Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  Their yells and cries filled the corridors. The other women who heard wept with frustration, the stoical sentries grinned to one another, and the eunuchs in the vicinity eyed one another with satisfaction. There would be a return to relative tranquility in the palace, for a little while longer at least.

  Eventually a note found its way to Dimitri, which was then sent on by pigeon to Jannat. It read, “All is well in the palace.”

  _________

  Chapter 8

  The Count of Tripoli

  Is greatness endowed by the flick of a sword?

  You look just the same to me.

  Is taking up arms in the name of our lord

  really enough to be free?

  —Joe Hill

  Two ships negotiated the channel between the rocks and the walls of the city and then nosed into the inner harbor of Tyre past the twin guardian towers. Talon, standing on the afterdeck, had a chance to scrutinize the city. It was a well-fortified town with tall, solid looking walls, which to his critical mind would be hard to take because of several singular factors. The main characteristic of the city was that it could only be approached by land across a long, narrow causeway.

  He began to see why it was such an important entry port for the Kingdom of Jerusalem. While Acre was closer to the Holy City of Jerusalem, Tyre was clearly more defensible. He gazed up at the solid, weather-streaked walls of the port city, stained dark with salt and seaweed, as the crew rowed the ship past and then between the tiny, rocky islands that ran to the north and south. He noted the way the fortifications went straight up at a sharp angle from the coastal rocks of the main island, providing no space to land for would-be invaders from the sea. He also observed the numerous, well-armed sentries who lined the walls to watch their arrival.

  The city roofs and towers looked very picturesque with the long, colorful banners snapping in the wind. The colors of the Count of Tripoli were intermixed with the cross of Jerusalem and with the colors of the other nobility who were currently within the city.

  “I wonder why there are so many men on the walls,” he said to Reza, who shook his head.

  “More than the usual number, I’d say. The city looks as though it is preparing for trouble,” he responded. “I suspect we are about to find out.” He pointed to a gathering on the quayside of men and horses. “They seem to be expecting us, Talon.”

  Guy ambled over to join them as their ship led the way into the inner harbor. “They say that the causeway over there joining the city and the shore was built by Alexander.” He pointed with a gnarled finger. “It is even called the Alexander Causeway,” he added.

  Talon stared at the causeway stretching off towards land until the buildings and towers obstructed his view. Guy had to direct his attention to docking their vessel.

  There was a long space cleared along the quayside for the two ships; there a small group of dismounted horsemen waited. As the ship came alongside the quay, one amongst them stepped forward and shouted across the water, “Where is Sir Matthew?”

  “He is in the ship behind us,” Guy called back.

  “Who, then, are you?”

  “This is Lord Talon de Gilles,” Guy responded.

  “Ah. Welcome, Lord Talon. I am Sir Bertram de Villiers. I am here to escort you and your party to the Count, who is waiting in the keep.”

  In a very short space of time the two ships were docked and tied off. Before he left the ship, Talon called his son over to join him, Reza, and the captain. “I want you to stay here until such time as we know what the Count wants,” he told them. “Do not leave the ship, Rostam. This time I am very serious. I want Guy to be able to leave at a moment’s notice. Do you understand?” Rostam ducked his head. “Yes, Father. I shall remain on board with Guy.”

  “Good. Then we will go with these men and find out what is going on,” Talon said. “Until I know more, the prisoner stays in chains; and Junayd, I want you to stay with Rostam.”

  Junayd nodded. “As you wish, Lord.”

  Talon and Reza walked down the gangplank to join Sir Matthew, who was already talking to Sir Bertram and his men. He gestured towards Talon as they approached the horsemen.

  “Sir Bertram, I have the honor to present Lord Talon de Gilles,” he stated formally.

  All the men present bowed respectfully. “So this is what happens when you are a Lord, eh?” Reza muttered into his ear, speaking Farsi.

  Restraining a grin, Talon presented Reza. “I bring with me Lord Reza of Kantara, one of my most trusted companions,” he stated, trying to keep his face straight.

