Instead, he wore a velvet cap that his uncle had insisted upon. The tailor in Ayga Mortes had sworn it was the latest fashion. Talon was not convinced and felt that he looked ridiculous wearing it. His hair was much shorter than formerly, now cut in the style of the times, just down to his shoulders, trimmed straight across the front.

  He rode next to his uncle, wishing that he had been allowed to wear his chain mail shirt rather than this irksome clothing. Talon was still self-conscious in his thick linen undershirt with its wide collar over which he wore a doublet of leather with much fine stitching along its edges and hems. He found the woolen pair of pants much too tight and because of the short doublet he felt very exposed. The hose was tucked into his worn horsehide boots that he would not throw away despite the admonishments from his uncle, who thought he should wear more ornamental footwear.

  As they were leaving the gates they were joined by a small party consisting of a well-dressed horseman who seemed to be about the same age as Talon, accompanying a lady a few years younger, riding side saddle. Talon was not so much interested in her as the way she rode. He recalled how Rav’an had ridden and how easily she had guided a horse and wondered how on earth the woman could ride this way. It appeared to be that she rode on one side of the saddle only, with her right leg hooked over a horn of some kind, but because the skirts hid her knees he wasn’t sure. She seemed comfortable enough despite this and controlled the pony well.

  He paid them no attention after his initial inspection, although they came quite close to Philip and himself, riding almost alongside for a while, after assuming the position at the head of the column by virtue of their rank as people of the knightly class.

  The party was now composed of the rough group of Welshmen on foot, the four monks, a few pilgrims, the merchants and peddlers w
ho had latched onto the group, a priest on a mule who kept to himself, and now the newcomers, who numbered five. These last were composed of the young woman and her fine-looking escort, and three well armed but rough looking retainers who appeared to be their guards.

  They rode out of the gates, watched dourly by the men-at-arms on the parapet of the walls as they left. The gate slammed shut behind them almost as a rebuke. The road headed north toward Cartagan, which they hoped to be able to reach that night. No one wanted to be out in the country after sunset, even if they were as well armed as was this group.

  Talon took the time to assess his companions. He rode with Philip, who maintained a slight aloofness due in part to his role as a Knight Templar, hence he seemed to others as somewhat exotic. Talon watched the people around him.

  The young lady wore a loose chape, or overcoat of heavy wool, with the hood thrown back. Her hair was covered by a fashionable guimple, a fine white linen veil that covered her hair and came down past her shoulders, but it was still easy to tell that she was fair-haired.

  The young man who commanded the small group was dressed to Talon’s mind rather foppishly—a new word for Talon, learned from Philip—in elaborate clothes of fine wool and other material in a wild mix of colors, red and yellow being predominant. His hose—Talon had learned at the tailor’s shop that the tight leggings all young men wore were called hose—was of wool, dyed yellow. His boots were calf-length and had an impossible length of toe. Talon smiled when he considered how difficult it must be for the man to walk when not on his horse.

  His shirt of white linen, with its long sleeves tied at the wrists under a spectacular doublet of heavy but fine wool, was decorated in intricately sewn patterns. Talon noted the long, slim dagger on a thin leather belt that hung to the right and the heavier sword that the youthful man carried hanging off a wider silver-studded belt. He noted, too, the shoulders and neck of the man and decided that although he was foppish, he could probably take care of himself.

  As though he had read something in the scrutiny that Talon had subjected him to, the young man spurred his horse to where Talon and Philip were riding, a frown on his young, shaven face.

  “You stare. sir. Is there something you wish to ask of me?” he demanded as he came abreast of the two.

  Philip glanced round and down at him from the great height of his own destriere and asked, “What do you mean, sir?’

  The young man indicated the silent Talon with his hand and repeated himself. “He is staring at me, sir. Does he have something to ask of me? I find his staring offensive.”

  Philip considered the young man carefully, then said, “Young man, we have come from the Outré Mere and are new to this land; if my nephew stares he is only doing so because all this is new to him. I would ask that you forgive his impertinence.”

  Talon and the young man were eye-to-eye by now. Talon did not feel the need to add to what Philip had said, so he simply looked straight into the man’s eyes.

  Something in Talon’s gaze might have unsettled the young man, for his eyes shifted. “Staring is improper and bad manners, but I shall not take it further this time.” He allowed his horse to drop back to his female companion without further words. She leaned over to ask him what had happened.

  “What is it, Marcel? What did you say to them, my brother?” To which he gave an irritated shake of his head. She gave a look forward to where Talon and Philip were riding, their backs to her. But her words came clearly to the two nonetheless. “Why, Marcel, I find the young man ahead to be very attractive. I wonder where he got that scar on his face.” She laughed, seemingly at her brother’s discomfort.

  “Probably from some man like me who objected to his manners,” her brother retorted.

  In the front, Philip gave a comment out of the side of his mouth to Talon, “Don’t start any trouble with that jape, Talon. I don’t want to witness another incident where you carve someone up.”

  Max overheard and chuckled. He cocked an amused eye at Talon.

