The prince chuckled. “I shall take that into consideration, Lord Talon. I have never known a physician who is not condescending and aloof. Fear not, I shall have him found and protected. The rest, however, I fear will be enslaved; you know how things are.”
Talon shrugged mentally. This was the way of things, and he could do no more.
He was clear in his mind as to what lay in store for the rest of the crusader world. First Tiberius, then Acre no doubt, after which the Sultan would proceed to mop up all the other cities, his ultimate goal being Jerusalem.
The prince changed the subject. “My brother has been notified that you are alive and in our care. He says that he hopes you have a full recovery, but, alas that you are still a prisoner… unless, that is... You understand that this is a delicate matter?” He finished with a gentle wave of his right hand.
“I shall do my best to raise whatever is asked of me, Lord. Please let me know the conditions, and I shall send a letter to start proceedings.”
The prince looked relieved. “Ah, yes, just so. The amount would be for some ten thousand dinars. Not too much for someone like yourself I hope? You are, after all, a Lord now, is that not right?” There was just a trace of sarcasm in his tone, which was not lost on Talon, but he ignored it.
Talon pretended to look concerned by the amount, but it was nothing when compared to his fortune. He nodded, appearing to be reluctant. “I… agree to the amount, Lord. I need, however, the means to write a letter to my people in Cyprus, and then have the amount delivered to anywhere you wish.”
“That is so good of you, Lord Talon.” The prince waved both hands in a gesture that resembled that of an armored praying mantis. Even his eyes had taken on the glossy look of one. Talon began to wonder if the prince was handling matters on his own rather than on behalf of his brother the Sultan.
“The other condition would be that, once the payment is made, you must leave and not fight again in this land.”
“Perhaps there is another way we could manage this, my Lord,” Talon said, without acknowledging the terms; his tone, however, was tentative and respectful.
“Hmm, what would that be?” the prince asked, cocking his head, never taking his dark eyes off Talon’s.
“Do you know where your cousin is at present, Lord?” Talon asked softly.
“My cousin? Which one? I have so many!” the prince said with a depreciating gesture and a puzzled smile.
“Yes, of course. Forgive me, Lord, I meant Makhid, your cousin from Dalmatia, the corsair leader. The pirate,” Talon added. He noticed a flicker of annoyance in the black eyes.
“He is not a pirate, Lord Talon,” the prince responded sharply. “He is a sailor, and a very good one. He does the Sultan’s work upon the seas. Why are you interested in him?”
Talon took his time answering. He could be on dangerous ground here, but he knew he had the advantage as long as the prince and Makhid were relatively close. More importantly, how much in favor with the Sultan was the pirate?
“Makhid and his ships ran into mine at sea, Lord. There was a battle… with heavy losses on his side. He became my prisoner. He is well, and by the way, so is his son. I am informing you of this because we might be able to negotiate an exchange… perhaps?”
Al-Adil slowly brought his right hand up to his bearded lips and frowned, as though pondering Talon’s words. There was no doubt in Talon’s mind that he was shaken by the news.
“He is in good health? Do you have proof of this?” the prince asked after a long pause.
“You have my word on it, Lord. I can assure you that he is in good health and will remain so until we can release him back to you.”
“Where is he at this time?” Talon noted a sly look appear in the dark eyes. He knew what was passing through the prince’s mind. The Christian lands lay prostrated before Salah Ed Din’s army. They might be able to extract his cousin without the need to exchange him for Talon.
“He is on a ship, Lord. Because of that I cannot say exactly where he is at present,” Talon responded, feigning regret. “I would have sent a message to you or the Sultan before this, but as we both know, events prevented communications. But now would be a good time to discuss arrangements, don’t you think?”
The prince gave an abrupt chuckle. “Here we both are haggling like a pair of fishermen over a catch!” He grinned at Talon, but there was a gleam of respect in his eyes. “We will talk more on this, Lord Talon. I think that, although we have been enemies, we might yet become friends. Meanwhile, you must focus on getting well. God protect you. Salaam.” He turned away.
“Peace to you, my Lord.”
Talon relaxed back against the cushions with an effort and thought about his circumstances. His chances of making it to Tyre seemed very slim. If he couldn’t get to the safety of the fort and his waiting ship, he might be a prisoner for a long time: months, even years. He had some experience of ransoms, having extorted one from the captain of a captured ship when he was just beginning to make his fortune. The negotiations could take many months to arrange, founded as they were upon a policy of mutual distrust.
He touched his leg and winced. He was a long way from recovery, and if he was unable to even walk, what were his chances of going anywhere? Not for the first time, he wondered what was going on at Kantara. He had left in April. It was now early July, and he and Reza had thought to be away a mere two weeks! Rav’an must be beside herself with worry. He hoped fervently that Yosef had made his escape. His thoughts turned inwards as he thought about his family and wondered how they might be, in particular Reza. He prayed that he had escaped this madness and was recovering.
