He noticed a brief flash of anger on the dark, hawkish features, brought quickly under control by the pirate. “I will have my revenge… one day.”
“That opportunity might be closer than you think. It is partially why I am here,” Zenos replied. “Rumor has it that your cousin is held hostage. Would you not like an opportunity to release him?”
“Yes, yes of course I want to release him,” Abdul said, but Zenos didn’t detect much enthusiasm in his words and wondered at that. He decided to carry on, although this was something to bear in mind. Perhaps there was bad blood between them.
“What is your interest in this, this castle on a hill?” Abdul demanded after a small silence.
“I have business of a similar sort. The Emperor wants the castle back, and I intend to take it back for him,” he lied.
“So, you need my help and I need yours,” was the dry response.
“Yes. Your task would be to create a diversion, and while the occupants of the castle are otherwise distracted I shall take the fort by surprise.”
“Is that all? It sounds so simple when you put it like that.”
Zenos ignored the dripping sarcasm. “You will share in the spoils of what we find in the castle, and whatever else you pirates do, you can do to the village. You have raided not a few of our towns already,” Zenos told him.
“Indeed we have,” Abdul replied with a smirk. But silently he thought to himself that such a castle was well worth taking and holding onto, if he could manage it, and be damned to the Emperor of Cyprus.
Two weeks later, Zenos found himself standing alone on the edge of a large Muslim graveyard. It was late and dark, although the stars were so bright that he could make out the gleaming piles of limestone and the contours of the land which sloped down to the beach on his left. The muted sound of surf did little to calm him. He was facing north and trying to keep his nerve. This meeting had been arranged by Himerius, but that worthy had told Zenos that he must go alone, with no escort, or the person who was going to talk to him would not show up.
An owl hooted in the small copse on the edge of the field and several dogs barked in the distance. Some dogs, he’d noted, barked all night long. He shivered; there was a cold breeze coming across the bay. He had already been standing exposed and nervous for half an hour. Out of the dark a voice spoke.
“What have you come to Beirut for, Zenos, son of Spiros, who is a merchant in Larnaca?”
He jumped with fright and whirled about. Standing not six feet away was a tall man dressed in long robes of some light cotton which moved in the breeze. He wore a loose dark turban, but his face was completely covered, showing only his eyes, which gleamed in the starlight and regarded him with an intensity he found unsettling.
“I, I, er, I wanted to talk to someone of your people. My, my Emperor has work which can only be d… done by people of your kind,” he stammered. “Er, there is payment, much payment,” he concluded.
“So you know who we are?” the stranger asked, his voice strong and sibilant.
“Yes, er, yes I do, and I am here to buy your help.” Zenos was trying hard to bring himself back under control. He gulped. The sudden appearance of the man had unnerved him. He had not heard a whisper of noise.
“What kind of help do you want?”
“There is this castle, on Cyprus,” Zenos began.
“Ah, yes, Cyprus, where that erratic King Isaac lives. Do you work for him? Has he asked you to come here?”
“Well, not exactly. You see, it’s about gold.” Zenos hadn’t meant to gush it out like this, but he was frightened and wanted to hold the stranger before he vanished again.
“We, that is, the Emperor, well, not him really, the Ambassador from Constantinople and I think… no, we are sure, that a huge amount of gold was stolen from the treasury of Constantinople and has found its way to this castle.”
“Which castle is this?”
“Um, Kantara. It is on the mountain behind Famagusta. A man called Talon stole it from the Emperor and we want it back.”
He did not hear the sharp intake of breath by the man standing opposite him, but the tone of the stranger’s voice changed markedly. “Talon, you say? A Frank?” he hissed.
Taken aback, Zenos said, “Yes.” He peered at the stranger, alarmed by the change of tone.
“So that is where he now has his lair!” the man said, almost to himself. “You will tell me about this castle and… the gold you say is held within?”
Zenos was very willing to oblige.
After he had finished, the man was silent for a long while. Then he said, “You will hear from my people within a week. You will pay one third of what is discovered in the castle.”
