Talon glanced down at the crowded benches. People were becoming aware that all was not well at the high table and conversation was slowing again.
“It is I who should feel insulted,” Sir Guillabert said truculently. “I was not invited to a feast of this nature, even when you are my cousin.”
“I did not ask for you because you do not bring good will, Cousin.”
“You have been made welcome at my hearth, sir. If you cannot restrain your quarrels at a time like this, then you should not be here,” Sir Hughes said sharply.
But Sir Guillabert was not to be put off. “The secretary of his Lordship made a mistake when he wrote to you. This land and all about is mine. My uncle left it to me by his word when he died.”
Marguerite said in an exasperated tone, “Cousin, we have been up and down this path many times. My father left it to me, by right of being direct descendant. Why then did the secretary of his Lordship the Count of Carcassonne call upon us to come here if that were not true?”
“Because you were not in this land and hence forfeit at the time. He should have known about the law. There is a law that provides for that, my dear.” He sounded very patronizing. “We both understand that your tenure of this land is only temporary,” he returned sarcastically.
“What law is that, sir?” Talon asked
Sir Guillabert glowered at him. “Stay out of this conversation, young pup.”
“Why, sir, I may be a ‘young pup,’ but I can think for myself, and so I ask again, where did this law appear from, sir?” Talon appeared calm but he sensed that he was treading on dangerous ground with this bucolic man who called himself cousin to his mother.
Guillabert reared up, his anger surfacing. It was clear to all that he disliked the confidence of the unknown youth talking to him. “Have a care, boy. Your impudence can get you sorely hurt. Hughes, bring the whelp to heel or I shall.”
“Or I shall. The very thought of having this dirty Saracen in my vicinity is disgusting,” came another voice.
Everyone turned to see a flushed Marcel staring belligerently at Talon. His brother was grinning nastily next to him.
Sir Hughes had had enough. He stood up, his face red with anger. “I have to ask you to leave, sir. All three of you! You may be my wife’s cousin, Sir Guillabert, and you are protected by rules of hospitality while here, but you do not insult my family or anyone else in this house with impunity.”
Sir Guillabert stood up, unfazed. He wiped gravy off his chin with his sleeve. He was a heavy man, powerful and in an ugly mood. “Very well, sir. You need to know that the church itself is on my side, so beware that you do not overstep their good will. Come along, Marcel, Roger; we do not need to stay in this midden heap any longer.”
He stalked out of the hall with the two brothers in tow. The family watched him go. There was complete silence in the hall after he had left. Talon hastily walked down the length of the Hall, listening to the whispers all around. He wanted to make sure that Gareth had everything under control. He need not have worried. Max and Gareth were just turning back from the shut gates.
“What happened, sir?” Max asked.
“Come inside and we can talk, both of you. Thank you for keeping watch.”
They shrugged aside his thanks and followed him in.
Sir Hughes was trying to calm Philip. “Don’t be a hothead, Philip. It is just what he wants, some impetuous idiot to ride after them and provoke a fight in the dark.”
Philip noticed Talon. “Do you see that ‘boy’ over there, Hughes? He could kill all three of them in the dark and they would not even know who did it. I have never seen anyone kill as easily as your son!” His tone was loud and carried the length of the hall. People stared at Talon from all sides. He felt suddenly very uncomfortable. Philip was flushed with rage.
Talon came up to his uncle. “Calm yourself now, Uncle. You know I will not be provoked.”
His mother and Aicelina were looking at him oddly.
“Hughes, we should find out what the law has to say and then take a petition to his Lordship the Viscount of Albi, Count of Carcassonne,” Philip growled.
“He talked about the church being on his side, Father. What did he mean?” Talon asked.
“I don't know. I think he means the Bishop of Albi. But why should he be interested in this land? The church has more land than anyone else in the region as it is.”
“Is there no one to whom we can turn for advice, Father?”
“I don't know of anyone who can help us. It is rumored that the abbot at the monastery near to Albi knows law as it pertains to the church, but I don't know for sure. For all I know, he'll side with the bishop. He is of the church after all.”
“Then I shall ride out there and see if I can talk to him, Father. We must try something. Sir Guillabert seems so certain of himself. I do not understand how the church can be involved in men’s affairs so much. Land disputes are usually the province of a vizier—uh, a lord,” he corrected himself.
“My cousin ever was a hard-headed man with a spiteful will,” Marguerite said ruefully.
“Mama, are those then his sons?”
“Yes. Their mother died giving birth to Petrona. Sir Guillabert has raised them since.”
Abruptly Sir Hughes turned to the assembled company who were still there talking in low voices, not wanting to disturb the family at the high table. “Friends and companions, it is late. I beg your forgiveness for the unfortunate incident. It's time to go to your homes and rest. I thank you for coming to the feast to honor my son.”
Slowly, as if reluctant to leave them, the villagers and other guests filed out. They bade the Knight and Marguerite good night, and to a man wished Talon good fortune. Many a married woman and her daughter fluttered their eyes at him as they curtseyed.
“It's time for us all to go to bed as well,” Sir Hughes said glumly. “Talon, I regret this ever happened, especially for your homecoming.”
