Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  Yosef shook his head. “No, my Lord. I am sure they intended to do so, but this weather has thwarted that timing. They cannot sail tonight unless it clears up in a matter of hours, which is very unlikely.”

  “I agree with Yosef, Lord. We have some time now, but we will have to use it well. You have three ships in the harbor, they could be used....” Talon’s voice trailed off.

  “Three against five. Poor odds, methinks, but they are all we have. Hmmm, his ships will have to come close to our walls, and it is from there that we will strike at them. Our own ships can be used to block off the harbor entrance.” Conrad banged his fist down onto the table. “Wake the garrison, but do not, I repeat do not sound any alarms. I shall hang anyone who rings a bell, priest or otherwise, and any impetuous trumpeters who are stupid enough to disobey me.” He took another swig of wine. “We will be the ones to surprise the Sultan, by God! Not the other way around.”

  As several attendants scurried off, he turned back to Talon and Yosef. “You have done the city a great service tonight. We shall meet again in a few hours, when you have rested. I have need of your council, Lord Talon. Meanwhile, go and get dry; you are dripping all over my floor!” He laughed and rubbed his hands together. “I do so like surprises, especially when I am delivering them. Ha ha!”

  *****

  Talon and Yosef left the room while a voluble discussion was going on between the Count and his knights. It was Yosef who reached out and gripped Talon by the arm as they moved down the darkened stone passageway. “Someone was listening, Lord,” he whispered.

  Talon immediately stopped and listened himself. He became aware of a faint patter as feet ran off into the darkness. “Go, but be careful. Find out who it was,” he instructed. “I shall wake the others. If the Sultan has spies here we might have a problem.”

  Yosef sped off, silent as a phantom, while Talon hobbled as fast as he could to his own chambers, which were not too far away. He woke his exhausted men and told them of his concern. At that moment, Yosef arrived breathless.

  “I think it was a spy, Lord. He disappeared in the direction of the walls facing the causeway.” He sounded chagrined at having missed catching whomsoever it might have been. Talon shrugged inwardly. Everyone was spying on everyone else! He should have known the Sultan would have someone working for him within the city.

  “Come!” Talon barked. “We cannot let this get out. It is the perfect time for a spy to get over the walls. The rain and storm will mask his activity. He cannot just jump; he needs either help or a rope. Go, Yosef, and take the Welsh with you. Bows, men!” he called out.

  The three vanished like eager hounds while Talon, frustrated by his leg, let Brandt help him along as fast as they could go. “Damn this leg!” he muttered, but he was sobered by the knowledge that if he had not had a good physician and the care from Yosef, he might not even have it. “Come, Brandt, we must hurry!” The big Saxon grunted agreement and helped him with the steps.

  They arrived on the parapet in the darkness to find a small group of men clustered around the archers. Someone brought a torch just as Talon and Brandt arrived.

  “You were right, Lord,” Yosef said to Talon as he arrived. “Here is the rope still in place.”

  Talon muttered a curse. “Have you seen anyone cross the causeway?” he demanded. He turned to the sentries, although he knew the answer. Their garments were almost completely dry; they had not been patrolling the wind- and rain-swept parapets. They shook their heads. “What is happening, Lord?” one enquired.

  “A spy is trying to escape and reach the Arab army,” Brandt growled.

  “There is one way to find out if anyone is still down there, Lord,” Dewi said. “We toss torches down and flush him out.”

  “Several at once. If he is down below he will have to make a run for it,” Caradog said.

  “Good idea. Do it.” Talon said. “Have your bows ready. Can you take a man down in this rain and darkness?” he enquired.

  “Dieu, Dieu, Bachan!” Dewi said with a sniff. “How do you think we managed to steal so many cattle from the Saxons, Lord?”

  Stifling a snort of amusement, Talon leaned over the parapet. Other sentries arrived, carrying torches. “Throw them down, there and there,” Talon indicated.

  The pitch torches flickered wildly and sizzled in the wind and rain, but they were well alight and, when tossed down, they illuminated the rocks below. Everyone on the battlements peered down. Initially they saw nothing, but then the sharp-eyed Caradog called out, “There! I see something!” He pointed to their left.