Zenos, who had formulated a pretty good idea of what might be up in the castle, gasped. “A, a third?” he stuttered. “I cannot be sure of what is up there at this time. We are sure, yes, but I have not personally seen it!”
“I will take a third of what you find,” the stranger said comfortably. “My people will take the castle and open the gates, that is my pledge. It is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Zenos whispered, wondering what else he might have just agreed to of which he was unaware.
“You will speak to no one about our agreement. Not that fat agent of yours here in Beirut, and not that foolish ‘emperor’ of yours, either. No one! Do you understand?”
Zenos nodded energetically. He had been worried about how this private arrangement would sit with these people. Best to keep it private, oh yes!
“Then we have an agreement, and payment will be delivered when the castle is in my hands,” the stranger said.
“I have an agreement with Abdul-Zinad as well.” Zenos wanted to make sure that the stranger knew about that part of the plan.
“What do you mean?” The voice held menace.
“There was a sea fight, and Abdul and his cousins lost ships and lives. Abdul wants revenge. We planned on his creating a diversion down at the village.”
There was a long, ominous silence, but finally the faceless man nodded his head. “A diversion would be in order. Abdul is only just capable of something as simple as that, so yes, a diversion. But the castle is for my people to take, and to open for your men afterwards!” he snapped. Zenos nearly jerked back, the words were so sharp.
“Yes, yes, of course. It is all about timing.” He tried to sound reassuring. ‘The diversion and then we take the castle.”
“Our agreement stands. Do not break it. Do not betray me.” The words were delivered as softly as the light breeze that disturbed their clothing, but Zenos had no doubt that his life would be forfeit should he fail to keep his word.
“Turn away and do not look behind you. To do so will mean death,” the stranger ordered him. Zenos hurriedly complied and turned to face the sea. He never heard the man leave, but he dared not turn for fear of being caught doing so. Eventually he began to walk away from the meeting place without looking back. His route took him through the burial field, which did little to comfort him. He arrived back at the house of the agent tired and frightened, but also with the feeling that he might now be able to accomplish the impossible.
Watching him go from the darkness and concealment of the small copse of olive trees, Rashid Ed Din’s usually harsh features were thoughtful. Unwittingly, this idiot Greek had provided him with several good options. If this man was right and there was indeed much gold in the castle of Kantara, then it was a prize well worth the endeavor. For some time now the rumor of a vast amount of treasure missing from the vaults of the palace of Blachernae in Constantinople had floated about the eastern seaboard. Word of it had even reached the ears of the School Teacher. He might at the same time be able to settle an old score. It was time to take down Talon and his family once and for all. Rashid had a long memory, and the killing of his people by Talon when he had lived in Egypt still rankled. But for that man, Salah Ed Din would be dead today and a threat to no one.
There was anothe
r matter that caused him to think hard. The castle of Kantara was reputed to be not dissimilar to the castle of Alamut in faraway Persia: perched high on an almost inaccessible mountain ridge. Perhaps yet another opportunity had presented itself…. One thing was for sure, this Zenos man would be cut out of the final play. The castle would not fall to some treacherous lackey of the so-called Emperor of Cyprus. And the pirates could fight it out at the harbor, but they would never be allowed to get to the castle either.
He would ponder these interesting ideas on his way home to his own refuge deep in the mountains of Lebanon, across the dangerous country now belonging for the most part to that hated man Salah Ed Din. It would never do to be discovered here in Beirut by any of his spies. The hatred that existed between them was white-hot. He flicked his hand and a group of men detached themselves from the dark shadows nearby and surrounded their leader. He issued terse instructions before he turned towards the east and began the long journey home.
Eight of his men went in the opposite direction towards the city, where they would wait for a few days before presenting themselves at the house of the Greek.
______________
Chapter 11
The Springs of Cresson
For their history trails away to the dark and bloody day
When the Christians made their stand in the troubled Holy Land
And the followers of the Christ ruthlessly were sacrificed.