“Father, I've had a good welcome from all who are here. I thank you and Mother for your kindness. I shall stay with my men for a while longer and then go to bed.”
His glance caught Aicelina, who was still sitting next to his brother, who was trying to stay awake, but failing.
On impulse Talon reached down and picked Guillaume up in his arms. He asked Aicelina to show him the way and took his younger brother out of the hall. He followed her as she took a candle and showed him to the alcove where his brother slept. He lay the boy down on the pallet and covered him gently with a blanket.
Turning, he saw that she was watching him with a thoughtful look on her face. “What is it Aicelina?” he asked.
“Uncle Philip said that he had never seen a man kill as easily as you. Yet I see you now with your brother . . .”
“That is only for show,” he said gruffly, wishing his uncle would shut up about what had happened in Montfort, and left her staring after him.
He went down to the hall and found some of the men from the fort sitting comfortably with Max and the Welshmen at one of the long tables. Sir Hughes, Philip, and Marguerite were seated near the fire and Aicelina came to sit next to them. Talon walked over to the Welshmen. They made space for him companionably alongside, and a mug was planted in front of him without ceremony. He took a long gulp of the good, dry red wine.
“So, m’lord Talon, what's going on?” Gareth asked.
“It is simply Talon to my friends, and I am among friends tonight. I understand little of what is happening other than that man who was here tonight, although my uncle, is our enemy, and we should be alert and very careful. I don't trust him at all. He covets my father and mother’s property and my guess is that he will stop at nothing to take it one way or the other.”
It was a long speech for Talon and it got their attention. He turned to Gareth.
“I can't ask you to stay in harm’s way, for I am sure that there is a feud developing here. You must soon leave for your Wales.”
Gareth looked down at the table
and then glanced up at his men. “Well, Talon, we don’t quite see it that way. Me and the men have been talking, see; what with all the hospitality we've received we feel that we owe something, too. How can a few weeks or a month or two make any difference right now, as long as we make it back to our land before the winter?” The others nodded solemnly.
“We would like to stay for a while, if you would have us. Can you pay us just a little?” wheedled big Drudwas plaintively. There were suppressed, nervous chuckles from the other archers.
Talon gave a snort of laughter. “I might just be able to pay for your breakfasts once in a while, you rascals.”
Max laughed out loud. “Talon, Gareth has given you a small army,” he said accusingly.
“I know, Max. I am grateful for your offer, you men from Wales. Of course I shall pay you, and pay you well, but be aware that we have trouble to come.”
They all quieted at that but soon they were happily drinking again. Belth and Devonalt started to argue about something in Welsh, but then the impulsive Welshmen began singing. Later in the evening Gareth got up from his seat and, weaving about, shouted in his dreadful French. “I would demonstrate how well m’lord Talon fought the boar.”
Talon laughed lightly as did his father and mother.
“Well Gareth, do so, this should be entertaining.”
Thereupon Big Drudwas stood up and slurred, “I will be the boar.”
Gareth crouched and waved a stick threateningly at Drudwas, who stamped and lowered his head. He had placed two chicken bones in his mouth that stuck out of either side of his large mustaches to resemble tusks. He charged and Gareth dodged and struck at him with the stick as he went by, shouting abuse.
The men sitting at the benches joined in shouting at the boar to gore Gareth or else. Everyone was roaring with laughter at their antics. Even Talon was laughing at the two clowns entertaining everyone. Sir Hughes was shaking with merriment, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes while Marguerite and Aicelina were hiding their faces behind their hands shaking with laughter with him.
Then during one of the charges Gareth tripped and fell over backward into the rushes. Drudwas promptly followed him down and gored him ferociously with his makeshift tusks. Then the hounds were tempted to join in and take bites out of the struggling, yelling Gareth, who was eventually saved by the other men who pulled both the hounds and Drudwas off him.
The two men staggered drunkenly back to their benches to more applause.
So the rest of the night passed with jokes, tales of valor, and songs. They went to bed as the first light of dawn was streaking the eastern sky.
At eventide their gaze did light
On Roman hall with tiled mantle
Distant in the darkness but warm and bright
From the light of their holy candle
Grey with time and ancient memory
Its walls and towers of rugged stone
Faint were the songs from the priory.
- Graham
Chapter 6
The Monastery
Talon woke with a terrible headache. He made his way shakily out to the well and found Max looking equally sick, trying to wash away the cobwebs by scooping water out of a leather bucket and throwing it over his head with cupped hands.
“Good morning, Talon.”
“Good morning Max. Ah, my head. Is that what wine does to you?”
“Yes, sir, it does. My mouth tastes like a Saracen’s loincloth.”
Talon grinned through his pain. “How would you know?”
He sloshed cold water from the bucket over his head to shake away the pain between his eyes. He took a long drought of water and immediately felt nauseous all over again. Stumbling over to the midden heap he heaved the last of the sour wine out of his stomach. Then he headed back to the well where a sympathetic Max was holding the bucket of water for him to rinse out his mouth.
