Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  Just as he moved to descend to the main deck and over the side, Makhid was stopped by a hand on his arm.

  “Remember, I still have your son. Find the monk. If he is not in Acre, then send back a message to that effect. If he lives and is still there, send him to me. I trust your word, Makhid. Give my best regards to Al-Adil and tell him I kept my word. Safe journey, and God’s blessing. I think you will need it with your other cousin. Salaam.”

  Makhid frowned. “Have no fear, Lord Talon. I keep my word. I entrust my son to you, and I shall do my best to find the monk. Salaam.” He went over the side and was soon seen boarding the other vessel, which set sail, and they watched it speed towards Acre.

  “What now, Father?” Rostam asked.

  “We wait, and while we wait you will tell me all about what has been going on at home. And for the love of God, feed those two archers or they will eat the dog, and then there will be blood all over the place!” Talon patted his son on the arm with a smile.“I promise I shall tell you all about our adventures in return, but I am eager to hear your side of things. Is your mother well?”

  A good four hours later, when a disappointed Talon was ready to depart because the light was changing and Rostam was looking apprehensively at the sky, the lookout shouted down that a sail had emerged from the harbor. Once again, the dhow came speeding towards them and drew close.

  “Ahoy there! We have a passenger for you. Send a boat over.”

  Talon breathed a sigh of relief. He peered over and could just make out the features of a ragged figure seated in the middle. He smiled and said to Rostam, “Go and help him, son. He is going to need it, by the look of him, to come aboard. His name is Brother Martin, and he is a good man. He helped us with our troubles in Acre.”

  *****

  Two days later, they came within sight of land, and Talon could just make out the castle high on the mountain ridge. “There she flies, Yosef!” he called out. He felt a surge of excitement and relief at seeing his home emerge from the light haze over the sea. They watched as a thin line of smoke reached into the sky to emit a small bright flash. “They have seen us. We are home.”

  Yosef came to stand next to him, barely able to contain his excitement, and they watched together as Rostam negotiated the harbor entrance and nosed the galley into the quiet waters.

  There was a large crowd to greet them on the quayside, and to his delight there was Rav’an, his beautiful Rav’an, standing quite still and watching him. Pressed against her legs were the two hounds, held in check by Dar’an, who was grinning like a porpoise. Then his eyes picked out Jannat, and to his surprise and relief there was Reza beside her, standing straight but he looking a lot thinner.

  The shouts of greeting drowned out any words, so he waited impatiently until their ship was tied up. Then, with Brandt’s help, he was able to negotiate the narrow gangway and limp across the short intervening space to stand in front of his family.

  He saw the shock in their faces, but he smiled to reassure them. His heart was beating very hard now, to the point where he thought it must burst from his chest as his gaze locked with that of Rav’an. He noticed that Jannat was crying. Without waiting, she rushed up to him and embraced him, her tears wetting the side of his neck. “There, there, Sister. I am here and well; don’t weep so,” he chided her gently, as he held her hard to his chest. Then he released her back to Reza, whose eyes were also wet.

  “Welcome back, Brother. We have missed you.” Reza grinned and embraced him carefully.

  “Are you better now, Brother?” Talon asked, his voice thick with held in emotion, holding him out by the arms. “You look thin.”

  “Never better Brother, and so do you. Who would not be better with these lovely ladies to take care of me?” Reza laughed shakily and gripped his arms hard, emotion making his mouth tremble.

  Dar’an was next, with the excited, writhing, squealing hounds getting in the way of their embrace. “I am glad to see you, Lord. You have been missed,” he said, and dashed tears away from his eyes. Talon smiled at him with deep affection.

  “Rostam has told me of your good work, Dar’an. I thank you from my heart.”

  Talon turned then to the waiting Rav’an and held his arms open to her. She dashed away her own tears and walked into his embrace. They held each other hard for a very long moment, oblivious of the murmurs of the crowd around them. She was trying desperately not to cry, but her eyes were very wet when they finally parted. The crowd cheered wildly, even more so when he kissed her on the lips in front of everyone.

  Oblivious of the gawking villagers and crewmen and the excited chatter around them, they looked at one another. She nodded silently, tears running down her cheeks. It was as though she was responding to the words he thought but could not say here, but would be spoken later when they were alone.

  “For ever and ever my Princess!” he said with a crooked smile. At this point she gave a delighted laugh through her tears. “You remembered, my Prince!”

  “Always, my Princess. It is good to be home at last. I have missed you so very much,” he told her with another grin, and, holding her tight around her waist, he turned and waved at the cheering crowd.

  “Is Max well, and Theodora? Our children?”

  “They are all well and await you at the castle. Welcome home, my Talon.”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  The year 1187 was a catastrophe for the Christian world, although the Byzantine church, having experienced similar disasters in the past, might have shrugged and blamed the Latin church and its Crusaders for the debacle which heralded the final and irretrievable loss of Jerusalem to the Moslems. There was little love lost between the two orders of Christianity.