There amid the inky gloom shown the Templar's spotless plume.
—Edgar A. Guest
Talon, Reza and their escort of riders crested a rise and immediately stopped their horses. Off to their left and further south, a full league away and not far from the great lake Tiberius, otherwise known as the Sea of Galilee, was what could only be described as an army.
“They are the same horsemen who came by the other day,” Talon commented to Reza, who sat his horse quietly, contemplating the distant Arab cavalry.
“Just what are they doing here?” Reza asked. He knew the reason why, but it still bothered him. He sounded to Talon as though he would rather be elsewhere.
“We both know Salah Ed Din is testing the treaty with Lord Raymond, Brother. These people have Raymond’s permission to ride through his lands, but this is still very provocative and can lead to no good. They also arrived swiftly; much sooner, I think, than Lord Raymond anticipated, so that makes us late to tell the bishops.”
“Lord Raymond is playing a very dangerous game, playing one side against the other like this.” Reza’s tone was sour.
“It could be seen as such,” Talon agreed. “But it is because he wants to survive in stormy seas. He doesn’t see a problem with living alongside the Arabs, but the people in Jerusalem do. And he genuinely wished to avoid war.”
“Which is why we must avoid that army and warn those Christian friends of yours, eh?”
“Something like that,” Talon agreed. “Come on, we have no time to waste.”
The small group of horsemen had little trouble bypassing the large force of cavalry, which were resting near to a spring which their guide, one of Raymond’s men, informed them was named Cresson.
Not long thereafter, they noticed a cloud of dust rising in the distance where the road went over a saddle between two low hills, and before very long they could see that it was a body of Christian soldiers. The black and white square denoting the Templars and the black banner with a white cross of the Hospitaliers were distinct, even in the distance. Talon estimated that there might be as many as a hundred and fifty of the knights, accompanied by some dignitaries to the front, while behind the horsemen were many men on foot.
The two parties came together near the crest of the saddle where there were some stunted trees but little else. Talon recognized Lord Gérard de Rideford as the leader of the Templars, and groaned inwardly. There too was Joscius, the Archbishop of Tyre, riding a smaller palfrey and looking diminutive compared to the stocky de Rideford seated on his huge destrier. The portly bishop was sweating profusely in the heat. His jowls were bathed in perspiration and his mouth was set in a petulant grimace. He was not enjoying the heat and the dust. His small, black eyes never seemed to rest on anything for very long before flicking away toward something else.
Talon raised his hand, signaling his men to halt, then they waited for the small force of heavily armed knights to approach. Rideford himself halted his men about twenty paces away and called out.
“I see the banner of Tripoli but I do not know you. Who are you and what do you want?”
Talon then realized that he was not only unrecognized by the Master of Templars, but he and his men, including Raymond’s two men who accompanied them, looked very much like a group of Saracens rather than a Christian delegation come to warn them. Their clothing and chain hauberks could easily be mistaken for that of the Saracens. Indeed, both Talon and Reza had taken their fine mail shirts from dead adversaries. Their loose turbans, their small round shields and their bows denoted them as Turkish light cavalry rather than anyone belonging to the Count, let alone the Christian community.
“I am Sir Talon,” he called over. “I have come from Lord Raymond de Tripoli to warn you of the army of horsemen camped below this ridge.” He pointed eastwards. “They number far more than you.”
“Sir Talon, did you say?”
“Yes, Master Rideford, I am Talon.”
“You come from Lord Raymond?” Rideford seemed to be hard of hearing.
“Yes, Lord, I do, and you are in great danger,” Talon insisted.
Rideford made a gesture of irritation. “Lord Raymond is a traitor, so why should I listen to him? And you are a deserter from our cause, so again, why should I listen to you? I know about those infidels down there. I have mustered my knights from all around this region and I intend to attack them and destroy them.”
Talon gasped. “You cannot be serious, my Lord! They are come in peace! Besides, they outnumber you by ten to one!”
