Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  As Talon slept, Aicelina stood by the door with the candle, listening to him muttering in a tongue she had never heard before and wondered at the strange life he had led. Although she had given herself to him and would again if circumstances permitted, even tonight if he had wished it, she knew intuitively she was not part of his destiny.

  How sweet are looks that ladies bend

  On whom their favors fall.

  For them I’ll battle until the end,

  To save them from shame and thrall:

  - Lord Tennyson

  Chapter 18

  Bartholomew

  Talon woke late and with a heavy heart. His first thought was that he would sorely miss his uncle. Philip had been an anchor to him during his last few months; his cheerful outlook on life and his rough but kindly mentoring had encouraged Talon. Talon realized that it had been no mean feat to have persuaded the Count himself to perform the ceremony of knighting him. Sir Philip must have used a lot of his credit as a Templar returned from the Holy Land to make that happen.

  He made his way outside to find Sir Hughes, who was very obviously grieving over the death of Philip, but as was characteristic of him he had thrown himself into the business of preparing for war and was directing activities in the main yard. Gareth and the other Welshmen hurried over to Talon while he was taking breakfast near the kitchens.

  They watched him eat, saying nothing. It was as though they wanted to hear from him first. Once again he had to tell the story of the ambush; the men questioned him closely on what had happened. They were angry and frustrated that they could not rush off and deal a deadly blow of their own to the Guillaberts.

  Finally, Talon looked across the table at Gareth. “I have to go to Albi tomorrow. Will you and Belth come with me?”

  Gareth looked puzzled. “Yes, we will, Talon, Bach. But why?”

  “Because I need to take care of something and will need your help to do it, but I must swear you all to silence on the subject,” Talon responded enigmatically.

  They looked surprised but all nodded and knuckled their foreheads as though to their chief.

  Belth nodded and smiled his gap-toothed smile, his freckled face glowing with pleasure. All he wanted to do was to avenge his comrade Anwl and if that meant going to Albi then so be it. The anger in the compound was palpable and Talon wondered if they would contain their rage until he came back.

  A man who Talon had not formerly met walked over and sat down at the table next to them. He didn’t look like a peasant nor one of the villains belonging to Sir Hughes, but neither did he look like one of the men-at-arms that Talon was familiar with. He wondered if the man might be one of the peddlers who came by infrequently. However, there were telltale stains on his fingers that indicated he could write. He looked at the young man and decided to ask him who he was.

  Just as he was about to do so, Sir Hughes came over, carrying a small, rolled parchment with a wax seal attached to it. He dropped it in front of Talon and then, seeing the young man, glanced at Talon.

  “Talon, while you were away with your uncle we had this young man as a visitor. Bartholomew, this is my son, Talon. We have also had notification by messenger, from the bishop no less, of the date for the court appearance and where we should plead our case. It is to be three days from today in Albi.”

  He sat himself down among them and called for food. To Talon he looked weary with worry and grief. There was much gray to his mop of hair.

  Talon introduced his archers to Bartholomew who, it turned out, was very distantly related to his mother and had just come from Paris. He was a clean-shaven young man of about twenty years with untidy light brown hair over a high forehead, with intelligent hazel eyes that regarded Talon with interest. Talon for his part was interested in what he might tell him.

  “Paris. Tell me, is it a great city?”

  The answer was slow in coming. “They tell me that you came back to this land from far away Persia. That you talk of cities that glow in the sunlight from the light off their stone walls. You have told people here of huge caravans of animals called camels—what are those by the way?—that arrive every month to bring even more wealth to these cities.”

  Talon nodded. “It is true of Isfahan and especially Baghdad; I saw it for myself.”

  “Then you would be disappointed in Paris, save for one thing.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Why, the church of St Martin, designed and also built in part by the great Abbey Sugar. There is talk that he was inspired by the great Queen Eleanor, but I think it was only God and the use of glass. It is, however, a sight to behold in a city that is otherwise unremarkable despite the Isle de Seine, for in all the surrounding city the streets are like bogs and in winter the wolves roam.”

  “I thought Paris was the greatest city of this whole realm, second to none, not even Carcassonne,” Talon said with real surprise in his voice.

  Bartholomew barked a short laugh. “Then you have already seen the greatest city, bar Toulouse, in the whole of the region of Languedoc, Burgundy, and Aquitaine, as well as the feeble kingdom of France. Paris cannot match Toulouse or Carcassonne except in the matter of the Church of St Martin. They are, it is true, building Notre Dame as a cathedral but that will take generations to complete,” Bartholomew said, a bit cynically. “The monies they will spend on that will be huge and will beggar the kingdom of France, which barely has enough income to pay for the King as it is.”

  “What then do you do for a way of life? By your stained fingers I would say you are a scribe of some sort?”

  Bartholomew chuckled. “I am more than a scribe, Talon. I was a student and I am now an Advocate by profession, schooled at the University of Montpellier, and then I spent some time in Paris at the new schools of debate. I am here, passing through on my way north again but turned aside to visit my distant aunt, your mother, and Sir Hughes here. I had heard they were back from the Holy Land and wanted to see them before I take up my trade with some lord or other, probably for the Count of Burgundy.”

