The smoke from many smoke holes hung heavy in the night air and assisted them in their efforts to stay out of sight. But for all Talon’s care he nearly stumbled onto a group of men gathered around a brazier drinking, talking noisily, and eating roasted meat. One of them spun around, sensing something not quite right, his hand on his dagger. But stare as he might into the darkened recesses of the street he could not see Talon and Gareth, who were hugging the dark shadows, motionless. The man shrugged and turned back to his companions, taking another long swig of wine from a full skin he held.
Finally, they came to the town’s main street and could see the activity around the entrance to the house of the bishop clearly. There was no mistaking it; there were burning torches in sconces against the walls and many grooms holding horses standing outside in the street. The grooms were huddled into their thin cloaks, their breath and that of the horses coming out in long streamers. Some of the horses had been well ridden as they were steaming in the cold night air. They fidgeted and stamped their hooves as they waited. The activity indicated that there was some kind of feast in progress, which suited Talon very well. Although there were some guards at the gates to the courtyard, no one would be paying much attention to what went on outside—all attention was going to be concentrated on the feast going on in the main hall.
He nudged Gareth and pointed to the dark entrance of a narrow alley across the street from the bishop’s house. They slipped across the main street unnoticed by anyone then hugged the shadows until they were at the entrance of the alleyway. Talon led the way down the dark alley to a point which brought him alongside a low wall, which looked as though it protected the property at the back. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on behind that wall. He motioned Gareth to stay where he was, climbed the rough stones easily, and then slid over the top to land in the shadows among some shrubs.
The back of the bishop’s house was a hive of activity. Servants in livery, and common serving men and women, were hurrying about the busy yard, carrying food on trays, and wine and beer in jugs. There was much shouting at sweating cooks to get their work done and give them food to take to hungry guests. The cooks in turn were swearing back at those worthies who were trying to take the food to the guests. There were a couple of cooking pits with a large pig’s carcass in one, a sheep in the other. Sparks were flying into the air, threatening the neighboring houses with fire. Talon crouched and watched. He, once again, needed to find someone to change clothes with. Not for the first time he wished he had slain the bishop in Guillabert’s castle. Having seen what he wanted, he slipped over the wall again and, crouching in the dark, whispered to Gareth.
“There will be another body coming over the wall; you will need to dispose of it.”
Gareth gaped at him in the dark. “What are you going to do, Talon, Bach?”
“You must not ask, Gareth. Simply do as I say.”
He felt rather than saw Gareth nod in the dark and gripped his friend’s arm. Then he got up and climbed back over the wall.
There was a certain rhythm to the activity in the kitchen. Men came out of the building with empty platters and replenished them at one or other of the trestle tables or fires where the cooks were standing, either carving the meat or dishing out the food. There was a man near them in the bishop’s livery, giving orders to one and all.
Talon waited for his victim to walk by.
It was not long before a man in the bright livery of the bishop’s retinue strode by, carrying some bread. Talon slipped behind him and had his cord around the man’s neck before he could even gasp. The bread fell in a tumble among the bushes and Talon and his victim disappeared. There was a brief struggle, then Talon hit him hard on the top of the head with the pommel of his knife and the body went limp. Talon went through the unpleasant task of changing clothes with the unconscious man and then pushed the half naked body over the wall to a waiting and incredulous Gareth.
“Toss him into someone’s garden, Gareth,” was the command.
“Yes, m’lord,” was the startled reply.
Talon made his way cautiously into the great hall, carrying the retrieved bread in a basket, accompanying several other harassed servants all carrying trays of meat and pies. He gathered himself and looked around.
There was a lot of noise inside the great hall, loud conversation and much laughter that rose to the blackened rafters as people drank the fine wine and mead the bishop provided. The bishop was holding a feast to welcome one of his peers. Talon had heard that he was famous for the feasts he gave. It was almost as though he were Lord of the town, though no one would ever dare to say so. The bishop might be rich from all the Church’s land holdings but he could never assume title of “Lord”; he was already one by default.
Talon spied him at the high table with the Bishop of Carcassonne, who was passing through the city of Albi with his retinue. There must have been well over sixty guests crammed together on benches below the high table, dining on the well-prepared food the bishop’s famous table provided.
They were a mixed bag of landed knights and their ladies with the occasional rich merchant from that growing group of people who traded with other countries. They were still viewed with much suspicion by the knights, but the few merchants that were there were present because the bishop evidently saw value in cultivating these men. They represented wealth; the knights were, for the most part, barely able to afford their armor, let alone possess any land that was tax and debt free. The two overweight bishops looked magnificent in their clerical robes with silver chains hanging off their shoulders. Ermine collars over soft cloaks of fine English wool held with clasps of silver decorated their chests. Their fingers were bejeweled with rings that flashed in the bright candlelight. Both wore the white felt cap of the clergy that went over their heads and had small flaps that acted as a warmers over their ears.