  Immediately everyone bowed again. Some even doffed hats.

  “Only a Lord, eh?” Reza murmured. “But it’s nice to have this lot of Christians bowing and scraping to us, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Brother,” Talon muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

  Horses were led forward, and they all mounted, including Yosef and Dar’an, who accompanied the two men.

  It was only a short ride to the palace where Count Raymond had ensconced himself and his considerable retinue. They clattered over the cobbles and under an arch which had a portcullis and openings for defense. Talon by now could recognize when a city or castle was well built, and he approved of Tyre.

  Alert sentries had informed the Count of their arrival, and he was standing on the steps to the main entrance of the palace waiting to greet them. He was slightly built but a strong looking man nonetheless; not tall, and darker than most Franks. His hair was bleached to a dark straw color by the sun, and there were deep lines on either side of his eyes from squinting into the unforgiving sunlight of Palestine virtually all his life. These same lines were deepened by the smile he bestowed on Talon.

  He lifted his arms in greeting from the top of the steps. “At last I see you again, Sir Talon. Or is it Lord Talon now?” he called out with a chuckle. His hazel eyes appeared to be genuinely pleased to see Talon. Although most of his retainers dressed as most Christians did in uncomfortable woolen clothes and crudely sewn hauberks, he wore light cotton robes, as would any Arab prince. With his slim, dark form and slightly hooked nose he could easily pass for one. Talon noted pronounced streaks of grey in his beard; the duke was now forty-seven years of age, but to Talon he appeared older and careworn. However, his smile of greeting was very welcoming.

  Talon dismounted and walked up the steps to kneel in front of the Count. “They call me Lord these days, my Lord Tripoli, but as you can see I came at your request.”

  Raymond laughed. “God help me but I am glad to see you, my friend!”

  He seized Talon by the hands, hauled him to his feet and embraced him. “I have prayed that you would come, and here you are. Thank you,” he murmured into Talon’s ear. “You must call me Raymond. It would be good.”

  Talon embraced him back with feeling. It was good to know he had a friend in the Count, but he shook his head. “I shall still call you Lord, because that is fitting, Sir.” He turned and indicated Reza with his left hand, speaking Arabic. “Lord Raymond, I wish to present to you my companion of many years; indeed, he is my brother. He is known as Master Reza to our own people.”

  The Count smiled and waved Reza to his feet, then embraced him too. “I know of you, Lord Reza. Rumor is true, then. You do exist, and are a companion to my friend Talon here. You are known far and wide as The Ghost, did you know that?”

  “I recently discovered that fact, Lord,” Reza responded, his dark features wreathed in a grin.

  “Ha! I heard the epithet came from the palace of none other than the Sultan. I doubt he is pleased to hear it bandied about!” The Count laughed. “I am keen to hear how this name came about.

  “But I digress,” the Count continued. “You must be tired from your long journey. Come, my attendants will take care of you and your servants.” He glanced appraisingly at Yosef and Dar’an, who were standing behind Reza and Talon. “I see you have men who appear to be real warriors, Talon,” he remarked.

 
“Reza trained them as only he could, Lord,” Talon responded. “These two men have traveled the world with us and we would not be parted.”

  “I see,” the Count said. “We must talk as soon as you are settled, Talon. There are urgent matters to discuss.”

  They walked into the gloomy halls, which were stark and functional, appearing all the darker because of the contrast with the bright sunshine outside. Talon was already missing the sunlit garden and Solarium of his home.

  “I shall meet with you within an hour,” the Count said, as they parted ways.

  As servants guided them towards their accommodations, Talon sensed tension in the air. They passed retainers, knights and men-at-arms who would turn and stare at them, and their looks were wary, even hostile.

  He began to wonder why, then realized neither he nor Reza, and especially not his retainers, were dressed anything like the people all around them. They no doubt resembled the hated and feared Saracen, for they all wore loose-fitting coats and the typical pointed helmets and fine chain armor to be seen on their enemies. It gave him pause for thought.

