Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  He spent some time with Claude, who mentioned that they had discovered some old parchments in one of the chests in a cell that they were hunting through to see if there was any chance of a document pertaining to the will.

  “You cannot rely upon us to save you at the court, I’m afraid,” the abbot said unhappily later as they discussed the situation.

  “We have an Advocate staying with us who is a distant relative of my mother’s.”

  “An Advocate? One of those young men who have been to the debating colleges in Paris?” asked the abbot with interest.

  “I believe he has been to Paris, and after hearing about it I'd like to go to see for myself.”

  “Ah, you do not find the countryside very stimulating?” the abbot asked gently, amused.

  “You might be right, my Lord. I cannot say that it has been lacking in action, but I am surprised to say that I miss the chance to read and to apply my calligraphy.”

  “Why, then, do you also write in the tongue of the Arab and the Persian, Talon?” asked the abbot with some surprise. It seemingly had not occurred to him that Talon might be literate with the pen as well as with languages.

  “I was taught well by many teachers, including my friend, Jean de Loche, who taught me Latin, my Lord Abbot. My ‘Uncle’ Farj’an insisted that I and my ‘Brother’ Reza learn both languages and to read and write them well. I shall be forever grateful to him for that.”

  The abbot beamed and insisted that Claude bring the ink and quills to them and quickly sharpened one with a small knife. “You must show us how they write,” he exclaimed.

  Talon demonstrated the curling calligraphy of the Arab letters to the enthralled abbot and Claude, who was with them.

  They passed many pleasant hours in this fashion until it was noon and time for prayers.

  Talon explained that he had to leave as they would be burying his uncle that day. Reluctantly, the abbot bid him goodbye and safe journey. He blessed Talon and told him that he would be praying for the soul of his Uncle Philip, the servant, and Anwl.

  Claude told him that they would continue to industriously look for evidence, and God speed.

  Hours later, Talon and his two weary friends arrived at the fort. The sentries opened the gates and let them in. Talon was just in time for Philip’s funeral. His father looked impatient, but controlled it when he understood why Talon insisted on dressing in his chain mail and wearing his full armor.

  The service was held by the same ragged priest from the village who had come into the fort that day at the request of Sir Hughes. He was to be paid a few small coins to perform the simple ceremonies for the dead. Talon stood with head bowed at the head of the grave situated at one corner of the grassy field which surrounded the fort. They placed a rough wooden cross at the head of each of the graves after they had been filled.

  When the solemn ceremony was done, Sir Hughes came up to Talon and gave him Philip’s shield. They had buried his uncle with his sword in hand and dressed in his Templar tunic. Talon hefted the shield and bowed to his father.

  “Your mother has spoken to me of your need to go back to the Holy Land. If that be the case then you will want a good shield,” his father said gruffly, as they walked with the crowd toward the gates of the fort.

  Talon looked at his father. “I do not wish to leave very soon, Father.”

  “With winter coming, I should hope not, Talon. Besides we have some unfinished business to take care of before hand. God rot that man, Guillabert,” he added savagely.

  To chances where our lots were cast

  Together in the days behind,

  I might but say, I hear a wind

  Of memory murmuring the past.

  Lord Tennyson

  Chapter 20

  The Trial

  There was much debate as to who should be present at the dispute to be resolved by the Bishop at Albi and the other judges the following week.

  Talon, Max, and Gareth wanted to take only the minimum number of men necessary to get there and back safely while leaving men at the fort to protect it from some treachery from the Guillabert family. They need not have worried; Sir Hughes decided to split his forces and to leave Max and Gareth at the fort with three of the remaining archers and good number of the newly trained villagers while they went to the trial with Drudwas and several of Sir Hughes’ mounted men-at-arms. Bartholomew was asked to come along as Talon considered him a potential asset should the trial became a debate.

