Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  “I shall look for weapons, too, Master Talon.”

  Talon looked around the inner yard. It was dirty and untidy. The stables looked as though they had rarely been cleaned and there was manure all over the yard and several noisome-looking puddles. There were eight or ten big and vicious-looking hounds snarling over some bones in a corner and several tough-looking, dirty, and unkempt men lounging about. These men, who were well armed, watched the new arrivals with hard eyes.

  Sir Hughes and his brother dismounted and were met by Sir Guillabert and his son Marcel. They were both in hunting garb and, other than the standard long dagger they carried at their belts, were not armed.

  “What brings you to my humble house, Sir Hughes? You are not as welcome as you might have thought after your behavior toward me the last time we met,” Sir Guillabert growled

  Hughes ignored the jibe and came straight to the point. “Guillabert, I have just come across one of my landsman’s huts. It is burnt, and he is dead. Men came out of the forests and committed a heinous crime.”

  Guillabert glared at him. “What is this to do with me? God’s trews! What do I care if brigands decide they do not like your landsmen? Why come here to tell me?”

  “Because we think you know who did it!” Philip shouted. He wore his Templar uniform. It gave him an air of authority and he was using it.

  Sir Guillabert’s face grew crimson with anger. “How dare you come here to my house, accepting my hospitality and accusing me of complicity in some imagined charge or other!” he roared.

  Marcel glowered angrily. Roger strode over from the stables having heard the exchange, a menacing glare on his bearded features. The men who were standing idle started to saunter purposefully toward the Sir Hughes’ group, looking as though they were preparing for trouble.

  Talon thought Guillabert’s display of temper looked feigned, but he did not like the fact that his men were coming together. They would be completely outnumbered here.

  His father stood his ground but put a hand on Philip’s arm to restrain him. “My brother is quick of temper, Sir Guillabert, but you have to allow that a grievous harm has been done to my people and that means to me. I came here to ask you to pass along a warning to others. If I should find the men who have done this, I shall hang them out of hand. I shall furthermore track down the man who gave them the orders to do so.”

  He said all this in a matter-of-fact tone. Talon admired his ability to control his anger. Then he added, “As to your hospitality, why, I see no wine being offered, so I shall leave you now.” He gave a perfunctory bow, climbed back into the saddle and steered the angry Philip on his horse back toward the gates.

  “Take your scabby men with you and know this, Hughes, neither you nor your family is welcome in this house!” Guillabert shouted.

  “And take the Saracen whelp of yours with you. May God rot his heathen soul!” Marcel shouted. There was a nasty laugh from Roger standing nearby.

  Talon bit his lip when he heard this but he did not need Max’s restraining hand to keep his temper. Sir Philip, however, had no such inhibitions. “Marcel, you ignorant pup. Do not test this man’s temper too far. Or you will regret it as others have.”

  Marcel gave a contemptuous laugh and waved them off dismissively. For a moment Talon thought his uncle would ride the young man down, but he held onto his fiery temper just enough to leave with the others.

  As they rode away, Talon watched the men on the ground for any indication that they were about to commit some treachery. Instead, they looked balefully after the group as it filed out of the castle and onto the wide swath of grassland in front. He breathed a lot easier when they were out of crossbow range. He decided to leave his father and uncle in the lead, talking animatedly to one another while he collected the information he wanted.

  Gareth strode alongside and Max sidled his horse alongside. “What numbers did you count?”

  Gareth, who could only just count, grinned his gap-toothed smile and raised his right hand fingers spread three times. “That is how many men-at-arms I saw, Talon.”

  Max nodded agreement. “I saw that number and more loafing in corners, and there had to be some in the keep itself. There are crossbow men and spearmen, as well as a couple of knights who have sold themselves to Sir Guillabert.”

  “That makes it nearer thirty or more,” Talon mused. He was silent while he digested this information. His father’s men barely numbered twenty-five in total and only then if they included the Welshmen. He was thankful that he had asked them to join him.

  Actually, he told himself, they had volunteered. He made a note to pay them an advance to sweeten the taste. He trusted Gareth and the other men now, so he had few worries that they would sneak off in the middle of the night. All the same, it was not their quarrel.

  After thanking the two men he rode forward to where his father and uncle were still debating the events just past. They stopped when he came up and both querried him almost at once.

  “Do you think Guillabert is a party to the burning?”

  Talon shrugged. “If he is not then I cannot think who could be. However, we have no proof, so we could only do what you did. You warned him.”

  “I think we have passed a point of no return with my wife’s cousin,” Sir Hughes growled.

  Talon had to agree.

  They rode into the fort in late afternoon, the sun a red orb over the trees to the west. It promised to be a balmy evening. Talon and Philip, after seeing to the horses, went to sit in the one place with the last vestiges of sunlight they could find and talk together. Talon liked his uncle and he realized that Philip valued his opinion.

  They sat in silence for a while and then Philip said, “Talon, I am impressed that you did not attack and kill Marcel for what he said today. I, more than most, have no doubt as to your courage.”

  “One day, Uncle, if he continues in that vein he surely will regret it,” Talon said calmly.

  Philip nodded. “Talon, you have been thinking?”

