Talon shrugged. “Yes, my Lord. I just sent a message. The causeway is to be a path of death for those who are unwary.”
“Wasn’t that somewhat rash, Lord Talon?” the Count asked stiffly.
Talon stared at him in surprise. “I don’t think so, Lord. We need to keep them at a distance and prevent them from being too confident when they approach the city. We have just shown them we can bite.”
“What if they had been emissaries, Lord Talon?” the Count demanded with a scowl. He sounded not a little irritated.
“Then they would have shown the white flag of truce, which would have been respected, Lord Reginald,” Talon replied patiently. “If we can make them wary of coming too close otherwise, it will be to our advantage.
“If the Sultan wants to parley, then I must be notified!” the Count snapped, and turned away to return to the citadel.
Talon stared after the Count, as he and his retainers left. One or two sent a glare of dislike his way, making him wonder what it was that he had said to offend the Count. He turned and stared across the causeway towards the approaching army, which was swarming down to the shore on either side of the road. “It seems the Sultan has arrived,” he remarked to Yosef, who nodded, his face grim.
As he hobbled off, with Yosef helping him, they were jostled by men-at-arms and knights crowding the ramparts in preparation for the fight to come. A few men who had witnessed the bowshots were respectful and helped to clear a space for him. Words such as, “God protect you, Lord,” and “We need a leader like you,” could be heard.
That afternoon, Talon was resting on the bed with his leg on a cushion when Yosef came hurrying in.
“Lord! Are you awake?” he enquired.
“Yes, Yosef, what is it?”
“That Christian lord, the man who is in charge?” Yosef spoke in a low voice.
“What of him?”
“He led a delegation out of the city to talk with some people from the Sultan’s army,” Yosef said, sounding concerned. “I think he is planning to surrender, Lord!” he finished.
Talon sat up. “This could alter things in a very bad way. Help me up, I want to go back onto the battlements to see what is going on. Where are Brandt and the archers?”
“The last I saw of them, they were eating as though none of them had had a good meal for a hundred years,” Yosef remarked in a somewhat prim tone.
“See if you can find them and bring them to the walls. I will start off now.” Talon swung his legs off the bed and reached for his crutches. “Don’t worry about me, Yosef. Go and get Brandt.” With a concerned look, Yosef hurried off.
Talon was half way towards the steps leading up to the crowded walls when the gates were opened and Count Reginald of Sidon and his mounted escort of knights clattered into the courtyard. They carried a large white banner, but Talon’s eye was caught by the other banners the riders carried with them. These flags were those of the Saracen army, banners that would have been displayed by the enemy in battle! It had obviously been a parley, but Talon wondered with a sinking heart what might have been agreed upon.
The Count noticed Talon propped up on his crutches, now joined by his tiny band. Brandt had arrived with the two archers in tow. Their quivers were full and they looked less hungry than before.
“Ah, Lord Talon. You should be resting that leg,” the Count commented as he tossed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom and strode towards him. Despite their disagreements, the Count was civil to the only other Lord in the city at the present time.
“Good health to you, my Lord,” Talon replied. “Have you been talking to the Sultan?”
“The Sultan was not there; he is still on his way here from Acre,” the Count replied. “I talked with his brother, Al-Adil. He asked after you by the way. We are going to meet with the Sultan when he arrives.” He turned away and gestured towards the men carrying the Sultan’s banners.
“Place them over the gates and on each tower either side of the gates,” he ordered. His knights appeared unhappy with the request and hesitated, upon which the Count called out irritably. “Did you not hear me? Place them on the walls as I commanded!” He glanced at Talon and continued. “This is to ensure the truce while we wait to discuss surrender terms with the Sultan when he arrives,” he said with satisfaction.
Talon stared at him, appalled. “Sir, you cannot do this!” he exclaimed. “We can hold out for a long time, long enough for the autumn to come, when the Sultan will be forced to disperse his army and allow them to go home to harvest their crops and tend to their tribal needs!”
