Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  Marguerite stared at him in surprise, her eyes wide, then turned to Sir Hughes. “Is this true? There was written proof?”

  “The two monks who are with us produced the document and Bartholomew has verified it my dear,” Sir Hughes said with a gentle smile for her. “Now all we have to do is to beat Guillabert at his own game.”

  Marguerite smiled at her menfolk, relief on her face. “With the written proof, will Guillabert not see reason?” she asked hopefully.

  “I fear not. He is maddened at the humiliation and will stop at nothing less than our destruction, if he can.”

  She looked up at him gravely and held onto his arm. “Well, we have some good men with us and surely God will favor our just cause. We shall prevail I am sure, with His help.”

  Hughes laughed. “There, you see, Talon. We all draw our courage from this woman, your mother, God bless her.” He stooped to kiss her, grinning when she flushed bright red.

  Bartholomew smiled too, but he was looking at Aicelina.

  “No matter what or how, we now have the right to defend the land, and it looks as though we shall have to do that somewhat sooner than I had expected,” Sir Hughes said to his wife with a rueful smile.

  She placed both her hands on either side of his bearded face. “My knight, my knights and you, Bartholomew of the Words, come and eat and then we shall see what can be done. You must be hungry.” She linked arms with Talon and his father and led the way into the smoky hall toward the tables laden with food.

  Bartholomew gallantly offered his arm to Aicelina, who shooed Guillaume ahead of her and then placed her hand on his arm.

  Here they come, those dogs of war.

  Stand to your posts; fight bravely.

  Defend yourselves as there’ll be more;

  The foe comes hard and fiercely,

  - Graham

  Chapter 22

  Siege

  That night Talon joined Gareth and the other men on the parapet nearest to the gates. The cottages still burned in the distant village, casting a reddish glow that illuminated the tense, bearded faces of the men staring in that direction and glimmered off the polished spear heads and the helmets a few of the men wore. Other men, men of the village wearing thick leather caps and clutching pikes or crudely made spears, stood in nervous groups down in the yard.

  There was almost no wind so they could clearly hear the crackle of the burning thatch and wood coming from the direction of the village. The smell of smoke was dense in the air. Talon was surprised that the forest had not taken fire. He doubted that Guillabert would care if it meant that fire could come to the fort with less effort.

  He and Sir Hughes had spent the last hour ensuring that there was enough water to keep them through a short siege. They at least had a well, although Talon doubted that it held enough water to sustain them over a week with all the extra people they now had inside.

  Gareth, Max, and Feremundus had accompanied his father as he walked the perimeter of the fort along the battlements and posted their most reliable men on the corners in the makeshift towers and in the center of the walls. There were few enough men, Talon thought glumly. He had looked at the huddled villagers and the old men down in the yard and almost despaired. They would be lucky if they could hold off Guillabert and his men in the first rush—which he was quite sure would come with the dawn.

  In spite of his nerves and the fear gnawing at him he drew much comfort from his father’s calm. Sir Hughes seemed unperturbed and continued to walk around briskly, barking orders and, although he must have been concerned, he did not show it. His father was putting his extensive soldiering experience gained in Palestine to work for him now.

  The four of them had worked with the archers, and set a couple of the men-at-arms who served Sir Hughes to take stock of their weapons and any other deterrents they might have at their disposal. Apart from a few long-shafted pikes and of course the bows, they possessed only a meager amount of heavy armament.

  Feremundus, who had gone off to stoke his fires, had rejoined them and quickly agreed to work all night if necessary to produce some more spearheads and arrowheads. He went off again with one of the archers to get to work. It had not been long before they heard his hammer beating on the red-hot metal.

  “We don’t even have enough rocks to throw at them,” Talon exclaimed irritably to Max and Gareth, who grinned.

  “We have enough cattle to make dung balls for the tossing at them,” Max said with an attempt to raise their spirits. They chuckled, it relieved the stress.

  “I take comfort from the amusement you two great warriors find in our situation!” Talon said tartly.