  Talon gave a short laugh. “My brother Reza used to say that! Uncle, there is much to think on. Yes, I have been thinking about the burning and what we can do about it. Do you think they will attempt to burn the mills?”

  The female hunting hound came over and demanded attention from them both. They obliged, absent-mindedly scratching her behind the head and along her back.

  Philip thought about it. “That's a good question and perhaps one for your father. But I don't think so, as that would destroy a large part of the wealth of your father’s estate. If they are after it, they would lose it, too.”

  Talon nodded. “I think so, too, Uncle. If that's the case, we should ask father’s opinion. However, that means that we can narrow down some of the targets. There are a few of father’s landsmen who do not live in or near the village. We should try to keep an eye on their houses after we have brought the people in. I think I might have a plan.”

  He outlined his idea to Philip who, although he had some reservations, agreed in principle with the idea.

  They went in to supper where Talon was greeted by his brother, who now wanted attention. Aicelina smiled at him as he knelt before the boy and discussed the day’s events. Then it was time for Guillaume to go to bed, so Talon had to take him there, followed by Aicelina.

  “Tell me a story from the far lands that you lived in, Talon,” Guillaume demanded.

  Talon smiled at him. “I shall tell you of a great warrior named Rostam. He was a great Persian hero.”

  “Oh, yes!” Guillaume squeaked in excitement. “Did he kill lots of warriors and become king?”

  “Patience, young lord, I have to tell the story as it should be told, and perhaps he did win great battles. Settle down and I shall tell you.” So Talon told him of the great Persian hero named Rostam and how he conquered the lands of the gods in distant times. “Once long, long ago there was a great hero who lived in the vast eastern lands of the Persians. His name was Rostam and he was the son of Zal and Kaboli.
Zal was his father who had magical powers and the protection of a great bird called Simorg.”

  “A bird?!” Guillaume exclaimed. “I would have preferred to have a bear or wolf!”

  “If you would let me continue I shall explain that Simorg was a huge bird and probably ate bears for dinner and wolves for breakfast. Besides, it had magical powers, too.

  “Rostam, too, was protected while he grew up by Simorg. I shall tell you of only one of the legends of Rostam tonight because there are so many. He lived for five hundred years and when he was a younger man he underwent seven trials of strength, cunning, and endurance which tempered him like a sword and made him the greatest warrior in the world.

  “He spent most of his life fighting for the kings of Persia and he defeated and killed many of the king’s enemies, but also dragons and demons. He served as the champion of no less than five Persian Shahs and lived through much of the reigns of two more.

  “The tale I shall tell you tonight is about his battle with the demon Akvān, According to the Šāh-nāma, which is the great book written by Ferdowsi and is therefore the book of truth; the story goes like this:

  “The Persians are superb horsemen and therefore they kept great herds of fine horses in the distant land of Fars—”

  “All these strange names! I shall never remember them,” Guillaume grumbled.

  “If you would only listen you might be able to learn them, now be quiet and let Talon tell the tale!” Aicelina said a little sharply. She patted Guillaume on the arm to take the sting out of the comment. “Please go on, Talon; we are both listening.” She smiled at Talon, obviously eager for him to continue.

  Talon grinned. “Messengers came from the land of Fars and told the Shah—and before you ask, a Shah is a king—that a demon was eating the horses which lived in the plains and was destroying his herds. The Shah—I cannot remember his name—was upset and called all his warriors together.

  “‘Who among you will rid me of this demon?’ he asked. Many a brave warrior stepped forward and then set off for Fars, but still the messengers came with the news that the demon was killing and eating the warriors as well as the horses, and nothing was being resolved.”

  “He ate the warriors! Yech!” Guillaume said, pulling a face.

  “Even demons have to eat something!”

  “Be quiet, Guillaume,” said an exasperated Aicelina.

  Talon struggled to suppress a laugh.“Finally, in desperation, the Shah sent for Rostam, who he then asked to help him. Rostam agreed and set off for Fars.

  “Akvān, the demon that was eating everyone, knew that Rostam was coming and knew, too, that here came not only a great warrior, but one famous for his cunning and even magic powers. Akvān was afraid, so he resorted to cunning and first confronted Rostam in the shape of a wild ass, huge, powerful, with a yellow hide and a black stripe from mane to tail. Akvān had a head like an elephant, long hair, a mouth filled with tusks, blue eyes, black lips, and an extremely ugly body, so turning himself into a wild ass was a big improvement.

  “Rostam knew immediately that this was Akvān in disguise and chased him on horseback for three days and three nights, but whenever Akvān was in danger, he concealed himself by magic. Rostam tried every trick he knew to find him but the demon was invisible. Rostam got little sleep during these three days because he knew that if he let his guard down he would become vulnerable to the demon.

  “In the end, however, he became very tired and could not stay awake, so he fell asleep. Akvān, who had been watching him from a distance, approached warily, creeping in stealthily and cutting away the earth around him with his tusks. When he had done this he gave a great shout and lifted Rostam high into the sky. Akvān changed back into his normal shape and shook Rostam awake.

  “Because he was a nice demon, he asked Rostam how he wanted to die, and whether he should throw him upon a mountain or into the sea.”