Rideford sneered from his position in front of his sweating men. All were clad from head to foot in heavy chain. Barely a breath of air stirred the dry, sun-browned grass under their sweating horses’ hooves.
“My Lord!” Talon put a pleading note into his tone. “These men are led by General AL-Muzaffar Gökburi. He is known as the Blue Wolf and is a Seljuk! He is one of Salah Ed Din’s best generals. Salah Ed Din’s son, Al-Afdal, is in charge of the bulk of the army. This is not just a band of skirmishers.”
Rideford stared at him, his bearded mouth turned down in a look of disapproval and disdain as he glowered at Talon. Talon had a creeping feeling that he was talking to a fanatic. De Rideford’s eyes, staring beyond Talon, had the blank look of one. He noticed that the Master of the Hospital, Roger Des Moulins, was seated next to the bishop; both looked very unhappy at the news.
“My Lord Des Moulins, can you not reason with the Master? There are far too many of them!” he called out.
“Perhaps we should reconsider, Lord Rideford. If Sir Talon is to be believed, we are too small a force to take on such an army,” Des Moulins offered. He took off his helmet and wiped his damp face. There was much grey in his beard. The man was too old for this kind of thing, Talon decided. Perhaps he could prevail over this madman?
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Rideford. “We are the Knights of the Temple! God is on our side, and who can withstand our charge? Remember Montgisard! You yourself were there, Sir Talon. You rode with us then before you were corrupted by the infidels and their Godless ways.”
Talon remembered the battle only too well. Despite the fact that Salah Ed Din had been defeated, it was the stuff of later nightmares for Talon. This was insane. “I urge you to reconsider, Lord!” he called over. They are expecting you, and to underestimate Gökburi is sheer folly.”
“I, too, urge that we do not engage until our numbers match theirs, Gérard,” the red-faced bishop said to Rideford, his nervousness evident. Talon became aware of the crowd gathered behind the knights and realized that they were po
orly armed peasants, not men-at-arms at all. They were impatient and began to wave their fists. They were tired of waiting in the sun.
“What are they doing here?” he demanded pointing to the restless crowd.
“They are come to find rich pickings when we are done with those infidels,” Rideford smirked.
That was when Talon knew he was dealing with a madman. “You, Lord, are insane. For the last time, I urge you not to throw away the lives of these good men in some insane and reckless venture.”
One of Rideford’s attendants shouted, “You will show respect for the Master!”
“You are all cowards!” Rideford shouted at Talon, then turned to Roger. “Are you, too, a coward, Master of the Hospitals? Are you so craven that you dare not do God’s work? He is with us and we are invincible!” he shouted again. “Leave, Sir Talon. You are not wanted here,” there was spittle on his beard as he spat out his final words.
For a long moment Talon stared at him. Finally, he called out, “I came to warn you!” He looked up at the knights behind Rideford. “You go to your deaths because of this man.” He pointed directly at Rideford then he turned his horse away, shaking his head in despair and disgust.
It happened just as they turned to leave. Someone from among the gathered knights and followers shouted, “Leave, you infidel-lovers! God curse you!” and hurled a spear at them.
Neither Talon, Reza nor their two attendants were prepared; they had their backs to the Templars and the Hospitaliers. They both whirled about in their saddles to confront the shout, but the spear struck Reza high on his right side, tore through his chain mail and penetrated his chest. Had he not reacted by twisting as he did, he would have taken the spear in his side and it would have been fatal. His shield had been hanging off a strap from the back of his saddle.
He lurched backwards and would have fallen had not Yosef seized his left arm with a vice-like grip and steadied him; then, in one swift motion, Yosef dragged the spear out from Reza’s side. Reza gasped with the pain and slumped in the saddle, blood rapidly staining his tunic and dripping down his side. He reached up and pressed his hand against the wound in a desperate attempt at stopping the bleeding. His hand became dark with blood, which continued to well from the wound. Reza groaned in agony.
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