They were breakfasting gingerly on fresh bread and milk when the Welshmen surfaced and came over to join them, one by one. They did not look as badly off as Talon felt. It must have shown as Ap-Maddock gave a wry grin when he saw Talon’s haggard face.
“Ah, Talon, m’lord. How do you feel, Bach? You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible. You poisoned the wine. And there is an awful banging going on in my head.” Talon winced as his head pounded.
They all laughed at his discomfort.
“The noise in your head might be the blacksmith. Feremundus is already busy,” Max said.
Some of the others looked just as hungover but they joined in the fun at his expense anyway.
Breakfast was almost done when Hughes sauntered over with Philip. The two of them seemed none the worse for wear. Both looked unsympathetically at the huddled Talon and called for lots of food which they ate with gusto in front of him.
“You need to eat, Talon, especially after a long night with wine,” Philip said in his tactless manner, his mouth full.
His father nodded wisely, an amused expression on his lined face. “It is always a good idea to eat a lot when you look like you do, my son.”
Talon glowered; he hated them both for being so smug. “When I am wounded and dying on the battlefield I shall call upon you, Uncle, for help and comfort in my last moments,” he grunted.
All he got for that was a grin as Philip stuffed more food into his already full mouth.
“You should have a hair of the dog, m’lord,” Gareth advised him, grinning.
Talon looked up sharply. “The hair of a dog? Why?”
“It helps get over the hangover,” Philip said.
“How can dog’s hair help me in my condition?”
Max roared with laughter. “No, a hair of the dog that bit you, Talon. It means another drink of wine. It settles the stomach.”
They were all laughing now, including a rueful Talon who was holding his head with both hands.
“I don’t think so, Max. I forsake wine for all time. Never again! Not ever!” More laughter.
Later in the day when he felt somewhat better Talon joined the Welshmen at the butts and practiced his weapons skills until he was sweating. Initially he felt tired, but felt better when he had spent several hours working the poison out of his system.
He made his way back to the hall and ran into his mother. She obviously wanted to talk to him, so he allowed her to guide him toward the small garden which was situated on the south side of the compound.
The garden was small and protected by a stout wattle fence from the incursions of the pigs that wandered the yard. They sat together on a rough oak bench near the well-tended soil where she grew plants. It was a quiet place where his mother had lavished time on several neat rows of herbs and vegetables. She had even planted a cherry tree which she showed him when they arrived in the garden. It had survived three winters and was now about four feet high. Nearby was the pond in which ducks were busily swimming, looking for tidbits. The day was bright with only a few clouds in the sky, and the sun overhead warmed them as they sat together.
“There is a great deal that has happened to you since the Saracen took you, Talon. I want to hear more about it. What did they do to you? You have changed so very much.”
“I hope that you do not disapprove of me, Mother?”
“No my son! I thank God every minute that he brought you back to me. But you are so different. I can't place my finger on it but there is something there you certainly would not have if you had not been taken.”
One of the hounds came over and nudged his knee insistently, wanting its ears to be rubbed.
“It is probably true, Mother. I don't see it in myself, but they did train me well and it was very hard at first. Jean the priest helped me so much. But now I feel as though I've come back to a world that I don't know. I felt at home there with the Persians. It is hard to explain.”
“Will you try to explain to me how this came to be? How you came to become one of them?”
“I'll try, but I would ask you be patient with m
e and try to understand.”
So while he played with the ears of the hound he sat with his mother and told her of his time in Persia, the affection he had formed for Isfahan and the people he still loved there.
“You lived in the Kingdom of Jerusalem and know something of the world I was taken to. But I find it hard to describe even to you how utterly different life in Alamut was, compared to our castle in the Kingdom. It was harsh, mountains are all around, and there is nowhere to which you can escape. Jean and I lived at their whim. We were free to go where we pleased within the castle, but where could we go if we had tried to escape? We would have been caught and killed immediately.
“They trained me well, and it was only when I was trapped by the lion on a hunting expedition that life changed for me. I met Rav’an. I was wounded and recovering in the Khan’s garden when she came and we met. She was like a wraith from a fairy tale. So beautiful, Mother! I fell in love with her and later she with me. We grew up and then went to Alamut, which is the castle of the Great Agha Khan. It is deeper still within the mountains and impregnable. ‘Alamut’ means ‘the Eagle’s Nest.’ It is perched on a high rock overlooking a deep valley.
“I became a fida’i and my brother Reza did too. We were among the best that they had.” Talon paused and smiled at his mother. “Can you imagine me being proud of that? But, yes, I am.”
He looked up to the sky. “But I am prouder of the love I gained from Rav’an. A forbidden love, though, as her brother, the Agha Khan, would have had me killed had he known. We became lovers while we were in Isfahan, after our escape from Alamut, and after a tragedy there—which I will tell you of some time—we came back to Banyas Castle. There she told me she was pregnant.
“I could not save her! I wanted to bring her with me, but the Templars apprehended me before I could and I lost her forever. When she is discovered, her brother the Khan will have her killed. There is no mercy for her crime. She is most likely dead as I speak.” He stopped, his throat too constricted to continue.
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