Bishop Bohemond was wedged comfortably in a throne-like chair of carved oak and his guests to either side of him were equally splendidly seated. An individual servant attended each of the guests at the high table, obsequiously and unobtrusively serving them wine and meats as they brought them in. Then they’d hurry off to obtain more at the guests’ request. There was wine aplenty and the conversation was loud and cheerful.
There seemed to have been no expense spared for the huge candles that adorned the tables and the flaming torches along the walls. Their guttering flames flickered and flared in the drafty hall, sending great shadows dancing along the walls, lending the impression that there were many more guests of the phantom kind than there were of mankind. Three minstrels were playing flute and stringed instruments at the back of the hall, their thin music competing poorly with the hubbub of the crowd.
The strong smell of wax mingled with burnt herbs and wood smoke from the huge fire at the end of the hall. Bursts of laughter and loud conversation from the assembled knights and gentry below the high table attested to the fact that the bishop’s good wine was doing its work on the guests.
The servants to the people at the high table dispersed to get the next course onto the table before the guests even noticed that their trenchers were gone. Wine servers filled cups and goblets during the interval. Talon followed the man who served the bishop into the darker corridor behind the curtains of the door and before the surprised victim could shout his surprise Talon had pulled him sharply into a darkened alcove well out of the way of the human traffic.
There was a brief scuffle as the man unexpectedly struggled violently. Talon decided that he had to silence him quickly. The man died with a muffled groan. Talon dragged the dead man deep into the darkness under some stairs and left him there. He went to look for the cooks and the next course. As he was moving carefully along the line, a man in the bishop’s livery shouted at him from close by, making him jump.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you seen Hubert? Goddamn him. I'll whip that lazy, filthy cur, he is to serve the bishop his next course. Doesn’t he know that his lordship hates waitin
g?” the man shouted loudly. “Here!” He thrust a silver plate laden with succulent-smelling meats and gravy into Talon’s hands and pointed back the way he had come.
“Hurry. Take it or I'll flog you as well if you're late with this by even a minute. Don't you dare keep his lordship waiting, you dog’s arse.”
Talon took the plate and hurried off, head down, looking servile, trying not to attract any attention to himself. He paused in the darkness of the stairway, waited until the other servants had hurried by, then took out one of his leather pouches. He shook it gently and sprinkled the ground-up dust into the gravy. He stirred it with his finger and buried it some more into the meal. Then he all but ran to the hall, following close after the other hurrying figures as they rushed to present the next course to the guests.
The Bishop Bohemond turned away from an animated discussion of the politics of the day with the Bishop of Carcassonne to address the man on his left, Father Eustache, his secretary. Talon ducked his head to avoid Eustache seeing him, and placed the meal in front of the bishop, who turned as he delivered it, saying querulously, “Where is the next course? Why do those lazy servants never bring it when I want it?” He wiped his mouth with a towel he snatched from a nearby attendant. “Ah, about time, too.” He waved Talon away. “Father, we have to leave for Burgundy. There is to be a concourse of bishops within two weeks.”
“Yes your eminence. I shall make preparations starting tomorrow. When would you want to leave?”
I think by the end of the next week.” The bishop turned back to his guest and they continued their discussion.
Talon came back with some more food just in time to hear the bishop say speak.
“Have you notified them? It's time to finish the nonsense with those ploughshare knights.”
His ears pricked up at the tone of the bishop’s voice but then the priest confirmed his suspicions.
“Yes, your Eminence. I have already sent letters to both parties by horse messengers, including the secretary of the Count of Carcassonne. It's a pity those oafs, Guillabert’s sons, bungled their work.”
“Why, what work was that?” the bishop asked, gravy dribbling down his chin.
“They tried to ambush the knight’s son, Talon, when he and his uncle came back from Carcassonne, Your Eminence.”
“Eh. What happened?” He wiped at the gravy with a napkin.
“Somehow they killed the Templar Knight, his uncle, but then Talon proved to be too much for them. He got away after killing several of them.”
“The fools! That Guillabert and his sons are very stupid people! I will not countenance the killing of a Templar no matter how I despise them. They are protected by the Pope. That Talon boy is interesting! We have to get him out of the way somehow or other.”
“We should proceed with the Tribunal, my Lord. After that we will be able to enforce the law of the Church and have him branded as a heretic.”
“If I did not need that odious man Guillabert I would abandon him to the wolves, but just for a while longer and then perhaps we can take care of him as well,” the bishop said, taking a long drought of wine.
“Where is that meat? You.” He waved at Talon who was hovering unctuously nearby. “Bring more of that meat.” He turned back to the priest. “The important thing is to ensure we have the land for the church. The mills and fishing rights will bring in a very useful income.”
Neither paid any attention to the servants as they feverishly replaced used platters with fresh ones that contained rich meat and gravy. The bishop ceased talking and turned his attention to the aromatic tenderloin of pork, sprinkled with dried herbs and surrounded with cooked prunes and apple sauce which had been placed carefully under his nose. The guests in the main hall still used trenchers of bread but the high table was honored with silver. The bishop did not stint his important guests.