  “These people think we have arrived from the Saracen camp and are upset,” he commented to Reza, once they were ushered into their chambers.

  Talon glanced around at the stark, gray stone walls and narrow windows, feeling claustrophobic. It felt more as though they had just entered some kind of prison than guest quarters.

  “I felt that too, Brother,” Reza remarked. He shook his head. “Almost all of them wear woolen clothes! In this heat that is insane. The Count, however, wears much the same as we do.”

  “That is because he was born here, a pullani, and grew up in this country; he feels as though he belongs. Why would he not wear the right kind of clothes? It is hot enough in summer even with these light garments we wear.”

  “His Arabic is almost without accent, Lord,” Yosef said hoarsely. His voice box had never completely recovered from being slashed when they were in China. “You told me that few speak Arabic here in this Christian country.”

  “Very few, Yosef. It is remarkable how resistant the majority are to learning anything from this place. For your own safety, you and Dar’an should be careful. I don’t like what I am seeing here. Everyone is on edge.”

  The Count of Tripoli, being a pullani, had obviously insisted upon having his creature comforts made available, not only to himself but to his guests. Talon and Reza could therefore partake of baths and light refreshments before they presented themselves to the Count in his chambers, which were well appointed and spacious, with larger windows.

  Raymond greeted them, then noted Talon’s gaze wandering over the beautiful frescoes on the walls and the ceiling.

  “Those are from the time of the Greeks, who preceded even the Arabs, Talon,” he commented, and came to stand next to Talon and gaze up at the figures on the walls. “The Arab zealots have done much damage by simply neglecting these exquisite scenes. We Christians lack the ability to emulate them, let alone repair them, so they are gradually disappearing. I mourn the loss of these treasures. In his neglect of the refinements of life man is a foolish creature.” He turned away with a shake of his head and gestured for Talon and Reza to be seated nearby at the high table.

  “We can talk while we eat,” he stated. “I have brought my own fruit to the table from my gardens in Tripoli. These barbarians think that meat and bread are the only forms of nourishment. The Templars are the worst of all,” he grimaced. “You would know about that, wouldn’t you, Talon?”

  Talon gave him a rueful smile as he seated himself and took up a peach from a large bowl of ripe fruit. “I was only subjected to that diet for a short while, Lord. The corned beef never varied, and the only relief was bread or stew, yet they thought they were privileged. Sir Guy rescued me and obtained permission for me to live outside the Temple while in Jerusalem. God protect his soul.”

  “He was a very good man who recognized in you a person who could replace him, Talon,” the Count stated with conviction. “He spoke much of you after you disappeared into the East. Is that where you met Lord Reza, here?”

  Reza smiled. He had helped himself to fruit and while contemplating the velvety peach in hand said, “No, Lord. Talon and I go back to the time when we were boys, being trained by the Rafiki.”

  The Count’s eyes widened. “Now the rumors make sense. Is it true, then, what they say?’

  Reza laughed. “Perhaps, Lord, but one must not say too much.” He glanced at Talon and added, “But Lord Raymond, you must tell us why you called upon my Brother and why we are here in Tyre.”

  Talon breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn’t want to dwell upon their background, rather on what the future held.

  The Count nodded his head. “You are right, Reza. Time is pressing, and I do not believe we have much of it. I shall bring you up to date as best I can.”

  He took a sip of wine and seemed to collect his thoughts. “Since the death of the King, and I am referring to Baldwin IV, two factions have grown up in this land.”

  He paused, then began again.

  “For some time now, Princess Sibylla’s mother, Agnes, the former Countess of Jaffa and now the Countess of Courtenay, has been at the core of the palace intrigues. She is an ambitious meddler who wished to see her daughter on the throne. Years ago, Guy de Lusignan, that contemptible adventurer, managed to seduce the Princess, who went and married him despite strong opposition from the King. When the King died, his young nephew Baldwin V came to the throne. This you know already. However, what you perhaps do not know is what has transpired since the boy died in Acre.”