  Max and Gareth looked at one another and burst out laughing. Talon had no choice; he joined in. There was nothing else to do. People around them stared at the three men laughing in the middle of the yard and decided they were mad. Was not their situation dire? But these three men from other parts were laughing nonetheless.

  “We could use fire again. Remember the galleys, Talon,” Gareth said, wiping his eyes.

  “They won’t be sailing in to fight us, Gareth.”

  “I doubt that Guillabert knows how to sail a galley anyway,” Max said lugubriously.

  This set the three of them off again.

  “But you're right, we should at least have hot coals to pour onto them if they try to climb the walls. I shall talk to my mother and ask her to prepare something we could use in the morning. They will come with the dawn,” Talon said, still chuckling.

  “If they use ladders, we should have long poles to push them off with,” Max said.

  “Yes, and if they try to ram the gates, we should pour pitch or boiling slops onto them. Do we have any at all?”

  They went and asked Sir Hughes if he might know. “What did you and your companions find so funny about our situation, Talon?” he growled.

  “Father, Max, and Gareth are madmen and just wanted to cheer me up,” Talon said, glancing at his still grinning companions.

  “It would seem they succeeded,” Hughes said with a dry smile. “I think there is some, but I shall send off one of the servants to see if there is any. We usually have some for the torches.”

  There was to be little sleep for the men in the fort that night. Sir Hughes insisted that men were rotated onto and off the walls and that the off-duty ones got some sleep, but those who stood down only ate a little and then napped restlessly huddled in their cloaks. The noises of the yard didn’t allow for a peaceful rest; the animals, unused to being herded together so tightly, bleated and bellowed continuously.

  The harsh sound of the grinding stone on steel added to the general din as the men sharpened their weapons. The Welsh archers attended to their arrows and their bows, waxing strings and testing for flawed arrows. Gareth had made sure there was a good supply for this eventuality. There were several fires in the compound around which some of the villagers and men-at-arms still stood, nervously anticipating the day to come.

  Talon turned to Gareth. “Go and get some sleep. I'll stay here a while longer.”

  He saw Gareth nod in the flickering light, then he laid his hand on Talon’s arm. “You should get some sleep as well. It will be a long day tomorrow.”

  “You're right, I shall. But I need to spend some time up here before I do. Goodnight.”

  In truth he was too tense to sleep. He realized that men looked to him for leadership and he wondered if he were up to the task. His father was an old hand at fighting, having earned his spurs in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Sir Hughes was every bit the leader and very much in charge at present. Talon drew some comfort from that fact and resolved to emulate his father in every way. Even if it meant that he should die, he would not display fear in the face of the enemy. His resolve deepened when he considered the consequences of failure, the very extinction of his family.

  After Gareth had gone, Talon walked alone along the parapet deep in thought. It was probable that the enemy was watching them from the edge of the forest even now,
too alert to be surprised. What he had in mind would have to wait until the next day, even the following night, if they survived.

  His father stamped up the wooden steps, shaking them as he came. He walked to Talon, a dark bulky form in the night. He, like Talon, was fully armed, wearing his chain hauberk over which he had a plain, unadorned surcoat. His helmet was firmly planted on his head. His mail clinked as he moved.

  “Talon is that you?” he growled.

  “Yes, sir, it is.”

  “I have to say that I am almost glad it has finally come to this, my boy. I have had to endure the gibes and insults from Guillabert for far too long. Were it not for your mother’s sake I would have challenged him long ago.”

  Talon nodded in the dark. “You are a wise man, Father. They would never have met you in fair fight. Witness Marcel’s behavior, and I would not trust Roger as far as I could throw a spear.”

  “Guillabert has sired a couple of dogs, that's for sure, a pity he also has a daughter who is quite a nice girl from all accounts. Marguerite thinks no ill of her.”

  Talon was silent, remembering the night in the castle.