The Count rounded on him, his ugly face suffused with blood. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, Lord Talon! I have been made the leader here, and I shall do what I deem best for the city. You should go and rest that wound of yours,” he finished pointedly, and he strode off, Talon staring after him.
“That seemed to go well,” Yosef said in an undertone.
“We have to find a way to leave this place. He will sell his soul to the Sultan, and that means slavery for the rest of us,” Talon growled, thinking furiously. “Help me up onto the ramp. I want to think, and to see what the Sultan’s brother is contemplating.
They arrived to find that the former crowd was dispersing, leaving a quiet space for them to stand and observe the activity across the causeway.
“They are already bringing up their siege equipment; look over there,” Yosef pointed.
“A trebuchet, if I am not mistaken,” Brandt added. A huge, cumbersome apparatus was being hauled towards the causeway. To Talon it didn’t look as though Al-Adil was going to wait for the Sultan before he began to bombard the city.
“If they try to bring it along the road, see if you can disrupt them; I don’t care what Lord Sidon says,” Talon said to the two Welshmen. They nodded, propped their quivers against the wall, then strung their bows. Talon knew that what he was about to do could get him into deep trouble with the Count, but he was determined not to let the Arab army gain a solid foothold on the road. “Don’t do anything until I tell you,” he cautioned them.
They were thus positioned when they heard excited yells coming from the seaward side of the city. The calls caused people on the streets to look up, and men began to run towards the sound, which was rising in pitch to became a roar as more and more people joined in. Before long, the city bells began to ring in a much more joyful manner than previously. The air was filled with shouts of excitement and the clamor of bells. Even trumpets were being sounded.
“What is going on over there?” Talon asked. “Brandt, go and find out. It doesn’t sound as though we are threatened with danger, but I’d like to know.”
Brandt nodded his agreement and trotted off, leaving Talon and the archers staring towards the west of the city. Then Yosef noticed something. “It is a ship!” he called out, pointing in the direction of the harbor entrance.
Sure enough, first one ship, then another, and then another began to maneuver through the narrow opening of the harbor, using sweeps to make their way towards the quayside. From their mastheads the ships flew long, bright banners, which were without doubt of Christian origin, and if Talon was not mistaken in his reading of the crest on one of the banners, they belonged to Count Conrad de Montferrat. Indeed, men flocking to the quayside to welcome the new arrivals were shouting the Count’s name.
Talon stayed where he was. He and his small group had a grandstand view of the harbor. The ships were packed with armed men, a sight Talon found very comforting, given how the garrison of Tyre was presently depleted. The first ship docked and tied in, with eager men helping, and then a gangplank was dropped to the quayside.
Talon saw a man in full chain mail stride down the gang-plank to the stone quay, where a hurried welcoming committee had formed to greet him. Even Lord Sidon was there. Talon wondered sardonically how the newly arrived Conrad would react to the news that Sidon intended to give the city away. He turned his attention back to the invaders, who by this time had dragged
the huge trebuchet to the causeway and were levering it into position to move it along the stone road.
Talon glanced back at the crowd and decided that they were preoccupied; no one was paying any attention to the east. “Are you ready?” he asked his archers softly.
“Ready, Lord,” Caradog said sturdily.
“When they come into range, send some arrows to our friends over there,” Talon murmured.
They waited for the lumbering machine to arrive at the mid section of the causeway, then the two archers drew their bows. Talon kept his gaze on the men below and heard the twang of the strings. After a brief interval, a man tumbled off the frame of the trebuchet. Talon thought he might have even heard the cry, although the distance was extreme. There was consternation, as those who had been working nearby clustered around the fallen man.
“T’was me who got that one!” Dewi said, sounding smug. Caradog was about to protest when Talon said sharply, “Again!”
“Oh, aye, but this is good!” Dewi muttered, and another two arrows were sent off. This time they landed in the middle of the distant group, which immediately dispersed, leaving two more of their number lying in the road.
“Nice work,” Talon remarked with satisfaction, as he watched the enemy soldiers abandon the trebuchet. “Now all we have to do is to destroy it somehow,” he concluded.