  “He was a nice demon! That can't be!” Guillaume said skeptically, and even Aicelina smiled.

  “Hmm, well anyway, Rostam preferred the sea because he knew he might live if he were thrown into the water; but he was cunning, too, and knew that the demon’s mind was perverse and would probably do the opposite of his request.

  “‘I would prefer to be thrown into a mountain because I cannot swim,’ he said.

  “Just as he thought, Akvān gave a nasty laugh, bade him goodbye and threw him into the sea.

  “It was not good to be thrown into the sea, but much better than the mountains, so Rostam swam back to the shore. When he had filled several new lakes with all the sea water he had swallowed, he set off to find his horse. It took a little while to find his horse, Raš, who had thought that his master was dead, and joined a herd of horses out on the plains of Fars. When Rostram found Raš, he set out after the demon again.

  “This time he was the one who was the more cunning, and captured the demon with a long rope that he threw around his neck as they galloped across the plain, and then, with a great swipe of his sword, beheaded him.

  “He took the head back to the Shah and showed him in front of all his court. Of course the Shah was pleased and gave him much treasure for which he had little use, so then Rostam went back to his lands in the great mountains of the eastern kingdoms.

  “And that is enough for tonight, my brother.”

  “That was not a romantic tale, Talon. Where are the lovers? Is there no love to be had in this Persia of yours?”

  “I am sure there is, Aicelina, but the legends do not talk of it very much.”

  Guillaume had listened to the exchange. “I don’t want any of that silly love stuff; I want to hear about heroes and be a great hero myself when I grow up!”

  “I am sure you will be, Guillaume, but now it's time for sleep,” Aicelina said.

  Talon got up and patted his brother on the hand. “Goodnight, my brother.”

  Aicelina smiled at him and took over while Talon went back to the hall where people were already eating. His mother called him over and he gave her a peck on the cheek then sat down beside Philip, who was already into his second helping of meat pie.

  There was no talk, for the men were hungry. When the meal was over the wine and mead came out and the men sat on benches around the hall fire and discussed the day.

  Talon and Philip had agreed that they would not discuss his plan in front of the entire group as Talon had reservations about this. But nothing stopped them from talking about other aspects of the situation. Everyone suspected Guillabert of some treachery; he was generally hated.

  He was unloved for his rough ways and frequent abuse of his own and other landsmen, even on one occasion for whipping someone who did not get out of the way of his horse fast enough. The man had almost died from the beating. He had hung men for almost no reason. But still no one could put anything against him with certainty.

  The attack on the villain’s house had come at night and the survivor, the landsman’s wife, was now in the village living with relatives. All she had been able to say was that men came out of the dark, threw torches onto the roof, and when her husband went to the door he had been killed with bolts from crossbows.

  Crossbows were common enough and much used nowadays so it could have been anyone.

  Sir Hughes liked the idea that people who lived outside the village should be brought into the immediate area and housed temporarily until they could find the culprits and punish them.

  Talon spent the next few days training. Philip and Hughes agreed that while he might be very adept at using the weapons of his choice, he had had no training with the weapons of the knights. The conventional battle, as fought by members of the feudal knighthood, involved the heavy sword, axe, lance, and shield. The shield of the day was almost universally a long, triangular object, sometimes with a slightly rounded top, made of heavy wood. There were often metal studs or a thin beaten layer of iron wrapped over its external side and it was quite heavy. Talon soon discovered that its stout design was for a good reaso
n—it had to withstand a blow from a heavy, two-edged sword and the terrific impact of a ball and chain, or an axe. When Philip wielded the axe it almost brought him to his knees.

  His uncle had insisted that he practice with the lance because that was the way all Knights Templar commenced their battles. It became very clear to all that once he was mounted, Talon could point his lance at a small ring suspended from the battlements on a string and stick and nearly always run his lance point through it. It was another matter when he was on the ground in front of his larger uncle, fighting with the sword and axe.

  Talon endured the punishment as he realized that he was in a new world and might need to fight like this some time. He would have preferred to use the methods he excelled at, but it was clear that he would be at some disadvantage against a well-armored man brandishing a weapon like the ball or an axe. His own shield could not have taken such punishment. After a day or two of training and after yet another bruising bout with his uncle that left him black and blue, he rested, sweating copiously on a bench alongside Gareth and the archers, who enjoyed watching and had offered worthless advice while Philip pounded on him.

  They had cheered him on while he staggered about in the heavy chain mail—his borrowed helmet too tight on his head, the nose guard too wide so that it impeded his vision—trying to avoid being decapitated by his enthusiastic uncle. Still they were impressed, because in spite of the blows from his uncle he had managed to get in some telling blows of his own and Philip was nursing some badly bruised ribs.

  “You will do well at this before too long, Talon,” Philip told him with a sweaty grin as they rested, panting. Keep that shield up more and you will be able to stab more easily.”

  Talon nodded. He received a clap on the shoulder that made him wince and drew a dry chuckle from Gareth.

  “I would not like to have to stand in front of your uncle and fight him, Talon, Bach. I am surprised there are any Saracen left after watching him at work.”