  Sure enough, there was movement below. The spy may have noticed the activity on the battlements and intended to lie quiet until the hue and cry had died down, but now with the alarm well and truly raised he had no choice but to run the gauntlet. He leapt to his feet and began to sprint over the rocks towards the causeway.

  “Wait for it, Bach,” Dewi cautioned his fellow archer. “Let him get to the flat, and then we have him.”

  Caradog and he raised their bows and waited for the few moments it took for the desperately running man to gain the causeway, where he begin to sprint even faster as he felt the flat, even stones beneath his feet.

  “Now!” Dewi called, and two bow strings twanged and two arrows sped off into the darkness. The dimly seen figure staggered, then sprawled face down on the stones and did not move again. The range had been in excess of seventy paces!

  Yosef, who was no mean archer himself, nodded his head to Talon. “That was incredible,” he remarked, with something akin to awe in his voice.

  “Brandt, I want to know who it was. Bring the body back. Yosef, go with him and cover his back. We will do the same from here.” Talon doubted it would be necessary, but preferred to err on the side of caution. His two men departed, leaving Talon and his archers scanning the causeway for any danger. “Good shooting,” he commended them.

  Talon gazed across the causeway towards the Arab lines. At least they had been able to stop one spy. He would have to alert the Count about the fact, of course, if he didn’t already know by now.

  They may have prevented the Sultan from learning that they knew of his plans to attack from the sea, assuming Tyre was indeed his target. But even if the rain delayed the Sultan’s ships, it was just a matter of time, and he was stuck here until his own people in Cyprus came to collect him.

  Whatever their successes this night, Tyre was still under siege, and there was no way out. Not for anyone.

  *****

  The next day, when the rain was beginning to ease and visibility was improving, a sharp-eyed sentry sighted a ship out to sea. The alarm was called out and men rushed to the walls. The Greek Fire cauldrons were started, and two mangonels, which had been hauled with great effort from the causeway side, were loaded with rocks, ready to be discharged.

  Men stood to and stared over the water. Sure enough, a two-masted ship was beating its way through the choppy whitecaps, spray flying high as it made its way towards the city. The shape of the sails alarmed everyone, for it seemed to be a precursor to the Sultan’s fleet, which by now everyone expected. There was surprise, too, that the enemy was prepared to fight in this kind of sea. The weather was inclement and would certainly make any attack on the seaward walls very hard to manage. Then, as the ship approached, Yosef and Talon both recognized it.

  “It’s one of ours, Lord!” Yosef gasped, his rough voice filled with emotion and excitement. It had never fully recovered since his wounding in China. “They have finally come, Lord!”

  Talon reached out and gripped Yosef’s upper arm hard. “Hold everything!” He bellowed to the men on the walls. He turned to the Count, who was standing on the damp battlements nearby, also watching. “It is one of my ships, Lord! I would know them anywhere, and it is flying my banner.”

  They watched with delight as the ship approached, trying to tell who captained it. Finally they decided it must be Henry. It was his ship, although they could not see his stocky frame on the afterdec
k. They enjoyed hearing the gasps of surprise as watchers observed how skillfully the ship slid between the island and the city walls, then performed a nimble pirouette to negotiate the narrow entrance to the harbor.

  “We have to greet them,” Talon said, and snatched up his crutches. With the help of Brandt, he made his awkward way towards the harbor, closely followed by the Welshmen. Yosef had skipped ahead in his eagerness to meet the ship.

  The vessel was already tying up when they arrived on the quay, and to their utter surprise it was not Henry, nor even Guy who greeted them, but Rostam who yelled excitedly from the deck and waved when he saw them coming along the stone wharf. The men on board cheered; they all seemed relieved to see Talon and Yosef.