  “I think they'll try for the gates tomorrow,” his father said. Hughes turned and moodily contemplated the crowded space below inside the fort. “We have a lot of people, but few who can fight. I am glad that Max and Philip managed to train some of them before this came about. Dear God, but I wish he were here now.”

  Talon stared down at the young men and boys of their makeshift army who huddled together around the fires in the yard. Some were wearing the captured hauberks taken from the men killed during the forest ambush. A hauberk was so large on one of them it looked ridiculous on the skinny lad. He sighed.

  “I, too, Father. The very presence of Philip in his Templar uniform would have been a deterrent to even these scum. The two remained silent for a while, each in his own thoughts. Then Talon said, "I think the Welsh are going to be the key to this fight tomorrow. We might tip the odds somewhat with their longer bow range.”

  “If we can keep the pikes in the front to protect the bowmen, we have a chance. I wish I knew where Domerc was. Not like him to be absent like that. I wonder if the Count really did send men to help. Lord save us, but we could do with them now.”

  Talon wondered, too. Domerc had not been very friendly since the first day and it struck him that the man had shown little respect for Philip, either. It was as though he resented them all for some reason. He was also puzzled by the lack of promised help. It did not seem like Roger to promise him help and then not keep his word.

  “Strange about the bishop dying the way he did, almost as though he was struck down by some witchery,” Sir Hughes mused. “I don’t doubt but that he deserved it, though, with his evil thoughts against Guillaume. Did you indeed go to the abbey that night?”

  Talon sensed that his father was looking at him in the darkness. He evaded the question. “It would seem that he ate something that disagreed with him, Father. I for one am relieved that the trial is over. We'll find a way to deal with Guillabert.”

  “Hmm, I am sure we will. There is still much that I would know about your life in Persia, my son,” Sir Hughes said meaningfully.

  Talon was aware that his father was staring at him, but said nothing; instead he turned and looked out toward the woods. Nothing stirred.

  “You have shown me that you are a well grown man since you came back to us,” his father said gruffly. “But I know, too, that you are young and that you might not have faced odds of this kind before. It will go hard for us, as we do not have sufficient men to fight them on even terms, nor even from behind these walls, for very long. But we must if we are to survive. The men will look to you and me for courage and leadership in a time like this. I have no fear that your courage will fail you, as that is strong within and clear to all. You will do well and if anything should happen to me, I want you to know that I am proud of you. Very proud.”

  It was a long speech for his father and Talon was almost overcome with emotion. He said nothing. Instead, he embraced his father hard and then they held one another at arm’s length, looking one another in the eye.

  “Let us show them all who the de Gilles are tomorrow!” growled Sir Hughes.

  Talon nodded. “Thank you, Father. I am proud to be a de Gilles this day.”

  They parted soon after to get some sleep.

  The battle grows more hard and harder yet,

  Franks and pagans, with marvelous onset,

  Each other strike and each himself defends.

  So many shafts bloodstained and shattered,

  So many flags and ensigns tattered;

  Siege –The song of Roland

  Chapter 23

  Assault

  The men of the fort moved quietly into their positions at the first hint of dawn. Apart from the chink of mail and the occasional loud creak of a board this was accomplished without incident. Max and Talon were especially busy taking men and boys to the very place where they were to fight. The day dawned gray and overcast and a sharp breeze started up from the northwest.

  Gareth and Talon stood together with Sir Hughes on the ramparts near the gates.

  Gareth sniffed the air. “This is the beginning of the autumn. We can only hope that Guillabert and his sons don’t burn what crops that remain to be harvested.”

  The men with weapons were standing in groups all around the fort walls; everyone was tense and keyed up. Max had been put in charge of the rear of the fort, with him was Bartholomew and two of the archers, Devonalt and Ap-Maddock.

  Sir Hughes had made it his business to defend the gates and Talon wanted to fight by his side. Feremundus and a couple of other men were on the ground near the gates, prepared to defend them if they should be broken into. Talon felt comfortable having that big man there with his axe in hand and the round shield on his left arm. His habitual scowl was more intense than ever.