How much he missed the community, his friends, and above all, his Rav’an! Thinking back on events, he felt a surge of anger at the arrogance and stupid behavior of the lords of the Crusader Kingdom. Even the Count Raymond had left his wife to fend for herself while he fled. Was everyone in the Kingdom so venal? Sooner or later the Count would know of Talon’s fate, and of Rideford’s and others who had been captured. the jubilant Arabs would make sure the news was carried far and wide. He drifted off to sleep, thinking about what their lives had come to: him a prisoner and Rav’an without knowledge of his whereabouts.
*****
When he was informed of the fate of his cousin, Salah Ed Din gave a bark of amusement. “This Lord Talon, whom we have as a prisoner, wounded and at a physical disadvantage, is still one step ahead of us! I did tell you that he was once a slave in Egypt? Yes, that’s right, and he played Chogan there too; a good player. He had the gall to steal a ship full of slaves, and disappeared off to Acre. Very cunning is our Lord Talon. Not to be underestimated at all. So he has our cousin a prisoner, eh?”
“So he claims. What do you want me to do about him, my Brother?” Al-Adil replied.
“I am sure of one thing,” Salah Ed Din said. “I don’t want another visit of the kind I was subjected to from his ‘brother’, Reza, as a reckoning. Lord Talon wants to do an exchange? We should agree I think, for our own sakes.” He chuckled again. “He and his ‘brother’,” the Sultan again emphasized the word, “are two of the most cunning people I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. We should deal gently with this man, because if he is harmed, then the revenge Reza will take, upon you certainly, and perhaps upon myself, will be awful. They are, or at least Reza is, even more dangerous than those Batinis that Rashid Ed Din keeps in the mountains north of Tripoli. How I would like to finish Rashid Ed Din off at the same time I conquer this land! My contentment would then be complete!”
_____________
Chapter 22
Escape
The Banshee’s wild voice sings the death-dirge before me,
The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me;
But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver,
Though devoted I go—to return again never!
—Sir Walter Scott.
The citadel of Tiberius fell on the third day after the battle o
f Hattin. Talon had been dozing fitfully when he heard the roar as the Arab army swarmed into the city to celebrate and fully invest the town. The sounds of their triumph filled the air. From the excited chatter all around him, Talon gathered that the Lady Eschiva of Bures was under guard. Once relative quiet had been restored after the assault, Talon heard that terms for the disposition of the prisoners were being discussed.
Later that day, the physician came by on his rounds and stood over Talon. “Salam, Lord Talon,” he said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better, thank you, Doctor.” Talon struggled to sit up. “Is Tiberius taken?” he asked.
“Yes, and my work continues.” The physician sighed into his beard. He administered the foul medicine that Talon had to drink twice a day, noticing Talon’s grimace of disgust as he swallowed it. “That horrible tasting medicine has kept infection at bay, so you would do well to continue with it and not protest over much, Lord.
“I do have some good news for you,” he continued. Talon looked up.
“Your request was heard, and I now have an assistant.” For the first time the doctor smiled, albeit a wintry one. “The physician from Constantinople, Artemus, is under the protection of the prince and is safe with me. He continues his work in the city.”
Talon smiled his thanks. “I am sure that, professionally, you will enjoy each other’s company,” he said in a voice loaded with irony.
His tone was not lost on the doctor, who shrugged. “Men insist upon making war, so there is always a need for skilled physicians, no matter from where, to patch them up. You will be moved, at least temporarily, to the city. I have asked that our seriously wounded be moved to where we can better aid them, and the Sultan agreed. The doctor Artemus informs me that his clinic would be a better place than this tent.”
Talon could only agree. Despite the competent administrations of the doctor and his assistants, it was very hot in the tent, with little air flow to relieve the heat, and the flies were becoming not just a nuisance but a hazard. The man with the torn abdomen had died during the night, only to be replaced by another badly wounded man, who lay in a torpor for most of the time. When he was conscious he writhed with the pain in his chest and cried for his mother.
They moved Talon late that afternoon, lifting him onto a pallet, which was then carried by four sullen Arab infantrymen. They knew he was an infidel but dared not offend the doctor, who was adamant about how they should behave towards him. They lurched and weaved their way through crowds of men-at-arms and army followers who were moving back and forth between the encampment and the city.
The austere atmosphere that had characterized the place when the town was Christian had already been replaced by the noises and smells of street vendors and food stalls as the more enterprising camp followers cooked food for hungry soldiers. A light haze of smoke hung over the streets from the small fires, and the air was heavy with the aromas of roasting meat and vegetables.
As Talon’s small escort entered the gates, now manned by Arab sentries, Talon glanced around. There was little evidence of looting or burning. Once again the Sultan had imposed his stern will upon his army and forbidden his men to sack the city, but there were other signs of the assault. He could see holes in the upper ramparts where the Sultan’s catapults had succeeded in landing missiles. There were even blackened and burnt areas where Greek Fire, now in common use, had exploded. And of course there was evidence of hand to hand fighting in the form of discarded weapons and armor, still to be collected and redistributed.
They passed piles of corpses, which were being loaded onto carts to be taken out of the city for burial. There was no time to wash the dead, but the Arab corpses were wrapped in cotton cloth from head to foot. Those of the Franks were dumped unceremoniously into waiting carts. There would doubtless be a single pit for the Franks, while the Arabs would be interred with more ceremony.
