Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  There were exclamations of surprise at this. “And their plan very nearly worked,” Max muttered. He was still angry at himself for having misjudged the situation.

  “Do not blame yourself, Sir Max,” Dar’an said, seeing his discomfort. “We were all caught by surprise.” He smiled at Rav’an. “But Lady Rav’an and Lady Jannat saved the day.”

  “And made a smelly mess!” Reza murmured.

  “Quiet, my Reza, let him continue,” Jannat chided him.

  “The assassins know who within the palace ordered the attack. It was that man Zenos, but there is another man, called Aeneas, from Constantinople, who came to investigate the whereabouts of Pantoleon,” Dar’an continued.

  “That man again?” Jannat breathed. She was referring to Pantoleon who had come to the island using the alias Exazenos.

  “Yes. It was Pantoleon who brought the gold to the island, my Lady, and this Aeneas came to find it.” Dar’an gave her a reassuring smile. “However, I think we stopped this one in his tracks, my Lady.”

  “Seems like Zenos hatched an elaborate plan to get the gold back for him,” Max commented, “only to be betrayed by his allies.”

  “If Zenos is breaking the unspoken treaty between Talon and the Emperor, we have a problem,” Reza said. “You say Diocles has been arrested, in which case I do not give much for his chances. That Isaac is a vengeful person. Someone must to go to Famagusta and talk to Dimitri.”

  “But that has usually been you or Talon. Who can we send?” Jannat asked the question that was on all their minds. There was a brief silence as everyone contemplated this remark. Reza was clearly unable to go, and no one knew where Talon might be.

  “I will go!” Rostam volunteered.

  Rav’an gave him a sharp look and almost said “No!” right there and then, but Max sat up and said, “My Lady Rav’an. Rostam has proved himself an able soldier, and Reza has good reports on his abilities within that shadow world of his. Those are the skills that are needed. And Rostam need not go alone; he could take Dar’an or Junayd with him.”

  She still looked hesitant. “But he is only—”

  “A boy, Rav’an?” Reza wheezed. “He is a man. I promise you that. We were only boys when we escaped from Alamut, and you a young girl, but we did well. You did well. He is growing up, Rav’an, and this will be a good experience for him. The travel is no longer as dangerous as it used to be,” he insisted. Rostam gave him a grateful look.

  “Very well,” Rav’an conceded reluctantly. “But Junayd or Dar’an or both must go with him. And which of you captains will take him?”

  Henry looked uncomfortable, and to buy himself time to think about his answer he tore at a piece of bread with his bad teeth. Finally he spoke. “My Lady, Guy’s ship needs repairs, as the Greek Fire badly damaged the side. The wood is so charred at the water level we cannot leave it afloat for much longer. The ship will have to be beached and patched.”

  “That leaves your ship then, Henry.”

  “We need a good ship to protect the harbor at all times, my Lady. One with Scorpions mounted.”

  Rav’an frowned. This didn’t appear to be going very well. She took a sip of wine to help bring her frustration under control.

  Rostam raised his hand tentatively. “There is another ship in the harbor, Mother. Remember the one we took off the pirates?” Rav’an looked as though she would rather not remember that, but finally she nodded.

  “I can navigate that ship, and captain it too, Mother.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested, but Guy hurriedly interjected.

  “My Lady, he does know how to navigate, and I am confident that he will see the ship safely in both directions. I shall lend him my best crewmen to ensure he is well assisted.”

  The scruffy, uncouth pair of captains were conspiring to get her son into a hazardous mission. She frowned, giving them both a disapproving look; she was by now thoroughly vexed with them. Henry looked uncomfortable and avoided her glare, while Guy wiped gravy off his beard with his sleeve, looking sheepish.

  There was more discussion, but finally she conceded, and then the party broke up. Reza was taken back to his infirmary, where Theodora fussed over him for a while. Having reassured herself that he was comfortable, she left Rav’an and Jannat with him and went in search of Max.

  Rav’an and Jannat sat on the either side of his bed in companionable silence.