  Talon stared off toward the entrance to the forest that led to the village and noticed some activity. He nudged Gareth. “Let’s see if we can surprise them with some well aimed arrows before they get too close.”

  Gareth nodded and then spoke to Belth and Drudwas in their language. The other two grinned and tested their strings. The three of them took out arrows, checked their feathers, smoothing them with careful, calloused fingers and made ready.

  “They only have to come within sight and we can take them down. The distance is not that far.”

  It was true; the distance was only about one hundred and fifty yards to the woods. If the enemy ventured within a hundred and twenty they became vulnerable.

  Talon hefted his own bow. He did not have the range but he could inflict a lot of damage when they came within eighty yards.

  “Remember; kill the crossbowmen while we are out of range of their bolts. Let the rest come on. We'll deal with them when we're finished with the bowmen,” Sir Hughes ordered.

  Talon noticed more activity and even signs of horsemen moving among the trees. Sir Hughes had noticed, too. “Stand by, men. They're moving into position to attack,” he called out.

  He hoisted his triangular shield onto his left arm and drew his sword. The silence grew as the people on the walls waited tensely. Even the sheep and cows seemed to have stopped their noise down in the yard.

  There were about twelve able-bodied men with Talon and Sir Hughes on the walls facing the approaches to the village; there were another ten on the rear walls. Even if one counted the older boys and one or two old men who were armed with spears that were positioned as lookouts on the flanks, they numbered very few. Talon knew that Gareth would be watching to see if there might be a surprise attack from another quarter, but he worried nonetheless. The tension grew and men’s breathing became short as they waited for the attack that must surely come.

  Suddenly the enemy came boiling out of the protection of the trees. They were well armed and wore chain-mail vests. They came at a run and roared their battle cries as they started out. Talo
n noticed that it was easy to distinguish the crossbowmen from the others—they were not running as fast and of course they carried their bulky weapons in front of them at the ready. There was one horseman who Talon took to be Roger, but when he looked hard he saw that it was Marcel. He felt uneasy about that, but could not for the moment think why and had to pay attention as the large group of men was running hard toward their gates.

  There were answering shouts from the men on the walls as much in defiance as to warn the people in the fort that the engagement had begun.

  “Loose your arrows when ready, Gareth!” Hughes called.

  The three Welsh bowmen pulled, aimed, and shot their arrows in one swift motion. Arrows flew and struck. Three of the crossbowmen fell, their surprised screams choked off as they died. One even discharged his bow into the back of a man in front of him as he fell. Their bodies lay like limp rags on the trampled grass.

  The men running near them swerved aside in surprise and slowed. As they slowed they bunched-up, and they were only sixty yards away. Three more arrows found their mark and more bodies littered the field. The men on the ground began to mill about. Some even stopped and, crouching, hid behind their shields. There was angry shouting from two of the men who seemed to be leaders as they harangued their men to continue. One even beat the crouching men with the flat of his sword angrily, shouting at them to get up and continue. They were finally successful as the men began to run toward the gates again. They carried ladders and the long trunk of a tree with a sharpened end that six of them carried clumsily with ropes while the others tried to protect them with their shields.

  Talon noticed that other horsemen had emerged from the woods, galloping up to the men on the ground almost as though herding them toward the gates. Talon took aim at Marcel, but as his arrow left his bow. Marcel’s horse swerved and the arrow embedded itself in another man behind, who went down with a scream.

  Gareth and his fellow Welshmen were shooting arrows into the group as fast as they could as the enemy came in a rush toward the gates. The mob of men managed to hammer the tree trunk once into the gates with a crash that shook the gates and the walls that held them. The men on the ramparts could do nothing but look down on them and wish for things to toss down onto their heads. They had nothing so they shouted abuse and the archers continued to shoot. But the crossbowmen were well within range now and they were firing steadily enough to force people to keep their heads down. The men on the walls were only twelve feet above the enemy.