His glance roved over the people milling about as they approached the large city square, and he gave a start. There were several lines of prisoners, squatting in chains, along one of the walls. He was sure he recognized one of the prisoners crouched among the others.
He called out to his carriers. “Stop!”
“What does he want?” one of the bearers grumbled as they lurched to a halt.
“Bring that man to me,” Talon told them in their own tongue, pointing to the line of slaves. They put him down gently enough, with surprised looks on their faces. “You speak our language, Infidel?” one of the men demanded.
“Yes, but I need to speak to that prisoner, over there,” Talon indicated the Saxon. “Bring him here,” Talon commanded. He hoped that they would obey him, although there was no reason to, other than the authoritative manner he had adopted for their benefit. He was, after all, a prisoner himself. Still, they hesitated, so he forced himself to sit up and said in a low tone, “I shall reward all four of you very well, but he must come with us. He is my servant.”
“Very well, but you had better not be lying, and you had better make sure we are paid,” one of the men told him. Two of them reluctantly walked over to the overseer in charge of the prisoners. They spoke together for a couple of voluble minutes, and then all three walked back. The overseer appeared to be in an unfriendly mood; his swagger said a lot before he even opened his mouth.
“Who are you to demand the release of that prisoner over there?” The skinny man looked down on Talon with an arrogant stare. He spat at the ground, the gob of saliva just missing Talon.
“What is going on here?” another voice, this time with much more authority, growled from behind Talon’s head. There was no mistaking the voice. It was a harsh, gravelly voice Talon would know anywhere.
“What are you doing, loitering in the square with an important prisoner?” Yosef demanded. His tone was imperious.
“We...we were asked to stop so that this infidel Lord could speak to his servant… over there, Sir,” one of Talon’s bearers said, pointing to the Saxon. His tone was now much more polite. Talon craned his neck to look up at his friend. It was Yosef, without a doubt.
“You are to take this man to the physician’s house, over there,” Yosef pointed in the direction of the house of Artemus. “Down that street, the second house to your right. If I see you stop for anything I shall be reporting you to the highest authority!” Yosef almost bellowed. “Now go! I shall be right behind you,” he snarled. “As for you,” he stared rudely at the overseer, who cringed. “His lordship has decreed that Lord Talon, this Infidel, is to have a servant. That one will do. Go and get him,” Yosef ordered.
“Now!” he added sharply. “You will all be paid. I shall see to that,” he said in a more conciliatory tone to the frightened men. “Now do as you are told.”
The overseer ran over to Brandt, who had been dozing against the wall, and hauled him to his feet. Muttering imprecations and threats, he unlocked the dazed man from his neighbors, then dragged him, still bound by his ropes, to where Talon and his bearers were waiting.
“I shall pay you tonight. Or rather, the Prince shall pay,” Yosef told the overseer.
“Allah be praised,” he said as an afterthought. The man bowed and put his hand on his breast. “God’s will, thank you, Sir,” he answered, and returned to his charges.
“You!” Yosef seized the Saxon by the shoulder and shoved him roughly forward. “You go with us. Do not try to escape or I kill you.” The confused Saxon understood not a word and was about to react to the rough treatment when Talon said sharply in French, “Do as he says, Brandt.”
The Saxon gave him a shocked look of recognition, his light blue eyes wide with surprise, but he snapped his mouth shut and shuffled along after the bearers and Yosef, who had taken the lead. “By the Mullah’s beard, hurry up, you lazy peasants!” he called back to the almost trotting men, who were sweating in the warm evening air under their burden.
“Just do as he tells you and we will talk later,” Talon told the thoroughly confused Saxon, as they approac
hed the house of Artemus. They entered the small courtyard inside the building.
Artemus was inside, treating some of the wounded from the Arab army. He didn’t even glance at the new arrivals. “Put him over there,” he commanded, and turned back to his bloody work. The bearers did as they were told, and then Yosef shepherded them out of the building. He sent them on their way with the reassurance that they would be paid, just as the Infidel lord had promised. They exchanged salaams, and the men walked off.
Yosef walked back into the house and closed the outer doors, after which he strode into the sick room with all the assurance of an officer in the army of the Sultan. Men made way for this expensively armored warrior, who appeared to be in charge; he made his way over to where Talon lay with Brandt kneeling in front of him, his arms still bound behind him.
Drawing out his short sword, Yosef cut the man’s bonds and indicated that he should sit down. Brandt was willing enough to do so, while Talon tried hard to conceal his delight at seeing Yosef.
“I was very worried about you, Yosef,” he whispered. “How in God’s name did you find me, and where did you find that grand looking suit of mail?”
“By sheer accident, Lord, and the mail belonged to someone who was too drunk to know,” Yosef replied, as he knelt on one knee beside Talon. “I was on my way out of the city to search one last time when I saw you being brought through the gates!” He grinned at Talon, who reached out and gripped his hand hard. “God be praised, but I am so very glad to see you.” There were tears in both men’s eyes.
“I found your horse on the field. And this.” Yosef tapped the hilt of Talon’s sword tucked into his sash. “I could not find the scabbard. I assume they took that off you.”
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