  “You are not to worry about Rostam, my Sister,” Reza said finally.

  “I am his mother, Reza; it is my duty to worry about him. Is he truly ready for all this?”

  “I didn’t tell you before, but he saved my life on the ship in our first engagement with the pirates. I would have died had he not been there at the right moment. The men like and respect him, too,” Reza responded.

  “Talon has become fond of saying, ‘Hope for the best but be prepared for the worst,’” Reza continued. “Your boy is as prepared as we are able to make him, and should now be given the chance to prove himself independently. I would stake Jannat’s pigeons on it being a safe mission.” He smiled with deep affection and patted her hand.

  “It is hard for you, I am sure. But it is necessary if he is to become the warrior he aspires to be. And we have to know what is going on in that den of iniquity. Don’t forget that Dimitri and his men will be there to make sure nothing happens to him, as well as Junayd.”

  She nodded and smiled through her tearing eyes, then took his hand. “I am so uncertain, Reza. I miss Talon dreadfully, so that any thought of Rostam being in danger is too awful to think about.”

  Jannat leaned across Reza and kissed her on the cheek. “He is his father’s son, but a huge part of his courage comes from his mother, Rav’an. Have faith, and we will all pray for his and Talon’s safe return.”

  A servant appeared at the door and beckoned to Jannat. “You asked me to tell you the moment a pigeon arrived, my Lady. Here is the message.” He handed the small roll of paper to Jannat, who opened it and stared at the message. By now she could read the code as though it were in clear language. Her face went white and her fingers holding the message shook as she looked up at the assembled family.

  “What is it, Jannat?” Rav’an was the first to ask, her tone full of concern.

  “This message is from Boethius in Paphos.” She stopped as though trying to collect herself.

  “Jannat, what is it?” Rav’an insisted, reaching for the paper in Jannat’s trembling hand.

  “There has been a great battle,” Jannat whispered. “The Latin Christians have been utterly defeated. The Kingdom of Jerusalem is lying in ruins.”

  ____________

  Chapter 21

  Aftermath

  My Thoughts no longer seek an end to tribulation;

  My vision’s gates are sealed, there is no revelation.

  My eyes no longer picture the time of my salvation.

  Foes amass before the border of my home like thorns

  That pierce my side when I fall in pain.

  —Shelomo.ibn Gabirol

  Talon awoke with a splitting headache and a deep, aching pain in his right thigh, and a lesser pain on his upper left arm. He had trouble focusing his eyes. He lay still for a moment, feeling nauseated, trying to orientate himself, listening to the murmur of voices around him. He could hear the groans of wounded men, and the calm, low tones of someone talking to one agitated man who appeared to be crying.

  He moved to sit up and look around, but his head threatened to burst and his leg screamed at him. He must have groaned aloud because a dark, bearded face under a loosely wrapped turban leaned over him, then the orderly called out to another person at the other end of the tent.

  “The infidel lives and breathes, Doctor!”

  Moments later, a thin-featured man with a well kept beard, wearing a more formal turban, peered down at him, while cool fingers lifted his wrist and took his pulse. From that one gesture Talon realized that he might be in some kind of temporary Arab hospital, or Bimaristan as t
hey were known.

  “Am I in hospital?” he croaked.

  The doctor looked surprised. “He speaks Arabic! Now that is unexpected. Good, then you can tell me how you feel,” he demanded, not unkindly.

  “I feel like a horse fell on my head, and I could do with a drink of water,” Talon rasped. He managed a weak smile.

  The doctor nodded and gave him a bleak smile in return. “Yes, it might well feel like that; but a drink would be all right. Amman, go and fetch some clean water for our Infidel.”

  Turning back to his patient he said, “You have been unconscious for a day and a night. It was a good thing that you were wearing some protection on your head, otherwise I don’t think we would have been talking today.” His tone was dry. “Someone tried very hard to bash your skull in. Someone else saved your life and had you brought here. No one knew who you were until the Sultan’s brother recognized you and told me to do what I could to patch you up.”