  Talon and his family have grown with the times; but he, like so many others, had no control over the events that took place in this particular year. It was a challenge to weave his story alongside the larger than life names of people like the Sultan, Salah Ed Din, aided very effectively in his mission by General Muzaffar ad Din-Gökburi a very capable general. Salah Ed Din dominated events and therefor their consequences, and eventually realized his life’s ambition by taking back Jerusalem for the Arab world. His place in history as one of its great leaders was assured after Hattin.

  History has not been kind to the others, nor should it be; but we can neither ignore them nor undo what they did. These men, Raynald Châtillon, Gérard de Rideford and Guy de Lusignan, by their mind-numbing arrogance and willful ignorance of the country wherein they held sway, threw away every opportunity provided to them and lost the entire Kingdom of Jerusalem to the Arabs. Perhaps lessons can be learned from their stories but it is doubtful.

  One name that I felt I could weave Talon alongside, because they were both native to this conflicted land, was Count Raymond of Tripoli. He was a pullani, like Talon, born to the land as a Lord, rare in that he truly understood and respected the peoples amongst whom he lived, a man who is historically in the half-shadows because he was really on neither side. Raymond, who knew the Arab world as well as his own, was focused on his own survival. For that he was largely reviled by those few who did record the times from the Latin perspective, including the Bishop of Tyre, who favored Lusignan and his ilk. Raymond was more kindly regarded by the Arab chroniclers of his time, and he is generally thought of as being respected and liked by Salah Ed Din.

  I attempted to describe what might have transpired between Salah Ed Din and Raymond. He was desperate to survive and protect Tripoli, despite the foolishness of the people in Jerusalem. However the end result was that an army of Salah Ed Din did indeed cross his lands, thus technically breaking the fragile truce, and that led to the battle of the Springs of Cresson, which was the disastrous forerunner to the conclusive, and equally disastrous battle of the Horns of Hattin. The lead up to these conflicts and the siege of Tyre needed only some small tweaks, because it is well recorded that Rideford, the Grand Master of the Templars, most certainly did destroy his own Order and t
hat of the Hospitaliers, and later betray them even further as a prisoner. They did eventually recover but never in the Holy Land.

  It was as though the devil was seated on Rideford’s shoulder helping him lead the disastrous charges, reaping the souls of the dead, and then making sure that he survived to repeat the crimes. The battles are described as closely as I could research them, but of course our hero could not be killed in the conflict, so he too survived.

  It was too tempting to bring into play the shenanigans at the palace of Cyprus, so forgive the license. Isaac and his minions went on through life as though the titanic events in Palestine were not even taking place, such were the limitations upon communications at that time. The invasion of Cyprus by the Byzantines never did occur, although it had certainly been planned. The fleet that was sent from Constantinople was intercepted by another fleet from Sicily. The Byzantine ships were destroyed by the Norman King William.

  One must not forget the irrepressible and courageous character of Count Conrad de Montferrat who held Tyre throughout, even when Salah Ed Din came back to try again after taking Jerusalem. The Arabs called the Count al-Markis: "He was a devil incarnate in his ability to govern and defend a town, and a man of extraordinary courage.” They admired him greatly. He held the city until Richard the Lion-heart arrived in 1192.

  But that is another story.

  People are often surprised at the seemingly endless violence and bloodshed which took place in the Middle Ages. It was indeed a very bloody era, both in Europe and in the region, then known as the Crusader states. It is simply impossible to disguise the fact that life was so very cheap in those days.

  Why did Gérard de Rideford hate the Count of Tripoli so much, to the point of blindness to any good advice? The Count had promised Rideford a ward, Cecile Dorel, in marriage, and then changed his mind and married her off to a wealthy merchant for a huge sum of money. Rideford, having lost the chance of a fortune, took a vow of poverty and joined the Templars, but his hate continued to fester to the point of madness.

  And no, I shall not apologize for the Welsh archers, nor the foul-mouthed Saxon. They just showed up and that’s that! People like them do appear unexpectedly from time to time, you know.

  James Boschert

  About The Author

  James Boschert

  James Boschert grew up in the then colony of Malaya in the early fifties. He learned first-hand about terrorism while there as the Communist insurgency was in full swing. His school was burnt down and the family, while traveling, narrowly survived an ambush, saved by a Gurkha patrol, which drove off the insurgents.

  He went on to join the British army at the age of fifteen, serving in remote places like Borneo, Malaya and Oman. Later he spent five years in Iran before the revolution, where he played polo with the Iranian Army, developed a passion for the remote Assassin castles found in the high mountains to the North, and learned to understand and speak the Farsi language.

  Escaping Iran during the revolution, he went on to become an engineer and now lives in Arizona on a small ranch with his family and animals.

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