  “I know little of these matters,” Talon said.

  The Count sighed. “I was appointed Regent during the young King’s reign, but he didn’t live beyond his minority. According to an agreement drawn up with King Baldwin IV, we were supposed to wait for a decision from King Henry of England and the Pope as to who was entitled to the crown should the boy die early, which was not unexpected. But that didn’t happen.

  “Count Jocelyn of Edessa and the Marquis William were supposed to escort the young King’s body to Jerusalem for burial in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I went to Nablus to call upon the Haute Cour members to discuss events. Many of them supported Isabella, whom I believe is the rightful heir. Certainly the more competent.”

  Talon detected a huge frustration emanating from Raymond and suspected that the man in front of him had actually possessed larger ambitions than he was letting out.

  The Count continued. “Sibylla is nothing if not cunning and manipulative, just like that witch mother of hers. Sibylla and her mother, aided and abetted by that snake Châtillon and his imbecilic partner Gérard de Rideford, managed to steal the crown. She had herself crowned Queen by the Bishop, tricking everyone into thinking that she was eager to play the role of ruler of this country. This was hard to dispute, for the Pope himself had finally declared that she was the rightful heir. What astonished everyone was that as soon as she was crowned she immediately declared for Guy, her husband, and had him crowned King.”

  The Count gave a bleak smile. “Those of us in Nablus were taken completely by surprise, as were most of the nobles in Jerusalem. Then, to add insult to injury, Châtillon told the world at large that she was ‘the most evident and rightful heir of the kingdom.’ Both he and De Rideford have curried favor since with that despicable man, and his useless wife has been side-lined by Rideford. It is he, Rideford, who is whispering into Guy’s ear. The King”—Raymond almost spat the word—“is incapable of making his own decisions, and it is Rideford and Châtillon who are pulling the strings. He is a mere puppet!” The Count was up and pacing back and forth now, clearly agitated.

  “Well, then came the news that Châtillon had ambushed a caravan on its way to Damascus. He slaughtered all of the guards and enslaved the merchants. Nothing too surprising about that. He has been attacking caravans ever since he was granted the castle of Kerak through his marriage.” Raymond clenched hi
s fists and all but shook them in the air. “But this time it was infinitely more serious. This time he did something heinous. He personally raped a woman who is rumored to be related to Salah Ed Din!”

  Talon and Reza gasped. “Lord protect us!” Talon whispered.

  “Salah Ed Din is, I assume, incensed by this?” Reza managed to ask. He looked dazed.

  “To put it mildly, yes. He has declared war,” Raymond said. “When this became known in Jerusalem, King Guy agreed that Châtillon had overstepped all bounds and should be punished.” Raymond snorted with disgust. “But Guy has no backbone. And he owes his throne to that God-damned… pirate.” Raymond shrugged in disgust. “So nothing happened!”

  “Nothing?” Reza blurted out, looking incredulous. Talon was equally appalled.

  “No! Nothing!” The Count almost shouted the words and glared at them. “It is despicable what was done, and just as deplorable that no punishment was meted out to that criminal! Châtillon should have been imprisoned at the very least and had his castle confiscated. Better yet, he should be handed over to Salah Ed Din.” Raymond ground out the words between clenched teeth.

  “Is Salah Ed Din going to invade, Lord?” asked Reza.

  “I suspect so,” Raymond answered, and turned aside to cough. It was a deep, hacking cough that made Talon and Reza look at one another in alarm.

  Raymond wiped his lips and continued. “I have a treaty with him that is still in place, as does the Count of Edessa, but both treaties as fragile as glass now, and might easily be shattered.”

  “Why are we here, Lord?” Reza asked directly.

  “I am going to the Sultan to plead for restraint and to see if we cannot salvage a peace, or at least a truce from this disaster. I will need support, and people like yourselves who are knowledgeable of the Arab ways and can gauge the mood. There are so few of us who know with whom we are dealing! May I depend upon you for your help?” he asked. This sounded like a plea.