  Talon fingered the bandage around his throbbing head, then touched his thigh.

  “What...what happened to my leg?” he asked, as he accepted the grudgingly given cup of water from Amman. “Did I break it?” His mind flashed back to the chaos on the slopes of Hattin, trying to remember what had occurred during those last nightmarish moments.

  “You don’t remember?” the doctor asked.

  Talon nearly shook his head but thought better of it and croaked, “No,” instead. He drank the water slowly.

  “You took an arrow through the middle of your thigh. Don’t worry, we took it out, and you are going to be able to walk again. The bang on your head must have addled your memory, but that, too, should come back to you... eventually. Now I must notify the prince that you are awake, as he wants to see you.”

  The doctor got up, and as he left Talon thanked him. He stopped and said, “You might not have much cause to be grateful, but at least there is hope where there is life. So much is lost for these ridiculous causes men keep inventing to kill one another.” He shook his head, a disapproving expression on his lean features.

  “I thank you, nonetheless. Go with God,” Talon said, and shut his eyes. He felt very tired. A wave of despair threatened to overwhelm him as he slipped back into the darkness.

  He woke to someone shaking him by the shoulder. The none too gentle orderly helped him to sit up, pushed some cushions behind his shoulders, then gave him water to drink and a bowl of lentils and scraps of lamb meat to eat.

  “You are named Talon? You are a Lord?” he asked, as he handed a round disc of nan to Talon and then made him comfortable to prevent the bowl from falling. Talon felt faint after he sat up, but when his eyes ceased to cross and the tent stopped moving, he could take stock of his surroundings.

  They were in a round tent with a center pole that allowed a man to stand upright near the middle. It had become stuffy from the breathing of too many men and the hot sun beating down on the fabric with unrelenting force, but it was preferable to being outside, he reasoned. All the same, the flies had found them. One of the other men lying on a pallet nearby was being fanned by an orderly to keep the buzzing creatures off a heavily bandaged, bloody wound in his abdomen. Talon flicked a couple away that had begun to show an interest in his bowl of food.

  “You speak our language very well for an Infidel,” Amman remarked. “I suppose you must be a lord, or else they would have killed you on the field, wounded as you were. Not much use as a slave!” he finished with a scornful sneer.

  “Yes, I am named Talon, and yes I… I am a Lord.” Talon responded. He spooned up more lentils and lamb from the soup. As he ate, he realized that he was famished and proceeded to finish off the soup, wiping the rim with some of the soft nan. “Where are we?”

  “We are on the outskirts of Tiberius. Your battles are over, Infidel,” Amman told him, then left to tend to one of the other wounded, who was calling out. Talon realized that he was with men from the Sultan’s army. He wondered what might have become of any other of the Christian lords, if any had been captured. He sank back against the cushions, suddenly exhausted.

  Later that day, Talon was again woken. There was a stirring at the entrance of the tent, and Amman was pulling his bedding into a neater shape. He whispered urgently to Talon.

  “It is the Prince! Be very polite, or your head will roll, Infidel!” He struggled to move Talon into a sitting position as the Prince Al-Adil was ushered into the tent. He was in full armor and attended by two well armed footmen, who stood guard impassively at the entrance to the tent while he strode in and made for one of the beds.

  Ignoring Talon, he stooped over each of the men in turn. Two of them were awake and keen to show their loyalty. One even tried to rise from his pallet to kneel before the prince, who pushed him gently back and spoke some encouragement, then moved on, motioning to an orderly to take care of the gasping man he had just left. The physician appeared and murmured something to the prince as he approached Talon’s bed.

  “As-Salaam-Alaikum, Lord Talon.”

  “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, my Lord Prince.” Talon responded.

  “I had not thought to see you under such circumstances, Lord Talon.”

  “I am alive, thanks be to God and fate, which counts for something, Lord.” Talon gave the prince a wan smile. “I am relieved that your doctor is very capable.”