  The two of them had argued back and forth numerous times, trying to build a story that would check the bishop, because Bartholomew was sure he would be the leader of the judges against them and they assumed that Sir Guillabert would not hesitate to lie in front of the assembly.

  Bartholomew had grave misgivings, saying that it was a matter of record, quoting many instances where corrupt church leaders of the time had cheated people out of their rightful inheritance and claimed it for the church. While this was not technically the case here, he agreed that it could be the only reason the bishop was involved at all. He nevertheless thought that he could debate in front of the judges, should it come to that, for the sake of reaching the Count’s Secretary, another powerful man, and the Lord Theudebert, a landed noble of the region. Talon said nothing.

  Gareth and Max were concerned at the few in number who left the fort that day, but Sir Hughes told them that their problems were more likely to occur on the way back from the trial rather than on their way out and they would be prepared. Talon agreed with him.

  His mother and Aicelina saw them off at the gates with the remainder of the villagers standing about. Sir Hughes had ordered all his villains and freemen with their families to come into the fortress and await the outcome. The walls were to be manned at all times and the gates locked shut until their party came back.

  The group of men rode cautiously along the tracks and paths toward Albi. Drudwas had already taken the road ahead as a scout. Talon had no intention of relaxing his guard even now when they should have been safe. Sir Hughes’ huntsman Domerc accompanied them on their journey, as did several churls who ran ahead with Drudwas as scouts.

  Talon wondered about the intent looks that Domerc gave him from time to time, but did not remark it too much; his attention was on the road and the surrounding woods and countryside, looking for any signs of treachery. For the most part he and his father rode in silence. Philip’s loss had affected them both and Talon knew his father mourned Philip deeply even if he gave little outward sign.

  “It was one thing to know my brother was in the Holy Land with all its dangers, and so miss him,” he told Talon bitterly. “But it is quite another to know he is dead.”

  The party arrived at the town of Albi with the sun high in the sky and the bells ringing for noon prayers.

  It was clear that the court had been in session as there was a new corpse hanging from a gibbet near the gates. There was also a new head on a spike over the gates, staring sightlessly into the distance through half closed eyes. Flies were circling around the pallid flesh. The men crossed themselves as they went by. The laws of this land were enforced harshly, and it was likely that the victims were only sheep thieves or pocket thieves of some kind.

  They were quickly permitted entrance, Sir Hughes having waved the document in the faces of the gate guards. They were then directed toward the center of the town. Puzzled, Sir Hughes asked why not the bishop’s house.

  “His eminence the bishop has died, sir,” the guard captain responded.

  There were shocked looks from the group. “What are you telling me, man? He is dead?” asked Sir Hughes incredulously.

  “Yes, your honor, died an ‘orrible death, too. Like his soul was in torment to the moment he died. May God receive him and his soul rest in peace,” the guard intoned piously.

  “It was like the whole house was suddenly bewitched. It happened late two nights ago! They all went mad about the same time,” another said in a hushed voice.

  The men around Si
r Hughes crossed themselves, exchanging looks of bewilderment. All of them wondered what this turn of events might mean for Sir Hughes. Domerc gasped and stared at Talon then crossed himself, but no one noticed. They were all crossing themselves.

  Hughes said nothing but he exchanged looks with Talon as they turned their horses and trotted along the muddy main street toward the market place.

  There was already a crowd of people there. In the middle of the wide town square there was a building that rested upon many thick, wooden pillars. The dispute between the two landlords was common knowledge now and promised to be an event worth watching. One knight clashing with another in a public forum was rare enough. The townspeople were looking for a show.

  Talon noticed the Count of Carcassonne’s distinctive banner and wondered for a moment if the Count himself would be present. He had assumed that only the Count’s secretary would be there. To his astonishment, he saw the Count’s son Roger standing on the dais where the judges would be seated. He was talking to someone and did not at first remark the arrival of Sir Hughes’ entourage.