  Rostam gave a sharp order and men hauled the ship close to the wharf, then he jumped nimbly off the side of the ship, closely followed by Junayd. Both were yelling greetings as they rushed towards Talon. He stopped and waited, his heart pounding in his chest, too overcome with relief and joy at seeing them to say anything. Rostam opened his arms and embraced his father with fervor, as Junayd and Yosef did the same. Eventually Rostam released Talon, who held onto him, tears in his eyes and a look of amazement on his features. “You came, you came back for us!” he exclaimed, and embraced his son again.

  Rostam gazed at his father with a huge grin on his face. “Of course we came back, Father! It just took longer than we thought.”

  Talon frowned, wondering why.

  Junayd interrupted them to embrace Talon, and Yosef did the same for Rostam, then they took stock of one another. At this moment Rostam became aware of the crutches and noticed Talon was favoring his right leg. His father looked gaunt, as did Yosef.

  “What happened to you, Father?” Rostam asked, his voice full of concern.

  “A little accident, but we are doing well, my son. More importantly, how is your mother? And Reza, Jannat, Max, everyone? It is truly good to see you! We have been stuck here, waiting and wondering,” Talon replied.

  “I was just getting used to a diet of roasted rat,” Yosef chortled, his excitement bubbling over.

  After the laughter had died down Rostam spoke up. “There is much to tell, Father. Reza is well on the way to recovering, but for a while it was touch and go. Mother has been worried sick about you, too, and says you are to come home at once!” he said with a laugh. Now he had time to observe the others. He studied the huge man hovering protectively next to Talon; it was the Saxon he had seen once before during the sea battle. He wondered what he was doing with his father. There were also two short yet strong looking men, carrying what looked like long, shaped staves. He guessed they were bows.

  Talon noticed his glance and said, “Brandt you have met before. Dewi and Caradog are from Wales. This is my son,” he told them, with pride in his voice. “It appears that now he is a ship’s captain, as well as a navigator.” Talon waved at his new found retainers. “These men are part of our group, and I owe them much,” Talon told Junayd and his son.

  Junayd glanced at Yosef, who nodded agreement. “You have to see their archery to believe it!” he said. “As for the Saxon, he is a very useful man to have in a fight. Now we are friends,” he added, with a smile at the huge man. “This is Junayd, Brandt. His is my companion of many years.”

  Brandt looked Junayd over from under his heavy blond brows. He could see little difference between the two men. Lithe, dark, and very dangerous, he decided.

  “It is good to know you are a friend,” he said solemnly. “These two,” he jerked his thumb at the Welshmen, “have hoodwinked Lord Talon into believing they are useful to have around. No doubt, when he realizes his mistake, he will want them thrown overboard, and I shall take great pleasure in doing that.”

  “Ignore that Saxon lump over there,” Caradog stated with a sniff and a disdainful look at Brandt. “Jealous he is of our skills, see!”

  Junayd and Rostam looked to Yosef for clarification.

  “They always behave like this. Talon assures me they are friends. I really wonder about that at times. But they are very good fighters, and very trustworthy,” he told them in Arabic.

  “That is what counts in the end,” Talon laughed, having overheard him.

  _____________

  Chapter 31

  Homecoming

  Home: I’d thought I’d held the place

  through firestorm and sneak attack;

  while all the time I’d fought to lose

  any hope of coming back.

  —Jacob Polly

  They were slowly moving along the quay toward the ship, keeping pace with Talon, who was thumping along on his crutches when they all heard a shout from behind them.

  “Lord Talon, please wait!”

  “What now?” sighed Talon irritably, turning carefully to watch a servant of the Count running towards them, leading a horse. He came up to them, puffing with the exertion, and stopped before Talon to make a bow.

  “Lord Conrad asks that you attend him on the eastern parapet, my Lord. He sent the horse to assist you.” The servant presented the reins of the animal to a puzzled looking Talon, who handed off his crutches to Brandt.

  “Must be important,” he muttered. “Help me up, someone.” Dewi made a cup with his hands and Talon scrambled onto the horse’s back. “Do you want to come along, Rostam, Junayd?” he asked.

  Junayd indicated the ship. “We have a guest on board, Lord. One of us should stay.”

