Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  Talon frowned. “He has agreed to leave, my Lord?”

  Conrad tore some flesh off a thin looking rib he was eating; the grease on his fingers shone in the candlelight. “Yes. I don’t want faint hearts here, and he appeared only too glad to get away from the responsibility of leading the city. I am now fully in charge, and he will be leaving in the morning on one of my ships. He can’t leave any other way, can he? Ha ha!” Conrad tossed the bone to a hound lurking nearby, then wiped his chin with a linen cloth and took a swig of wine.

  “The Count of Tripoli kept a rotten cellar, it seems,” he remarked with a grimace, looking as though he were about to spit it out.

  Talon could not have agreed more, and he was relieved to hear that Sidon was on his way out. That meant Conrad could defend the city in his own fashion, and he had experience, defending and organizing the populations of cities in Lombardy. Talon focused on his food, which was not nearly as good as that which he had become accustomed to on Cyprus, but a good deal better than what he had eaten recently. He wondered how long supplies would last if there were a siege. There was already a scarcity of goats and sheep, and not a cow to be found anywhere. They would be starting on the cats and dogs next, he surmised.

  “I suspect there is better wine hidden away somewhere, my Lord,” he remarked.

  The Count nodded and attacked another rack of mutton ribs, tearing them apart with gusto. The steward had evidently decided to provide a feast tonight.

  Speaking with his mouth full, Conrad told him, “My original destination was Acre, and indeed we arrived there, some two days ago. Almost from the time we saw the city in the distance there seemed to be something wrong. I think it was the lack of the Christian banners. As we approached the city, a vessel put out from the harbor and came within hailing distance.” Conrad wiped his mustaches, then carried on.

  “We learned then that the city had fallen, because some of our men understood what they called out to us. They had, in fact, invited us to enter the harbor. They were not clear as to who we were.” He barked out a short laugh.

  “I told our captains to leave, and smartly too. We came here with the prayer to God that Tyre had not fallen.”

  “I am sure everyone here is very glad that you did, my Lord,” Talon replied, his tone dry.

  “Hmm, yes,” The Count cast a derisive glance at Lord Sidon. “What we saw at Acre tells me that this Saladin of yours moves very fast. And what do you think his intentions are next?”

  “Oh, that is clear, my Lord. He will try the take this citadel, because this is a strategic city. If he controls it, he can deny all future supplies to the Holy Land. But his main objective is and always has been Jerusalem.”

  Conrad swiveled his head to stare directly at Talon. “You think so, eh?” His mouth compressed into a thin, grim line.

  Talon nodded emphatically. “This was what the Count of Tripoli was so afraid of, and what neither the King nor his close advisers would understand. For Salah Ed Din it is the conclusion of his destiny, and he will not be denied.”

  The Count looked frustrated. “We cannot do anything about that, either. Who is left to defend Jerusalem if, as you say, the cream of our army lies dead on the slopes of Hattin?”

  “Sidon told me that Count Balian Ibelin was going to Jerusalem, my Lord. Does he know anything more?”

  “Pah, he is sulking and not very forthcoming at present. I say good riddance to that man, but I wish I could learn more about Jerusalem. Tell me what you know, anyway.”

  _____________

  Chapter 25

  Trebuchet

  And so the warriors all go down;

  they’re slain although no blood is shed.

  The dark fighters at times the victims,

  the ones emerging triumphant are red.

  —Avrahim ibn Ezra

  Pleading fatigue and taking his leave well before the end of the meal, Talon excused himself to the Count and hobbled off, with Brandt to aid him. As they approached their own chambers Talon said. “Brandt, find me a horse without iron shoes, saddle it and bring it to the gates within the hour. It’s good and dark now.”

  “My Lord, you are not thinking of coming with us?” Brandt demanded, his voice full of surprise and concern.

  “How else am I going to keep an eye on you and the lads? Watch from the battlements?” Talon retorted. “I can still use a bow and ride… after a fashion, to support what you are about to do. Go on now, I’ll see you down by the gates soon.”

