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  “Still no employment, Henry? What are you going to do these coming weeks? It will be winter soon.” Talon asked.

  Henry took a swig of the wine from his leather beaker and scowled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Devil take this piss, I miss good mead,” he grumbled. “There’s no employment in this rat-infested city for any of us. The slaves, miserable unfortunates that they are, at least have that.”

  “What? You now want to become a slave again?” Nigel teased.

  Henry rolled his eyes. “No, you clown, but a man withers when he is idle week after week with nothing to look forward to.” He sounded cantankerous. The enforced idleness was getting to him.

  “We might find ourselves in the army of the king before too long. I hear he is recruiting for another fight with the Syrians,” Nigel said gloomily. He sucked on a chicken bone plucked from Talon’s bowl of thin soup. His dirty, lank blond hair fell over his protuberant brows and deep-set, pale blue eyes, making him look unkempt and villainous. His large mouth and straggly beard added to the effect, suggesting a man who might be a little mad and certainly dangerous.

  Henry hunched his shoulders in a familiar manner. Talon knew his sailor friend was growing ever more frustrated with their situation.

  “Soon we will not be able to sign onto a ship going back to our own land even as deck hands, we will be too weak for the labor. I am buggered if I want to stay here without any work to do during the winter. We would starve,” he growled.

  “Where is Max these days?” Nigel demanded.

  “He is attending to his duties within the Templar stronghold. We will not be seeing much of him henceforth, and I too might have to go back to the Templars and complete my service.”

  “Much help that would be for us,” Nigel said gloomily, rolling his eyes around the room.

  At that moment Guy, their companion from the Egyptian galleys, pushed his way into the crowded room. He wove his way between the tables and clusters of patrons to tower over them.

  “God’s blessings, Talon,” he said with a grin on his wide bearded face. When Guy grinned it showed his bad teeth, most of them slightly apart, although his good nature was always to the fore.

  “Well, since you can afford a whore you can also buy us another drink of this swill they call wine in this flea-infested place,” Nigel said with a grin of his own.

  “Was she worth it?” Henry asked looking up with a leer.

  “No, but you always have to find out or you’ll never know, will yer?” Guy answered. He pulled a stool over from under an empty table before easing his large frame down.

  “I swear you have an appetite for women that would astonish a sultan,” Nigel said. He sounded envious.

  “It is just an itch.”

  “I do not know how you do it, Guy. It is not as though you are a handsome bugger, is it? Wish I could catch women like you do,” Nigel said wistfully.

  “Not your fault, Nigel my old friend. You just frighten them off!”

  Nigel shook his head and rolled his eyes at the other two from under his brows. “And this is good advice from a troll, mind you.”

  “We do not want to hear any more about it,” Talon laughed.

  They were finishing off the remainder of the wine and the scraps of food on the table when they became aware of trouble brewing at the other end of the room. There the whores, who were offering their services to whoever could part with a coin, were clustered. They were a poor lot. Talon could see the desperation in their eyes even as they tried to appear seductive to the rough soldiers and seamen who frequented the inn.

  There was a shouted argument going on and then one man gave an angry yell. He must have been a foot soldier, for his greasy jerkin was covered with iron rings sewn onto the padded material. He seized the arm of a girl who had been standing nearby, making her cry out in pain as his hard fingers gripped her upper arm in an attempt to pull her away. The man rose to his feet and backhanded her, causing her to fall backwards. “I gave you coin!” he shouted. “Now it is time to pay up!”

  The man gave a raucous laugh as he followed after her. Tossing her skirts up, and despite her scream of pain as he forced her thighs apart, he was about to take her then and there.

  Before Talon or any of his companions could react there was a roar of outrage and Guy strode three long paces from their table, seizing the man by the back of his leather jerkin. He jerked him backwards and tossed him two tables away to crash in among some drunken sailors. The man, his features registering utter surprise, slid across the table, sending jugs and cups in all directions and spilling wine over the men where he fell. One of the sailors reacted by shoving him off the table before grasping a knife in his hand and lurching to his feet with a roar of his own.

  Within a few seconds Guy was surrounded by drink-maddened men who were all shouting and yelling and trying to get him on the ground where they could pound him senseless, or stab him to death. Guy was a large man and shook them off like a bull would terriers, but it was clear that things were becoming perilous.

  Nigel glanced at Talon and Henry, then shrugged. “Silly bastard always did have a soft spot for women! Come on,” he said. “We can’t let him get beaten up by these pigs.”

  Reluctantly Henry and Talon waded into the fray. Screams from the women and outraged yells from the proprietor did not help the situation, nor did the fact that a knife had appeared in the hands of another one of the seamen. Talon grabbed a three-legged stool and hammered it into the upper arm of the man who had drawn the blade. The seaman yelled, clutching his arm before retreating from the menacing look that Talon gave him. Talon smashed the stool on a table and then, armed with two of its solid legs in either hand, he struck left and right at any limb or head that presented itself.

  Nigel and Henry, both yelling like madmen, were alongside as they fought their way through the mass of struggling bodies to get to Guy, who was tossing men in all directions. He shrugged off one attacker, then seized him by the throat and banged his head against that of another who he had managed to grip his jerkin. There was a dull, sickening thud as their heads came together and both men’s eyes rolled upwards. Guy dropped them and turned to see who else wanted to fight.