  Talon and Sir Hughes dismounted and gave their horses to the men and walked forward. Talon noticed that the entire area had been changed from a noisy market place to one of somber dignity. There were men-at-arms posted on all the streets that entered the area and pikemen formed a wide space around the market hall. This was a steeply roofed building with no walls on the ground floor which was supported by many tall pillars of carved wood. This was where normally the merchants would meet during wet weather for some occasion or when merchants and peddlers congregated to show off their wares.

  Today it was festooned with banners and colored cloth. There was a raised dais in the large space created under the building by the pillars, and on this had been placed a covered table behind which were three heavy, carved chairs. Talon realized that this was where the court was to be held and the dispute resolved. He wondered if there would be other disputes that day but no one enlightened him.

  Sir Hughes went up to a small table set off to the side and presented his parchment to a monk who was writing down details of some sort.

  The monk looked up at Sir Hughes, took the paper and glanced at it. “You are to be here within one half hour, Sir Hughes, to stand before the Tribunal and make your case,” he rasped. It sounded like he had a cold; his thin nose was red and his eyes watery.

  Sir Hughes nodded and stepped back.

  As he did so Roger of Carcassonne came over and clapped Talon on the shoulder. “Well, Talon, we meet again.” he said by way of greeting. Then he said, as though for the benefit of others nearby, “I did not know you were involved in this dispute.”

  Talon knew, however, that he must know because of his very presence; but he did not disagree with Roger. “A pleasure to meet with you again, my Lord,” he said in a low voice and bowing. “Sire, this is my father, Sir Hughes. It is his land right that is being disputed here.”

  “An honor, Sir Hughes. Your son has told me much of his travels. I would that I had been party to half of the adventures he tells of.”

  Sir Hughes bowed. “The honor is all mine, my Lord. We are simply glad that he is back with us. How is your father, the Compte? I trust he is well?”

  “Well enough, Sir Hughes. But where is Sir Philip, your Templar uncle, Talon? I am surprised he is not with us today.”

  “He was murdered, Sire,” Sir Hughes grated out.

  Roger looked shocked.

  “We were on our way home from Carcassonne when we were ambushed by mercenaries hired by Sir Guillabert, Sire,” Talon said.

  “My son barely got away with his life but he managed to obtain a confession from one of the men before one of that scum’s sons came back to kill him, too,” Sir Hughes growled savagely.

  “But I have no witness to this confession, my Lord,” Talon said. “Other than Sir Philip’s Sergeant, Max, who was with me and escaped with a wound.”

  Roger looked him in the eye. “This is a serious accusation. Why would they want to kill Sir Philip? He was a Templar Knight, a holy soldier. What could they gain from that?”

  “It was an accident, Sire. They meant to kill me. Ever since I came to this land Sir Guillabert’s son Marcel has formed an acute dislike for me, and I think he wanted to show his father that he could do his dirty work for him.”

  He now had all of Roger’s attention. The young man’s mouth tightened in anger as Talon continued.

  Talon went on to recount the incident where he and his band of archers had surprised and killed the men at the burning farm. “I have no doubt that it was revenge for the shame I inflicted upon them at that time, my Lord.”

  “By God, my father shall hear of this,” Roger said angrily. “Sir Hughes, no matter which way this dispute goes today I believe that you should have justice for the loss of your brother. My father does not take kindly to this kind of thing. Especially as he is a patron of the Templars and supports them ardently.”

  “Thank you, my Lord, for those kind words,” Sir Hughes said. “Sire, what of the death of the Bishop Bohemond? What happens to the Tribunal? Who will take his place?”

  “Yes, they say it was a horrible death, too, by all accounts. There is talk of witchery as the whole household and the guests themselves went completely mad. The stories I have heard this day about what happened make my hair stand on end. This is mainly why I am here: to witness the burial on behalf of my father. The bishop is to be buried with honors. I have held court all day and your dispute is one of the last, thank God. My Father, God bless him, is determined that I learn the ways of governance, which is why I am here. Then we bury the late bishop tomorrow; he lies in state in his house today.”