  “Better than those Frans Leeches I have heard about?” the prince gave a derisive chuckle.

  Talon smiled agreement and said, “It is impolite of me to lie here in front of you, Lord. I apologize for my incapacity, but I am honored to be in your presence.” He knew the prince would come to the point eventually, and he suspected what it might be about.

  “I trust the health of my Lord the Sultan is good?” Talon inquired.

  “It is good, and becomes better by the day,” the prince responded, looking smug.

  He waved the hovering orderlies away and stepped a little closer. “God goes about his work and we are only able to ponder its meaning. You were lucky. Others not so.”

  “I can only imagine how fortunate I have been, Lord.” Talon’s tone was dry.

  “In that you are right, Talon,” the prince replied. “Your horse fell, and you were already wounded. One of our more eager warriors did not know your rank, so he tried to kill you. You owe your life to one of his officers, who recognized your dress and the coat of arms emblazoned on your shield and stopped him.”

  “I hope one day to be able to thank that officer from my heart,” Talon said. “Who else lives, if I might ask Your Highness?”

  “Your King, the Lord de Rideford, and others of that house, but… that evil man Châtillon does not. He has gone to hell.” The prince sounded very satisfied with that.

  Talon sighed. He wondered why it was that de Rideford, the cause of this utter catastrophe, was still allowed to live. The man had survived not one but two disasters of his own making, where all who followed him had perished. A sardonic thought occurred to him. Perhaps God didn’t want de Rideford in heaven?

  “I shall not mourn Châtillon. He caused much trouble between our peoples,” he told the prince, who nodded.

  “Then you will be pleased to hear that when the King surrendered he was escorted to our Sultan’s tent, where he was treated with great courtesy... as it should be between kings.” He shrugged. “Châtillon was with him at the time. They were all suffering from a terrible thirst, so Salah Ed Din gave a cup of chilled water to King Guy, who took some, but then handed it to Châtillon, who gulped the rest, just like the pig he was.” The prince paused and looked straight at Talon. “Our Sultan, may God guide his ways, was incensed and rebuked the King, saying, “Let it be written that it was you who gave that man the water, not I.”

  Talon bowed his head. “The Sultan, having given water to his prisoner, would not then harm him, but Châtillon merited no such protection,” he murmured.

  “I see you know our ways, Lord Talon,” the prince said, with a wry twist of his mouth, then he continued.

&nb
sp; “The Sultan then angrily listed the crimes of Châtillon for everyone to hear. They are too numerous and terrible to recount, but I am sure you are aware of many,” the prince said.

  “Yes indeed, my Lord. I know many of them, only too well,” Talon agreed.

  “When the Sultan finished, Châtillon still could not resist provoking him further and insulted him, so my brother struck off his head with his sword before all who were there.”

  “Châtillon will not be missed by anyone, Lord. I am glad that he is gone, and I am sure it is to hell,” Talon said. He wished that de Rideford had gone with him.

  “So he was also hated amongst the Frans?”

  Talon grimaced. “He was despised, Lord. No one will mourn him.”

  The prince took a deep breath. “Well, now it is over, and we are about to take the citadel of Tiberius. Your Count Raymond is fled to the north, but his wife remains. The main part of the city was taken several days ago, but she still holds onto the citadel. Will she sue for peace, do you think? The Sultan, whom God has blessed with this great victory, is about to enter the city. I think he would be magnanimous.”

  Talon thought about that. “I am sure she will, Lord. It would be pointless to hold out. Will you sack the city?”

  “Not unless they resist. Why should you care?”

  “There is a physician there who is very skilled. He would be a useful addition to your own group of physicians, and he speaks Arabic.”

  “That could be useful,” the prince agreed. “There is an acute shortage of skilled physicians at present. I shall pass the word. What is his name?”

  “Artemus, and he is an old curmudgeon but he knows what he is doing, unlike the Latin Leeches. He was educated in Constantinople at the Bimaristan there. I would willingly pay for his release, if you wish.”