  Talon smiled, equally amused at his uncle’s blunt assessment of the young man. “I am sorry, Uncle; but I am curious, that's all. Everything is new, including the way people dress. I swear that if he tried to fight on his feet I would have to do nothing but dodge about nimbly while he fell over his long toes. I doubt he could do me any harm,” he answered, sotto voce.

  Philip and Max gave snorts of barely suppressed laughter, their shoulders shaking.

  “There is much that is new to both of us, in this land, my boy. We are strangers in our own country; we'll have to feel our way.”

  Talon nodded.

  The party continued on, staying within its separate groups for the rest of the day. The groom they had hired came along at the back with the monks and the servants belonging to the young couple. Simon, who was leading a packhorse with the Templar’s baggage, was questioned by the others who were curious about the knight, his sergeant, and his young squire in the front of the cavalcade. He could provide almost nothing in the way of information as he had only just been hired. He told his companions that the three had come off a Venetian ship a few days before; and that most likely they had come from Palestine.

  Simon was in awe of the Templar who looked as though he had seen a good deal of life. The young man, Talon, simply didn’t seem to fit any kind of type he had met before. Simon was a little afraid of him, although Talon was polite and did not bully him. There was something there that Simon could not fathom and it gave him cause to step carefully when in Talon’s presence.

  They came that night to the small town called Cartagan. It boasted a high wooden stockade built on a low stone wall around its perimeter. No walled town of note this, but nonetheless well guarded. The party with their horses and donkeys came within its safe enclosure well before dusk, which gave them ample time to seek out the two inns and the stables nearby.

  Philip, with Max and Talon, as well as Marcel and his female companion, went to the larger, more prosperous-looking inn by unspoken agreement, and the Welshmen and the servants made for the smaller, less well-maintained one down the street. The stables were nearby so Talon walked with Simon and Max to ensure the horses were taken care of. The grooms for the others came with them, leading the horses.

  Without any sense of being out of step, Talon saw to Jabbar personally, much to the approval of Max and the confusion of Simon, who thought he should be doing the necessary work.

  The other grooms gave Talon curious looks as he talked in Farsi to Jabbar like an old friend and rubbed his head with a blanket. It was clear to him that Jabbar was having as much difficulty with the climate as he was, so he covered the horse with a light blanket over his sleek flanks and then left the chattering men to talk about him while he walked the short distance to the inn.

  Candles and oil lamps had been lit in the houses nearby, the glow shining through the more wealthy owners’ oilskin windows or through the shutters of the less wealthy. He remarked to himself that although this was a town of limited size, its equivalent in Persia would have been no more than a collection of hovels. He had yet to see a city, he told himself, and then he could make real comparisons.

  As he walked down the unpaved street, Talon wondered at the land he was now traveling through. The town was going to supper, and the smell of cooking encouraged him to increase his pace; he was hungry. The air was cooling and the smoke from the fire holes and some chimneys hung in the air. There was the sound of subdued voices from doorways. In some entrances old men were enjoying the last of the warmth of sunset while in others women were taking advantage of the remaining light to sew and mend clothes. It was a new experience for him to be in a town at peace and seemingly not threatened by war.

  He pushed open the heavy wooden door to the entrance of the inn and stepped inside to a blaze of candlelight. The innkeeper wanted to give a good impression to his unexpected guests. He would burn candles otherwise destined for the church this night. The cloying warmth of a crowded room greeted him as well as t
he light, but the wood fire was welcoming, as was his uncle who greeted him with a loud, “Talon, there you are. Are the horses settled in to your satisfaction?”

  Talon smiled at his uncle’s teasing. “They will be fine, Uncle. Max will see to it that the new man, Simon, does what he should.”

  He noted that his uncle had company. The young man, Marcel, was seated on the bench across the wooden table from his uncle. Next to him was the young lady, his companion.

  Talon bowed briefly, sufficient to be polite to them, and moved round to seat himself on the same side of the table as his uncle. This placed him opposite the young lady, who smiled at him.

  Philip said, “I should introduce our companions, Talon. Meet Marcel De Guillabert, and his sister, Petrona. They are cousins on your mother’s side. What a chance that we should meet them, and they are going our way.”

  Talon looked at them with new eyes and some of his surprise must have shown. He nodded to them both and received a cool nod from Marcel but a friendly smile from Petrona.

  He took stock of them. Marcel would have been handsome except for a certain petulance to his mouth and unfriendliness in his demeanor. He was fair-haired and clean-shaven, unlike Talon who wore a short beard.

  His sister had discarded the chape and now he could see she wore a pelice, an outer dress, with fur at the arms and neckline. He noticed that she had a good complexion and clear blue eyes that regarded him with interest. He remarked to himself that apart from an afiche, a broach, she wore no jewelry, unlike the eastern women who wore much on their necks and wrist, even their ankles.

  He studied them overtly and did not lower his eyes. Marcel dropped his eyes after a brief glare as once again he sensed something in Talon that did not brook a challenge. Petrona, on the other hand, gazed right back and Talon felt his pulse quicken. This young woman was not afraid of him, that was clear. Yet he did not detect any overt invitation.