  Yosef was waiting at the chambers, fully armed. “Do you really think you should be coming with us, Lord?” he asked, as he moved to help Talon struggle into a hauberk.

  “Yes, because someone needs to protect your backs as you and Brandt carry out the important part,” Talon said, pulling on his gloves. “Did you get the other items?”

  Yosef grinned and nodded.

  “Then it is time we left. Come along, you two!” he told the waiting archers. They hurriedly finished off the food they had been devouring in the room adjacent to his bed chamber.

  “They never stop eating!” Yosef exclaimed with a grimace. “Are you sure we can afford them, Lord?”

  Talon snorted. “Tonight they earn their keep… or not, as the case may be. If not, I’ll let Brandt deal with them.”

  Yosef picked up their two bows, then handed Dewi a sack full of something that rattled. “Be careful with it,” he told the archer. Then he helped Talon limp down the steps to the outside courtyard and along one of the tunnels that joined the outside walls with those of the citadel. There they found Brandt waiting with a large horse.

  “We took its shoes off, Lord. Seemed a better idea than to cal attention to ourselves by looking for one unshod.”

  Talon nodded. “Good. Help me up onto the beast, Brandt, and then we can leave.”

  He was almost flung over the horse by the great heave Brandt delivered. He managed to grab the cantle just before he went over the other side. Once he was settled, Yosef handed up one of the bows and a quiver of arrows, which Talon hooked over the high front of the saddle, ready to hand should he need an arrow.

  Then Brandt strode ahead of them to talk to the sentries at the gate. Talon guided the horse after him; Yosef walked alongside, with the archers just behind. The gate swung open and they exited to a murmur of “God Bless and protect,” from the guards, who had been among the men who’d cheered the morning’s archery. They had been taken into Talon’s confidence, so they knew what his men were about.

  “Where are we going, Lord?” Caradog asked in a low tone. He sounded apprehensive.

  “We are going to destroy that trebuchet before they start to use it, my friends. Your job and mine is to make sure that no one approaches while Yosef and Brandt set it on fire and chop it up a bit.”

  He received satisfied murmurs of acknowledgment from the two archers.

  In the shadows of the city walls the night was very dark. There was no moon, for which Talon was grateful, but the sky was only sparsely covered with high clouds; they obscured the stars somewhat, but not altogether. There was just enough light to see the pale strip of the causeway, bounded by an undulating white line of surf on either side.

  “It will be guarded,” Yosef whispered.

  “Yes. Do you think you can deal with that?”

  “If the Saxon doesn’t mind carrying the Greek Fire and can wait with you until I am ready, I can deal with anyone who is too close.”

  “Good. And you two,” Talon muttered to the archers, “will be right behind to support Yosef. I can ride along the causeway and be in position to support at close range. I am the decoy.” He smiled grimly. “Everyone ready?”

  Talon led the way. The horse’s hooves made a faint thubbing sound that was almost drowned out by the sound of the surf, nothing near to the noise they would have made on the stone had the horse still been shod. It fidgeted with unease as it sensed the tension of the men, but Talon used a light touch on its mouth and closed his legs, despite the pain, to cal
m it. Soon it continued quietly enough along the dark surface of the road.

  The archers and Brandt crept as quietly as possible right behind the horse, while Yosef hugged the side of the causeway. Fully expecting to be challenged, Talon rode the horse towards the trebuchet, hoping to get as close as possible before any sentries noticed him. He was pleased when he arrived within twenty paces of the huge device unchallenged, and then he halted. Yosef had vanished. Talon could hear voices from the far side of the trebuchet; he called out in Arabic.

  “I am here to talk to the Prince.”

  There was a muffled exclamation of surprise, but then there was a low cry followed by a thud, and then another half shout quickly stifled… and then silence. Yosef gave a hoarse call and Brandt loped forward, carrying the bulky sack. The horse pricked up its ears at one point, and Talon thought he heard a scuffle beyond the trebuchet, but nothing more. The air around them was thick with tension.

  After a few minutes, they saw a stream of sparks as Yosef struck a flint, then a low flame. Moments later, they saw a dark, hulking figure high on the frame raise an axe, then came the sound of chopping. Yosef had shown Brandt where to cut the main bindings. Brandt chopped away in several places and the huge frame began to sag.