  “What is an Advocate? Is that like being a true friend to something?”

  “Somewhat. As an Advocate I both advise on and debate the rules and laws of the land and the Church.”

  “How is this done?” Talon asked.

  “We take up a dispute before a lord or a high man of the church and advise him of the law as it should be and ensure that he is not in error.”

  “Do you advise less exalted men?” Talon asked tartly.

  Bartholomew shot him a shrewd glance. “Ah, I take it that you are alluding to the situation of your mother’s inheritance?”

  Talon nodded. “If you are a man of the law can you not advise and debate our situation before a tribunal?”

  Bartholomew looked at Talon. “It is complicated. I have studied Canon Law; there are many kinds, but this dispute is about land and does not directly involve the church. However...” he looked thoughtful. “Before whom do you have to defend your rights?”

  Talon turned to his father. “Father, is it not to be before a representative of the Count, perhaps his secretary, and also the Bishop of Albi, and one other local lord?”

  His father nodded. “Bartholomew, the bishop is going to weigh in on the side of Guillabert, Talon overheard him talking to our enemies. Tell him, Talon.”

  For the rest of the morning while the others drifted off Talon told Bartholomew about the plot he had heard. After Bartholomew had gotten over his initial shock at how Talon had obtained the information, he questioned him closely.

  Eventually Bartholomew said, “There is little I can use for the court, but it tells me how we should behave when there, which is very useful. We now know exactly how the bishop stands on the case.”

  Talon plied him with questions about his life in the University of Montpellier and was in turn asked many questions by the inquisitive Bartholomew. By noontime Talon decided he thoroughly liked this astute young man and was convinced that Bartholomew might be at the ve
ry least a useful ally.

  They were so engrossed in their discussion that they didn’t notice Aicelina come up and seat herself at the same table and listen to them. Then Bartholomew hesitated and turned to regard her with undisguised admiration.

  “Aicelina. I did not notice, how rude of me. Please forgive me... Talon has beguiled me with tales of his adventures.”

  She smiled at him warmly and then turned to Talon. “You should have your wound dressed, Talon. It was a nasty cut.”

  Talon smiled ruefully at Bartholomew. “Aicelina is my nurse, it would seem. Let’s talk some more tomorrow. I must submit to her gentle administrations, and then I have things to do this afternoon and evening.”

  Bartholomew nodded, and with a smile to Aicelina he left. Aicelina made Talon take his shirt off and then changed the bandage around his middle.

  His skin tingled at her touch and he wished they were by the pool again. She must have noticed something in his attitude because she began to blush slowly and there was a secret smile on her lips when she had done. “If you are thinking thoughts that are not decent I shall be offended,” she said unconvincingly.

  “I was thinking that Bartholomew is somewhat taken with you, Aicelina,” he teased gently by way of deflecting her.

  He was surprised that she looked down briefly. Could it be? he wondered to himself, is Aicelina attracted to this intelligent young man? Did he have a rival? She looked up into his eyes and gave him one of her cool smiles, which he could make nothing of.

  He thought about that later that afternoon as he found his way back to the pool. What right did he have to her heart if it was clear in his own mind that he did not intend to stay but rather to leave when he could for the Outré Mere? He bathed cautiously because of his wound, but that was not the reason for the visit. Afterward, he went hunting for the small mushrooms that Aicelina had warned him about. They looked like the ones he had learned about so long ago during his training with the Assassins, and what she had told him about them was sufficient to his needs. He plucked several different kinds and put them in two different leather bags he had brought along for the purpose, then found his way back to the busy fort which he entered unobserved except for the sentries.

  He was later confronted by his father, who wanted to plan what they could do about the attack on himself and Philip.

  “I have talked to Bartholomew, who councils patience, and don’t forget, I did get a pledge of help from the Count of Carcassonne. I think we should wait until the court case is done with and then we shall see. To attack them now in full cry would not do our cause any good before the tribunal. Bartholomew is a sensible man; he told me that we should be the ones who appear to bear the pain of persecution and carry it with us when we make our appearance before the bishop and the Count’s man. Remember also that the Count promised that he would send someone to watch for a fair trial, Father.”

  His father, although deeply and visibly angry at the murder of his brother, was still ready to listen to his son. Talon had impressed him since he had been with them, both as a leader and someone with a lot of sense. He shrugged grudgingly. “I would like nothing better than to storm Guillabert’s castle and take his head, Talon; but it would be suicide, so I'll curb my rage and that of my people until the time is right to do so.”

  Talon gripped his father’s arm. “Make no mistake, Father, it shall be as you want it, but we should have right on our side when it's done. I grieve for my Uncle Philip, as it was he who brought me here. I miss him badly and like you, I will be avenged.”

  He went off to find his mother and console her over the death of Philip as he had not had much time to do so before. He found her spinning wool thread and talking with Aicelina. His brother and sister were seated near the herb and vegetable garden in a patch of sunlight. Two of the massive hounds were in attendance upon the children who were playing with the long-suffering animals. He stood still and admired Aicelina’s poise before he moved forward.