  “What do you mean about the whole household going mad, Sire?” Sir Hughes asked curiously.

  “Why, to hear it told, it was the night the bishop was holding a feast for his guest the bishop from Carcassonne. Of a sudden the people there went completely mad, almost as though a devil had come and thrown a spell upon them all. I heard that all went violently insane. Shouting of the devil and calling out that they could see him circling about in the rafters. Others behaved as though they could see something funny that no one else could. Others still were violently ill and a few died, including the bishop.”

  “Does no one know what happened to make this so, my Lord?” Talon asked carefully.

  “I have not heard one word of sense spoken of this strange event all day.”

  “Are you then one of the Tribunal, my Lord?” Talon asked, changing the subject.

  “Not exactly. It is the Priest Eustache, the secretary of the Bishop Bohemond, who is standing in for the bishop; and my father’s secretary, as well as my Lord Theudebert, who will hear the arguments. I am here on behalf of my father to see that there is a fair hearing. He did promise that to you.”

  “We are very grateful, Sire,” Sir Hughes said.

  As he finished there was a clatter of hooves and rough shouts along the hard-packed street outside the marketplace. Sir Guillabert had arrived with his train.

  Talon and Sir Hughes turned to watch while Roger discreetly stood off to the side, watching the arrival of the band of men with Sir Guillabert. Sir Guillabert dismounted and strode toward the court with his two sons Roger and Marcel at his back. He glared at Sir Hughes and Talon before presenting his parchment and saying loudly. “Here is my right to the hearing. I see those scum from my uncle’s farm are here early. Who will sit on the tribunal now that the bishop is dead?” he all but shouted.

  The monk who was entering the notes in a ledger looked up and timidly stated that Father Eustache, who had been the secretary to the bishop, would be standing in as he had full knowledge of the case and could represent the church.

  Sir Guillabert and his leering sons looked pleased at that. Sir Guillabert could not resist striding up to Sir Hughes and standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. “So you are here to claim what is mine. I should have burned you out, Hughes. Were it not for my
cousin, I would have.”

  “I don't think that would have been wise, Sir Guillabert.” came a quiet response from the side.

  Guillabert turned his head angrily at the interruption, but then he saw who it was. There was no mistaking the livery of the young man standing a few feet away, nor the confident pose.

  “Sir Roger de Trenceval. My Lord, I didn't know you were here,” he growled uncomfortably.

  Both Roger and Marcel, who had been glaring aggressively at Talon, now looked uneasy. Roger’s leer stayed on his face, but Marcel shifted and fingered his sword belt awkwardly.

  “I am here to see fair play at the court today, Sir Guillabert. But I hear that there has been some foul play elsewhere and I shall investigate. The death of a Templar is an affront to God and will not go well with my father.” His voice, though quiet, carried well enough for all around to hear him.

  Sir Guillabert blustered. “My Lord, I do not know of whom or what you speak, but for sure I am here to see justice. I expect to regain what was given to me on my uncle’s deathbed.”

  “Then we shall see. The court is about to commence, sirs. I would hear no more of burnings and the like while the court is in session.” The young Count’s tone brooked no nonsense.

  Sir Guillabert and his glowering sons bowed briefly to Sir Roger and moved off to the side across from Sir Hughes and his retinue.

  The court was called to order by one of the monks and the crowd told by a sergeant with a loud voice to hush their chatter on the outskirts of the ring of men-at-arms.

  They needed no persuasion; this was an unusual case where the dispute was to be settled in court and not on the battlefield, as was still common under feudal law. This, strangely, had been ordered by the Bishop Bohemond himself and was to go forward with respect to his wishes.

  A herald walked to the front of the building and shouted, “The court is in session. All that are present are to be respectful of the judges who will preside. Bow to your Lord, Sir Roger de Trenceval, Count Heir to Carcassonne.”