  Suddenly, they heard shouts from the banks beyond the causeway. The alarm was being raised. The noise of the axe chopping might have alerted someone, and now the rising flames were clearly visible. Either way, torches were being lit and the sound of shouting increased in volume as the enemy became aware that something was going on with their equipment and rushed to investigate.

  “Be ready!” Talon warned his archers.

  Silence was no longer important, so Yosef called to Brandt, by now well illuminated by the flames. “Time to leave, Saxon! Hurry!”

  Arrows began to thud into the frame of the device and hiss around the two men. Then Talon and his archers saw a dark form race towards Brandt, who was preoccupied with hacking at some bindings with a knife. The moving man raised a sword high in the air to strike at Brandt’s exposed back.

  “Now we can’t have that, can we!” Caradog muttered, and he pulled back his bow string with an arrow in place.

  “Better hurry with that one, Bach,” Dewi's tone was sharp with urgency.

  The arrow whispered above Brandt’s bent back and thumped into the attacker’s chest. He fell back out of sight with a choking cry.

  Brandt realized with a shock what had happened. “Fuck me!” he shouted in surprise. He ducked hurriedly as other arrows went past him, then dived off the frame and followed Yosef at a run back along the causeway.

  By now men with torches were rushing towards the stricken trebuchet, shouting and calling as they raced to intercept the intruders and attempt to put out the flames.

  “Its time to use your bows!” Talon called to his archers, who were only too willing to oblige. In economic and fluid motions they loosed several arrows at the torch-bearers, whose calls changed abruptly to shouts of alarm and pain as the arrows found their marks. Talon could just make out the two figures racing towards him, one slight and agile, the other large and lumbering. He wondered what had happened to the small oil tubs that Yosef had brought along. Just as his two men came up to them, there was a whooshing sound and a huge flame burst out from the very heart of the apparatus, which had already become a bonfire. Its destruction was assured.

  While very satisfying, the bright light betrayed the small group on the causeway. Yells of anger, followed by flying arrows, were directed at them.

  “Time to leave!” Talon advised his men. He loosed an arrow of his own at a man who’d recklessly exposed himself by the side of the burning framework, then turned his horse. “Go! Run!” he called to Brandt and Yosef. “You Welsh, stay with me to cover their backs.”

  “Thanks for saving my hide, Welsh!” Brandt shouted, as he and Yosef took off running. Talon and the archers scanned the burning area for anyone who might be eager to fight.

  “Hope he was worth the trouble,” Caradog remarked, as he loosed another arrow towards the angry enemy. “Now who’ll save our hides?”

  “Looks like we have poked a hornets nest, Bach!” Dewi commented as he did likewise.

  Sure enough, some horsemen charged right past the fire, oblivious of its heat and determined to avenge the ruin.

  “Shoot them down!” Talon ordered, and readied his own next shot. The range was down to one hundred paces and closing rapidly. Three bow strings twanged and three arrows flew with deadly accuracy. Of the four horsemen, only one remained in the saddle, and after a shocked look at his fallen comrades he pulled his horse up, hesitating.

  That cost him his life, for Dewi killed him before he could turn and flee back beyond the cover of the rising smoke and flames. Having thus discouraged any immediate pursuit, Talon and the archers trotted to the entrance of the city to join Brandt and Yosef. The gates were just opening.

  The men were jubilant, and the guards at the gates slapped their backs and shouted congratulations as they strode through. The great wooden doors closed with a crash, and men gathered around, all laughing and shouting questions at the same time.

  Talon just wanted to get off the horse and fall into bed, his leg was hurting so much. He leaned over the horse’s neck, thinking that he was going to pass out from the pain. Yosef, ever alert to his lord, noticed and called for space, then with Brandt to help him eased Talon down off the animal.

  “That should annoy Al-Adil no end,” Talon managed to gasp, then he ground his teeth with the pain.

  Abruptly the crowd cleared, and Conrad was standing in front of him, his hands on his hips, roaring with delight.