  None of them had heard him come up so they jumped when he coughed and made his presence known.

  ‘Talon!” his mother exclaimed. “I swear the archers are right about you. You're like a ghost. I didn't hear you come.”

  He kissed his mother and gave Aicelina a smile. She dimpled and looked down as though concentrating on her sewing. He seated himself near them on the grass and Guillaume promptly jumped onto him demanding to hear all about the ambush. He winced from the pain in his side and carefully placed his brother alongside him. The hounds greeted him in a friendly manner and then ambled over to the pond to lie there watching the ducks, relieved of the duty of entertaining his brother.

  Talon told them the story simply, as they had not heard it from him. His mother wept when he told her of finding Philip by the side of the road.

  They talked about the burial to take place the next day.

  Soon it was time to go into the great hall and eat. The sun had set and the evening was cool. The first whispers of autumn were blowing in and the leaves were turning.

  “The Monks of Melrose made gude kail

  On Fridays when they feasted

  Nor wanted they gude beef and ale,

  As long’s their neighbors lasted.”

  - From the Lay of the last Minstrel

  Chapter 19

  Bishop’s Feast

  Later that evening, Talon announced that he intended to visit the monastery again and it would be that night. While somewhat surprised, no one remarked upon it; but after the meal he sought out Gareth and told him that he wanted his archers out in the woods again, as Guillabert was not done and could still be up to some mischief.

  Gareth told him that he and Max were concentrating on the training of the other villains and then said, “Did you not tell me that you were going to visit Albi, Talon?”

  “Yes. That has not changed, and remember I do not want it discussed with anyone at all, but later we will visit the abbey. I go to Albi first.”

  Gareth shrugged, but he grinned, his blue eyes twinkling, “Do you have an eye on some girl there, then, Bach?”

  Talon reached over and cuffed him gently before he could react; Gareth laughed.

  They left the fort in the dark on horseback and made their way toward the town. Talon had warned the two archers that he had no idea what to expect when they got there—the brawl would still be remembered—but he divulged nothing of the plan he had for when they did get there.

  Talon noticed the huntsman Domerc leaning against one of the door pillars, watching them intently as they left. He dismissed the thought that Domerc might suspect where he was going, but somehow it was unsettling and he could feel the huntsman’s eyes boring into his back long after they had exited the gates.

  Several hours later, they sat their horses on a knoll, watching the town preparing for bed. Nights were longer now and becoming cool. Talon was dressed in rough, dark clothing borrowed from one of the archers so he looked just like the other two. As such he would go un-remarked in a society that dressed for the most part in patched cloth and hand-me-downs. Only the wealthier merchants could afford good cloth and therefore good clothes. They could see the lanterns on the masts of the barges anchored or tied up near the bridge. All seemed calm and quiet.

  They rode to the walls cautiously and then stopped the horses in a small grove of trees not far from the wooden palisade. Curfew was in effect now, something that Gareth had mentioned to Talon as though he might have forgotten, but Talon had only nodded and ridden on. They were very near the walls but well hidden from prying eyes within the dark shadows of the tall trees. The sentries were unlikely to be very alert, Talon reasoned, as there were no threats about for them to worry about.

  He dismounted and handed his reins to Belth. “Keep watch and be very alert. I am going into the town.”

  There was a muffled exclamation from both men. “Talon, what are you doing, Bach?” Gareth whispered, agitated.

  “I am taking care of some business, Gareth. Come with me. Belth, trust
me, we shall be back by midnight; and if we are not, then ride to the monastery, ask the abbot if he has found any documents that relate to our case.”

  Then they were gone. Belth looked around. The two had simply vanished. He dismounted and tethered the horses to a tree and waited. The night was closing in and the bark of a fox a quarter mile away told Belth that the woods were waking up.

  Talon and Gareth had moved back into the shadows and then made their way toward the walls. Talon picked a very dark area where the shadows cast by the tall trees darkened the area. He cast a rope with a loop over the spikes and tested its weight; satisfied, he pulled himself up and over the ramparts of the crude wall. He assisted Gareth over the parapet. There was no one to greet them on the walkway, just as he had surmised. The guards were all sitting around a fire down at the other end of the section, warming their backsides, gossiping, their spears stacked against the wall.

  The two dark shapes with cowls pulled well over their heads to hide their faces slipped off the ramparts and made their way toward the center of the town. Talon and Gareth used every shadow along the way, moving steadily toward the house that had been pointed out to Talon as the bishop’s. He wanted no one to see him that night. It was not hard to avoid the people on the streets; for the most part they were men and most of them were drinking, some were even unconscious, lying against walls and in the streets. The squeaking of rats was loud in some of the corners where there was much filth.

  Women rarely ventured out after dark unless they had a purpose, and that was to meet with men in the taverns. Albi certainly didn’t seem to lack those, judging by the noise that came from the several candlelit drinking houses they passed. Talon wrinkled his nose at the pungent smells of the streets they crossed along the way. Whenever they came across people walking the streets, their clothes and the cowls covering their heads were enough to persuade people to leave them alone. Talon’s main concern was that dogs would bark at him and then follow him, but even they seemed to be hiding from the gathering cold.