He beamed delightedly on hearing the notes of a mandolin coming from down in the main area of the hall. The bishop did so like the songs of the troubadours from Languedoc. They were saucy and suggestive and warmed him for the evening to come with the woman he had in his own house. He would of course have to put out a sermon condemning the morality of these same troubadours in the churches of Albi at a later date. For the moment the Bishop Bohemond was a very contented man. Everything was going his way and a ripe plum was about to drop into his outstretched hand. God was providing.
Talon made his way back toward the yard. To make sure that the irritable man who commanded the kitchens did not see him, he got close to one of the cooks who was garnishing some platters with herbs. Without letting anyone see him Talon sprinkled some dust on the platters and moved off. Next he discovered where the wine was being dispensed to the servants, who carried it into the hallway in earthenware jugs. It was simply a waist high barrel with the top taken off that the harried men dipped their jugs into. He sprinkled more dust into the barrel, stirred it in with a small stick and moved on.
His tour took him all around the yard, stopping here and there to dispense dust in some of the mead jugs or in this or that food tray. Then he made his way back to the hall, carrying another platter which he ensured was placed near to the clerics seated at the same table as the Bishop Bohemond.
It took about half an hour for Talon to be rewarded for his efforts. The first indication that all was not going to go well for the bishop’s feast was when a knight staggered to his feet, lurched into the center of the hall and stood there shaking his head as though puzzled, staggering about. Then with a shout he drew his sword and charged the table where a small group of unarmed merchants were seated. He bellowed a curse and brought his sword down hard in a huge arc. His intended victim was just quick enough to slide out of the way along the crowded bench so that the descending blade hammered onto the surface of the thick wooden table. Platters and jugs bounced into the air and some shattered. There was a scream from one of the women nearby.
The sword stuck fast in the wood while the knight slowly leaned over it; releasing the handle to bang his head on the table then slid to the ground senseless.
There was a horrified silence for about two seconds then there was bedlam. The shrieks from the women and shouts of anger and bewilderment from the assembly were a satisfying sound indeed. Men got up but then sat down abruptly with comical expressions on their faces as the effects of the mushroom powder took over. Others started to laugh and behaved as though they were deranged while the men who had run over to stop the maddened knight found themselves falling over one another giggling and laughing uproariously while tripping over the knight himself, who was quite unconscious.
Talon moved back into the shadows and watched as pandemonium broke loose. The Bishop of Carcassonne tried to stand up, but fell forward and buried his face in a pie, while the priest, Father Eustache, staggered to his feet only to clutch at Bishop Bohemond’s cloak and drag it off the sickening man as he fell to his hands and knees, giggling uncontrollably. Bishop Bohemond was choking and holding his throat with one hand with the other pressed against his right side. He looked fearful and very ill, but no one seemed to notice.
Men and women were shrieking with laughter and pointing at one another or falling about the tables and over each other, and falling backward into the rushes of the main floor.
The bewildered servants stared at one another and then smirked, looking down at the assembly with disgust. But they too were not free of the affliction. One of them started to laugh, pointing at the men and women clutching one another in hysterics, and then another, followed by a spastic jerk by another. They had all been drinking the bishop’s wine as they served and now they were possessed, too.
Before long Talon was one of the very few still standing in the hall, watching the crazed behavior going on all around him. He quietly made his way out of the hall then made sure he was not observed out in the garden where the servants and cooks were just beginning to succumb to the drug. He slipped over the wall to join Gareth.
“They seem to be having a lot of
fun this night, Talon.”
“Indeed, Gareth, it is amazing what a few herbs can do when added to a meal,” Talon said.
He was satisfied that revenge had been done and that there was a little more balance in place for their trial.
Belth was trying to decide when it might be midnight when he got the shock of his life. Talon touched him on the shoulder and whispered, “You are not very observant, Belth, my friend.”
He spun around to see Talon’s dark shadow standing right next to him. “Dieu, Dieu Bachan. Talon, where in God’s name did you come from?” he gasped, his heart in his mouth, visibly shaken by the fact that Talon had come up on him so stealthily.
Gareth chuckled softly at his friend’s surprise.
“Now we have to go to the monastery,” Talon whispered.
They mounted up and walked the horses around the town which was in the process of going to sleep, and then headed east for the monastery.
Talon and his two companions arrived at the abbey in the early hours of the morning. They stopped the horses on the edge of the clearing that opened onto the area that the fields of the abbey covered. There they slept for the few hours before the cocks began to crow in the yard by the stables. The monks, being early risers, were already up and moving about as the three somewhat disheveled riders came out of the woods, leading their horses, and climbed the hill to the main buildings.
They were greeted by the monks with some surprise, but Talon was made welcome as a friend.
He spent the day with the abbot, who was genuinely pleased to see him, as were Claude, Pierre, and the others. Talon spent a happy and relaxed few hours with the monks, although he had to tell them of the ambush and the death of his uncle. The abbot was appalled and visibly disturbed to hear Talon’s description and who was implicated. Talon made no mention of the visit to Albi and had made Gareth and Belth swear to talk to no one about it.
Knight Assassin Page 39