Yosef was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head in admiration. “God help me, but if I had not seen it with my own eyes I would not have believed it!” he exclaimed.
Talon returned his attention to the harbor. The nobles had left the ships to their crews and disappeared into the palace, where no doubt they were discussing the situation. He had not been invited, he noted with a wry twist of his mouth. Brandt hurried back and confirmed that Count Conrad de Montferrat had indeed arrived and had brought with him a large contingent of men to augment the meager numbers of defenders.
Yosef silently pointed down at the causeway, and Brandt gave a wolfish grin when he saw the damage inflicted by the archers. “Good work, even if you are Welsh,” he rumbled, giving them a sideways look of approval.
Their little action had not gone unnoticed. Several of the wall sentries had applauded and chortled with satisfaction, but someone must have informed the Count of Sidon, because soon he was striding across the stone courtyard and climbing the steps to the battlements two at a time. He was in a towering rage. Keeping pace with the angry count was a solid-looking man in full chain mail. Talon recognized the man who had walked off the ship to the cheers of spectators.
“Lord Talon!” Sidon roared as he approached. “I am informed that you have been engaging the Sultan’s men against my express wishes! We have a truce with those people and you have broken it! I’ll see you in jail for this!” he snarled.
Talon stood erect and faced him calmly, even though the pain in his leg was fierce. He put a hand on the parapet to steady himself.
“I do not see a white flag of truce, Lord Sidon. What I do see is a siege apparatus being moved into place by the Arab side. They clearly do not think there is a truce... Lord.”
“I had the banners placed where I did to indicate we are not fighting them!” Sidon shouted.
Talon glanced at the fluttering banners; the wind had picked up. “Those are enemy banners, my Lord. I do not think they belong here—” He was interrupted by the man standing behind Sidon.
“Indeed, Lord Sidon. I agree with this man. Lord Talon, is it?” He smiled, showing bad teeth. It was a genuine smile of amusement, but anger also flickered there. “Why do you display the enemy banners when we are clearly at war?” he demanded of Sidon.
“I propose, as I told you in the palace, to negotiate for the city, Lord Conrad,” Sidon spluttered.
In answer, Conrad reached forward to one of the Sultan’s banners and lifted it up. Then, before the startled men, he hurled the banner into the water below. “You and you!” He pointed to two of the sentries on the walls. “I am taking charge of this city now! Remove the other banners forthwith!” The men hesitated. “Do as I tell you, by God!” Conrad roared. They hastily did as he instructed. All the while Sidon was rigid with confusion and pent up anger.
“I do protest, Lord Conrad!” he gobbled.
“I do believe, Lord Sidon,” Conrad mimicked him, “by virtue of my senior birth that I am in charge here, and we will not be surrendering to anyone! Not any time soon!”
He turned towards Talon, who had been watching this exchange with interest. “We have not met before, Lord Talon. But already I am impressed by your determination.
Talon struggled to kneel. Brandt stepped forward to support him, but Conrad was having none of it. “Do not, I pray, kneel to me, Lord Talon. I see you are recovering from a wound. I will need your good advice in the near future, I think. Did your men accomplish that?” He pointed towards the causeway, which was now deserted, except for the three dead men and the abandoned trebuchet.
“Yes, my Lord. I felt that we needed to dissuade them from becoming too ambitious.”
Conrad barked out a laugh. “Ha! Very good! Hear that?” He shouted to the men gathered on the battlements. “That is how we will treat with the enemy from now on!” He turned to Lord Sidon.
“Now, Reginald, we need to talk, in private and in the palace.” He took the still enraged Sidon by the arm and marched him away. As they left, Talon heard Conrad remark, “Even with his wound that man is there, on the battlements, causing damage and confusion to the enemy. I hope there are more of him around. Ha! Ha!”
“Should I kill the ugly man, Lord?” Yosef asked Talon in Farsi. “You are a Lord, and he was very rude to you.”