  Nigel had just finished clubbing a soldier to his knees with another stool, a wicked grin on his face while Henry had just pounded what remained of another man’s teeth out of his head with a broken wooden leg. Both men seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Talon found himself confronting a large bearded soldier in ragged chain mail. Holding a very long knife, he had been making his way towards Guy with the aim of skewering him in the back. Talon shook his head at the man, who focused red glazed eyes upon him and snarled, baring his broken teeth and lunging at him with the knife. One stool leg snapped forward and smacked the man alongside his temple while the other one flashed down and with an audible crack struck the wrist that held the knife. The man did not even shout with the pain. He fell limply across a table face down. Whirling about Talon blocked a blow from a man with a short sword in his hand and poked the other leg into that man’s eye. The seaman screamed and clutched his face, then staggered away moaning, blood pouring from between his fingers.

  Then Talon heard shouts. From behind him the doors crashed open, the leather curtain was hauled off its rail and armed men crowded into the room. He had time to see Guy standing among a clutter of unconscious bodies and Nigel, a mad grin distorting his features, triumphantly beating another man senseless with a metal bowl before a shout, almost in his ear, caught his attention.

  “In the name of the City Constable, you will stop! You are all under arrest!”

  “Nigel! Stop it!” Henry bellowed as he dropped the stool he had been using. He put his hands out to his side, palms up, as the points of two sharp spears hovered within inches of his throat.

  Talon dropped his two weapons and looked around him. Other than himself and his companions there weren’t too many people standing other than the new arrivals. The wome
n were clustered near the back door with the proprietor looking fearfully about. But the officer in charge of the soldiers was all business.

  “You are going to jail for disturbing the peace. Hold them!” he commanded his soldiers, who hastened to obey.

  *****

  Three days later Max arrived at the door to the communal cell and beckoned to Talon. He got up from the putrid straw where he had been squatting with his companions.

  “I thought we would never see Max again,” Nigel commented as Talon rose.

  Max was dressed in his Templar uniform of dark hose and overcoat. He was clearly uncomfortable within these surroundings. Talon assumed that he had been reissued clothing from the Templar stores. The jailor nodded and allowed Talon to go outside with Max.

  “Hello Max. I’d hoped to see you before this. It has been three days.”

  “It took almost two to find out where you were taken, Talon. I’ve been a busy man. There is someone who wants to see you.”

  “Not that idiot Sir Julian? I do not think I could bear that,” Talon groaned.

  “No it is someone much more important so be on your best behavior.”

  “Who then? Do not torment me, Max.”

  “Sir Guy de Veres. You do remember him do not you? He wants to see you, Talon. Now!”

  Talon was acutely conscious of his shabby dress and unwashed state as they came to the fortress within a fortress and were allowed entry to the inner keep of the Order.

  Max led the way along narrow stone corridors past open doorways where the army of clerks and scribes worked feverishly to keep the financial empire of the Order functioning. After knocking on a stout wooden door they were admitted by a servant and walked in to find Sir Guy seated at a heavy plain wooden desk with papers piled high on either side. Behind him a fire was burning, as there was a chill in the air and the stone building denied the warmth of the sun in these chambers.

  Sir Guy put down the large feather quill he was using and smiled at them, waving them into chairs.

  “Ah, Sir Talon and Max, God’s Greetings. Come in and be seated.”

  “God’s blessings, Sir Guy,” Max said. Talon nodded politely. Max decided to stand but Talon elected to sit on one of the curved leather chairs with no back placed on the other side of the desk.

  Talon stared at the knight seated in front of him, who calmly regarded him in turn. It had been well over two years since they had last met. That time Talon had been in chains, having been captured by the Templars who, mistaking him for a Saracen, had imprisoned him prior to identification by his Uncle, Sir Phillip. The last time he had seen Sir Guy had been just as his ship left Acre for Languedoc.

  The Templar wore full chain mail, as well as the white woolen cloak of the Order with the red cross stitched onto the left shoulder of the cloak and onto the left breast of the white surcoat. He wore no helmet, and his chain head protection was thrown back to form a heavy collar at the back of his neck. The stocky man was greying at the temples and beard, his face weathered and scarred, denoting many fights in his time.

  Sir Guy assessed Talon with a keen eye. “I see you are no longer the boy I sent away in chains. Is it correct what I hear, that you are now a knight, Sir Talon?”

  “Well met, Sir Guy. Yes I am. I am oath bound to Count Roger of Tranceval, and I think to the Templars too,” Talon responded.

  Sir Guy’s eyes flicked to Max, who was by now rigidly at attention. “Be at ease, Sergeant. It has been a few years since I saw you last, Talon. Max here told me about your uncle Phillip.”

  “He died protecting my father’s home…in a foul ambush,” Talon added, his tone grim.

  “May God be merciful and welcome his soul to Heaven. Phillip was a good and Godly man,” Sir Guy intoned, crossing himself. “You must tell me about it some time in more detail. I both respected and liked Sir Philip. He was a good Templar.”

