Storms of Retribution Read online

  “I fear so, Max.” Talon responded. “Come along, we cannot keep the women waiting; they are always so busy. I will explain everything I know.”

  They found the women already seated when they reached the Solarium, a wide, airy room with large windows that opened out onto the north side of the castle with a view of the bay. Rav’an, Talon’s wife, and Jannat had transformed a bleak stone chamber into a homey place with carpets strewn about the wood floor and many large cushions piled against the walls where people could make themselves comfortable. The austere walls had been hung with tapestries from Sicily and with lighter carpets and khilims from Syria to keep the chill from the walls during the winter months. Today it was early April and the weather was quite warm, so the shutters were thrown open to allow a cool breeze from the sea to waft into the room, tugging gently at the light material of the drapes. Placed on the low table in the middle of the room were polished copper bowls containing fruit and nuts. There were even some baklava squares on a plate, which Rostam was eyeing hopefully.

  Talon liked what the women had done to the chamber. It was their family room, which served as a council chamber when occasion demanded. At present only the adults were gathered; the infants were being overseen by the nurses who cared for them. The three ladies looked up from a low-toned conversation as the men entered. Rav’an, his beautiful Rav’an, seemed to sense something ominous, for her huge grey eyes went wide with concern. She spoke, even before he had taken his place on a cushion, pushing aside a lock of her jet black hair that had strayed across the smooth pale oval of her face.

  “Who is this unusual visitor, Talon?”

  “Yes, who is he and where did he come from, Talon?” chimed in Jannat, Reza’s young and beautiful wife, mother of his newborn son. She sounded just as concerned. Talon remained silent as he settled himself, still holding the parchment letter in his hand. The third woman, Theodora, their close friend and physician, who had come to them from Constantinople, having fled the depredations of the former Emperor, looked askance. Her presence always brought an aura of calm; now her warm smile returned when she saw Max, who slowly lowered himself onto a cushion next to her. Talon could see that Max was feeling his age. The time he had spent in a cold and dank Templar prison had not been good for his health. There was an attachment between Theo, as she was known, and Max, that had been growing for some time now.

  “What does he want, Father?” Rostam added his question to that of his mother’s, seating himself next to her. She reached out to touch him on the shoulder in a gesture of affection.

  “Well, now that we are all here I do have something to tell you, and yes, it is very important.” Talon paused.

  “Talon, my Prince, stop giving us all that look of yours and tell us!” Jannat said with her usual impatience. Reza, who had already opened the bottle of wine, looked up, pretending hurt and said, “I thought I was your only Prince, my Princess! We must all have something to drink. This might get him to open up and tell us more.” He handed the ruby red wine around in silver cups.

  “We should really be drinking tea!” Rav’an admonished Reza, who chuckled. “Not when he has something important to tell us, Princess,” he retorted.

  Talon savored the liquid, rolling it about on his tongue and allowing it to slip down his throat, drawing out the moment. It really was quite a good wine, he decided. “It is improving, Brother,” he commented.

  He noticed the narrowing of Rav’an’s eyes. A tapping foot would follow. She knew him only too well, so he decided it was time.

  “His name is Sir Matthew, and he is sent by the Count of Tripoli, who has called upon me to honor a commitment I made a long time ago to serve him should he be in need.”

  He looked around at the startled faces in front of him. “It was a very long time ago, and since then we have become friends rather than Lord and lowly Knight, and he has made an appeal which I will have difficulty refusing.”

  “This should be interesting!” Theodora, who had remained silent up till now, stated.

  “I was under the impression that you were all outlaws from the Kingdom of Jerusalem.” She cast a questioning look at Max, who nodded in the affirmative but said, “Yes, Theo, that is true, but the Count of Tripoli is very much his own master, and while he owes a certain allegiance to the crown of Jerusalem there appears to have been a rift between him and the palace. Talon, you need to explain,” he concluded.