  “You are one for surprises, Lord Talon! This is good work indeed! Some of us had said you were a traitor and might be leaving us, but they dishonored you with those thoughts. No prizes for knowing who that might have been, Ha ha!” He peered at Talon in the flickering light of the torches and his voice became concerned; he had noticed the blood on Talon’s leg. “You look as though you are hurt. Are you injured?”

  “No more than before, my Lord, but the wound is not yet healed and I am feeling it.”

  “I shall send my Leech to see you as soon as you have been taken to your chambers. God bless you for this!” the Count enthused. “Make way there, make way for these good men, do you hear?” he shouted at the excited gathering. “Go on, all of you, go home, there is nothing more to see!”

  But there was much to see, and excited citizens and men-at-arms crowded the top of the walls to behold the great bonfire in the middle of the causeway, pointing and exclaiming to one another.

  Yosef and Brandt helped get Talon back up to his chambers and finally onto the bed and under a cover, while the archers chattering excitedly about the engagement.

  “Just like one of those raids we used to do into the Saxon lands!” Dewi exclaimed without thinking to the room at large, for which he received a glare from Brandt. “One of these days, you black-hearted Welsh cattle thieves, I shall sort you out! Indeed I shall!” he threatened, grimacing fiercely at the two grinning archers.

  Talon laughed then. “We should do this again some time. A good evening’s work, I would say, on everyone’s part. Now, you fellows, keep the insults down, find some food, and then get a good night’s sleep. Yosef, if that Leech comes anywhere near me, you have my permission to cut his throat. Then he will see how he likes ‘Bleeding’!”

  Yosef snorted with amusement. “It will be my pleasure, Lord.”

  “I’m hungry,” said Caradog. “Come along, Brandt, you must be hungry, too, after all that firewood chopping. Let’s go and raid the kitchens.” It was a peace offering. Brandt cast a look at Talon from under heavy brows. “This siege better not last very long, or we will be starving in a matter of days!” he rumbled.

  Talon grinned. “Go on. There won’t be anything left if they go on their own. Steal something for me and Yosef here; they didn’t leave any food behind earlier.”

  No one was quite
sure how the little dog managed to evade the cooks or the boys in the streets, who were eager to find any meat that lived on four legs by now, and find its way into the chambers. Dewi and Caradog blamed Brandt, who evidently had a soft spot for the little mutt. It was still just a puppy and looked half starved.

  “You are just going to fatten it up before eating it all by yourself, I know it. You Saxons are all the same. Sel’fish you are,” Caradog observed with a gleam in his narrowed eyes.

  “You should remember to share it with us, Bach. Once its fa’tter, that is,” Dewi said, sounding serious. “We looked after you, we did. Desper’ate it was, out there! Don’t know how we all survived!”

  “If either of you cattle thieves even thinks of eating this animal, I shall tear your fucking heads off with my bare hands!” Brandt threatened them. He shook his head so that his long blond hair fell about his bewhiskered face, and his blue eyes glared balefully at the two archers baiting him.

  Brandt scooped up the little animal from the floor and held it protectively in his huge paw while he fed it a morsel of some indeterminate meat, which it gratefully snapped up. It was so small that it could almost sit up on one of his massive hands. It peered up at the two would-be predators with large brown eyes and wagged its stump of a tail. Brandt fed it some more morsels.

  “Oooer! Now you are making me scared!” Caradog pretended to be terrified, cringing against Dewi, who put an arm around his shoulders.

  “It’s all right. I shall protect you, Bach. But I would certainly not call him by any name, Brandt,” Dewi stated, gesturing at the tiny creature. He nodded towards Brandt. “He is really a nice Saxon, Caradog. Not too many of them about, are there, like? No name for the dog, though,” he reiterated.

  Brandt fell into the trap predictably enough. “Why the fuck not?” he demanded aggressively.

  Caradog rolled his eyes. “Because you never eat an a’nimal you have named! It just isn’t decent, and Godde,” he looked upwards with a pious expression on his lean, sun-burned features, “doesn’t like it, Bach.”