  There was a brief silence and then he said, “It seems we have much to discuss. I have only this week arrived in Acre and I consider it fortunate that I encountered Max, as I would have left this evening had I not heard the impassioned pleas of the Sergeant here on your behalf.

  “You look almost as bad as you did that first time we met,” he continued. There was the glimmer of a smile in his gray eyes as he regarded Talon in his filthy clothes. But then Sir Guy leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and looked at Talon appraisingly. His expression grew stern. After a long moment he spoke.

  “We seem to have met in a similar manner the last time we encountered each other, Talon. I arrive in the city to hear that you and your disreputable companions have all but destroyed an inn along with half of its guests. The Master of this citadel informed me that the City Marshall, who has seen much, could not recall destruction to this extent wrought upon the victims—and all of it done without swords! Everyone was up in arms. They want you and your companions either flogged or hung! What am I to do with you?” he enquired.

  “I, er…I could not let one of my companions be knifed for no good reason, Sir Guy,” Talon muttered.

  Sir Guy raised his hand for silence. “I have been acquainted with the facts of the matter by Sergeant Bauersdorf here. However, it is not that which concerns me at this time.”

  Talon made to speak but the knight held up his hand.

  “Allow me to finish, Talon.” Talon did not miss the lack of a ‘Sir’ in the address. He nodded and shifted in his chair uneasily.

  He remembered Sir Guy from those years before and had liked and respected him even in the short time he’d known him. Talon realized that he was in a difficult position at present and needed all the help he could get. It had been an unpleasant time in the jail alongside his friends. The flea-infested cells were poor accommodation even compared to that of his meager lodgings.

  “It has come to my attention that you did a great service to the Order when you brought a ship full of Christians from out of Egypt with you. According to Sergeant Bauersdorf here, you have been poorly rewarded for your efforts.”

  Talon looked surprised but held his tongue.

  “Let’s go and take a look at this vessel of yours,” Sir Guy said and got up.

  They climbed the stone stairs that led up to the battlements and stopped on the ramparts overlooking the harbor. The stone was warm here, as the sun could reach it, in sharp contrast to the dark and cold stone chambers within the formidable Templar stronghold.

  Talon took a deep breath of the fresh sea air and paused to enjoy the space. He was not entirely sure when he might again.

  “Where is this ship?” Sir Guy enquired.

  Talon pointed it out in the harbor below. “It is that one, Sir. The galley.”

  There was a lot of shipping in the pool but the dromon was easy to pick out from the heavy merchant and transport ships that lay at anchor all around. The galley was anchored among them, and although there was no activity on board and it appeared quite abandoned, this ship stood out from the rest as a predator and not a transport ship.

  “That is a good looking vessel,” Sir Guy commented staring at it with interest. “It is indeed a war ship and one of the best I have seen for some time, certainly within this harbor. She looks sleek and deadly, of the kind that is made in Byzantium. The Arabs copied them. Is she as fast as she looks?”

  “Very fast, Sir,” Max said, as he leaned back against the battlements. “We outran two of the Sultan’s best to get here.”

  “I have heard rumors of that adventure and Max has been filling in the gaps. It is an impressive tale.”

  “They want to take it off Sir Talon here and add it to the Templar Order fleet!” Max burst out.

  Talon placed a restraining hand on Max’s arm. “He means the ship, Sir Guy. The Templar Order is claiming it.”

  ,Sir Guy stood back from his observation of the busy harbor. “The Rules do apply here, Sergeant.”

  “It is wrong, Sir Guy,” Max entreated. “The ship belongs to us, at least to Talon here, who guided us out of Egypt. All
of us owe our lives to him, especially me. None of us would have made it here without his leadership.”

  Sir Guy looked past Max to Talon, who met his stare with a level gaze of his own. For a long moment Sir Guy stared at Talon as though assessing what he had just heard.

  “Come to my chambers this evening. I am tired and would rest a while, but then we will eat and you can tell me what became of you these last few years; and we can also discuss this ship of yours. In the meantime you are free to move about the city and your friends will be released. Please do not get into any more trouble, as next time I might not be able to influence the Master of the Order here in Acre.”

  Talon left Max and Sir Guy on the battlements and hurried off to find his friends. He dared not hope too much that Sir Guy had something in mind for them, but for the first time since he had arrived in the city he felt a faint hope that perhaps something might just transpire to their benefit.

  *****

  That evening he presented himself at the Templar stronghold, cleaner and slightly better dressed than before. He still felt poorly garbed compared to even the simple attire of the people who inhabited the fortification. Max met him at the gates and escorted him up to Sir Guy’s chambers. Sir Guy greeted him with a smile and bade him be seated.

  “Sergeant Bauersdorf has had nothing but praise for you, Sir Talon. He has told me most of what he knows about your time in Languedoc and in Egypt. I am very impressed with his report and I know enough of him to know that he does not exaggerate.”

  Talon glanced at his friend with raised eyebrows. Max grinned at him and shrugged depreciatingly.

  “The ship, do you have a crew to man it and sail it for me?” Sir Guy asked, addressing his question to both of them.