  “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about him; you brought him with you, eh? Interesting. Yosef can keep you company then, and tell you all about our adventures. Rostam, come with me and we’ll find out what the Count wants. Might as well introduce you to him.”

  It was not far to the battlements, but the horse made a big difference to Talon, who had not relished the prospect of another long, limping walk. Accompanied by his archers, Brandt and Rostam, he arrived on the eastern battlements to find a large crowd of officers and knights peering off towards the shoreline. They made way respectfully for Talon, who came up to the Count and gave a short bow. “Good morning, Lord. I am here. What is it that you want of me?”

  The Count smiled at him, glanced curiously at Rostam, then said, “Ah, Lord Talon. What do you make of that?” He gestured at the distant Arab army, which seemed to be unusually active. “D’you think they are getting ready for a fight?” he asked.

  Talon stared across the causeway for a long time in silence, and then said carefully, “If I am not mistaken… that army is on the move, Sire.” He paused to stare harder. “Look! They are picking up their sticks and leaving, Lord. I am sure of it!”

  “You are sure, Talon?” the Count demanded.

  “I am very sure, Lord. He is going to Jerusalem.” Talon’s tone was bitter. He shook his head with real anger. The siege might be lifted, but now it was the turn of Jerusalem, and the Sultan would have his way at any cost. He would also be back.

  But those distant and future concerns made little difference to the men on the parapet. For a while, at least, they were free of the constraint of a siege. Men around them began to talk excitedly. “They are leaving!” was called out, and then the cry took hold and the men in the courtyard began to cheer. Before long everyone was shouting with joy, and finally the bells began to peal out. One after the other, the six chapels and churches rang their bells, and the crowd cheered.

  The Count was pleased, but also sobered by the implications. “So, now he is heading for Jerusalem,” he mused. “And there is nothing I can do about it!” He banged his clenched fist onto the parapet in frustration.

  “‘The Kingdom was lost at Hattin, Lord. Not here,” Talon pointed out.

  “But lost it is. That is what you are saying, Talon. Is it not?” The Count’s tone was one of bleak bitterness. “Dear Lord God, but I wish we could save it somehow.”

  “If it is any comfort to you, Lord, I doubt we would have lost it had you been present at those crucial times,” Talon said. His tone, too, was bitter with regret.

  “S
mall comfort that is now, eh?” the Count stated, glaring at the departing army. “Well, God protect those poor souls in Jerusalem, but our duty here is clear. We remain and defend Tyre.” He turned away from his glum contemplation of the activity on the other end of the causeway and looked at Rostam.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “Lord Conrad, this is my son, Rostam,” Talon declared, drawing his son forward by the arm. Rostam bowed politely to the Count and said, “My Lord, I am honored,”

  “He is young,” the Count stated, without taking his eyes off Rostam. “I could not help but notice that you brought that ship in very smartly,” he smiled. “Where did you learn to captain a vessel?”

  “I helped my father sail back from China, Lord.”

  Conrad’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Ah, I keep hearing strange things about you, Lord Talon, but there is even more to you and your family than I had imagined. You have a remarkable father here,” he told Rostam. “I shall be very sorry to see him leave.” He glanced at the activity going on to the east, then said, “I suppose you want to go home now, Lord Talon?” His tone was dour.

  Talon nodded, his face grim. “Yes, Lord, I do. But I shall be helping you in the process.”

  “What do you mean?” The Count almost had to shout. It was a difficult to talk now, over the clanging of bells and the excited shouting going on all around them.

  “Those ships were not coming here, Lord. They will be going to somewhere like Acre, or even Jaffa. I’d like to pay them a visit before I return home, with your permission.”

  The Count barked out a laugh. “You are not serious, Talon?” he said. “Your man said there were five of them, and you have but one ship, from where I am standing.”

  Talon put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Yes, Lord, but we have a little something that could surprise them.” Talon knew he was taking a risk, because the Arab ships would have Greek Fire. However, that deadly stuff took time to prepare, and if they were taken by surprise he might be able to pull off an attack, then make off before they could arm their weapons.