Talon chuckled and shook his head. “I am a very small lord, Yosef. I cannot field armies. We are not of his kind, in any case. I am a Merchant Lord, and different from those he is familiar with. Yet, much as I despise the Genoese and the Venetians merchantmen, we are more similar to them than to the Normans, who prefer their castles dank and cheerless. No, don’t kill him. He will destroy himself sooner or later.” Talon didn’t add that he felt more powerful with his loyal, well trained people than any lord with a half-wit army.
Later that evening, a servant arrived to invite Talon to have supper with Conrad. He was helped to the palace great hall by Brandt, who grumbled about the Welsh as Talon hobbled along the darkened passageways.
“They feed like a host of locusts, Lord. And they never stop arguing! There have been times when I have wanted to use my ax to shut them up!”
Talon laughed, and paused to rest. “I recall the other ones were much the same. But don’t forget, Brandt, their archery is unique in this part of the world. When we have endured this feast, I want to talk to you, Yosef, and the archers. How do you feel about a little expedition tonight?”
Brandt gave an eager grunt. “Arr, yes! That would be just fine with me, Lord. Why should the Sultan’s men have all the fun?”
Talon arrived late, but there was a place for him at the head table with Conrad and Sidon. When he hobbled into the room there was a brief pause in the conversation around the hall as people recognized him. The whispering began, as men and knights and the very few ladies remaining in the city talked about him. Some furtively made the sign of the cross, because rumor had it that he had used magic to escape the clutches of the Infidels. No one else had escaped to tell the tale of captivity after the disaster of Hattin.
Conrad waved him over, evidently wanting to talk to him, for Talon’s place was close to his own. A very disgruntled looking Count of Sidon sat further along the table, with some of his men and the bishop of Tyre. Brandt assisted Talon to be seated, then stood guard behind him. His glowering visage caught the eye of Conrad, who said sotto voce to Talon, jerking his thumb at Brandt, “Does he always look so fierce, Lord Talon, and are there others like him here in the city? You seem to attract some interesting followers.”
Talon glanced back at Brandt and nodded to him. “He was formerly in the employ of the Count of Tripoli. I bought
him from the slave line in Tiberius, and then he saved my life. The debt is mine, and I am more than happy to have him on my side. An axe is a truly weapon in his hands. He fought with us at Hattin.”
Conrad gave Talon a sharp look. “Yes, I heard that. You have garnered quite a reputation, Lord Talon.”
“I hope it is not all bad, my Lord?” Talon remarked as he sipped the wine from a silver goblet. He winced, not from the pain in his leg, which was almost constant, but because the wine tasted as though some enterprising soul had mixed mushrooms with acorns, stewed them for a week in animal pee, then bottled the result.
It was nowhere near as good as the wine from his own vineyards. Ah, but how he missed his home! He resolved to have a quiet word with the steward and put him right about serving horse piss to the new leader of the city. Talon knew there were good bottles hidden somewhere.
The Count was speaking again.“Nooo, but there is much mystery attached to your name. Tripoli’s steward, who now works for me, said that your followers are a strange crowd, and that you speak the Arabic fluently and know their ways better than almost everyone else, including Sidon over there. I would hear more of what you think about the ‘Sultan’, as he calls that man on the other side of the causeway.”
“You mean His Excellency the Sultan Salah Ed Din, my Lord. He is a complicated man who has used our weaknesses to very good effect against us on more than one occasion.”
“Hmm, Lord Sidon has alluded to that, and he thinks our best course is to negotiate. What do you think, Lord Talon?”
“We were badly led up to the battle at Hattin, Lord. But this city… Tyre is easily defendable, as long as we can keep him at a distance.”
Conrad reared back in his chair, beaming with approval. “I agree with you!” He sent a sharp look down the table towards Lord Sidon. “He would give it all away, and this is the last of the secure port cities. I want to keep it! We must keep it!” Conrad banged the table with his fist. “So I have invited him to depart for his own lands, where he can do as he pleases.”
Storms of Retribution Page 38