  “Talon, what are you telling us? That this knight is here to take you to Tripoli?” demanded Rav’an. She sounded worried. “Tell me this is not so.”

  “No, to Tyre, but yes, unfortunately, that is the case, my Love. According to Sir Matthew, Raynald de Châtillon ambushed one caravan too many and the truce between the Sultan Salah Ed Din and the King of Jerusalem is now in fragments. As a result, Salah Ed Din is marshaling a large army in readiness to invade.”

  “So what has this got to do with you, us, or anyone here on Cyprus?” Reza demanded.

  “Count Raymond would not have written to me asking for help had he not considered this situation to be very dire, Brother,” Talon responded.

  “I still don’t understand what it could possibly have to do with you, Talon. You are outlawed over there and would probably be thrown in prison should you show up anywhere near that ugly crowd. Furthermore, Châtillon would happily cut your throat while you were in prison,” Max said with some feeling. “He will not have forgotten how you bested him that time when he tried to ambush your men.”

  “The Count has provided me with a letter, a guarantee of safe conduct, but that isn’t really the point.” Talon took a deep breath and tugged at his short beard. “He is calling for help. He knows that I and my people,” he glanced at Reza, “are familiar with the lay of the land, unlike almost anyone at the royal palace other than himself, and he wants to avert an invasion.”

  “Are they then so powerless to defend their own lands?” Theodora asked. Her tone was mildly sarcastic. Her full lips were compressed and her hazel eyes narrowed as she questioned Talon. He recognized the expression that she normally wore when interrogating a patient.

  Talon nodded and pursed his lips. “It is very likely that they are conceited enough to think otherwise, but the Count knows differently. There are only a few men like him who speak Arabic and understand that the survival of the Kingdom depends more upon diplomacy at this stage than force of arms.”

  “Can he not negotiate a peace on his own? Is he not well known by Salah Ed Din and even respected?” Max put in.

  “They have had their interactions, and it is true, Max, that he and Sir Guy de Veres, when he was alive, could make an impression on the Sultan. There is one other, Lord Sidon, but he avoids getting involved and keeps to himself. Raymond is in need of support. He has few allies in the Palace, other than perhaps Count Ibelin Balian, whom I once met.”

  “How then is Count Raymond able to represent the palace if he has so few friends? Will others respect a truce, even if he can succeed?” Theodora asked. He shot her an appreciative glance.

  “You have a good point, Theo. I am not sure. The Count is from the older generation of Crusaders who, having carved out their lands, came to appreciate the civilization that they encountered. He was imprisoned by the Arabs for nearly ten years but harbors no apparent grudge. Unfortunately, most of the new arrivals in the palace are hopeless zealots and consider him to be more of an ally of the Sultan than the Christians which is utter nonsense. But that very understanding between them could enable Raymond to avert an invasion. He sees that he has to try.”

  “So this is another one of those moments when you have to honor a commitment, Talon?” Rav’an said, her tone a trifle bitter.

  “I remember the last time we had to follow this ‘honor’ thing of his,” Reza said with a wry grin. “It got us into all sorts of trouble.” He snorted. “What do you owe those people, Talon? Nothing, from what I can tell. They stole everything you had in Acre and would have burned you at the stake had they been able to
catch you. It makes no sense, Brother!”

  “But a call for help does, Brother. I might remind all of you that had it not been for the Count I might have ridden up to the gates of Acre and found myself arrested before I had even known they were waiting for me!” Talon retorted. “I, we, owe him for that at least. Peace is vital. Not least to our trade and our longer-lasting safety. Should an invasion of the Kingdom succeed, then Cyprus could also become a target, and you all know how long this idiot ‘Emperor’ of ours would last against a determined Arab invasion. If I can in any small way assist the Count in achieving peace, then it is worth the effort. Reza and I know the Sultan to be a man of integrity and honor. Perhaps we can make a difference and help to change his mind?”

  Reza subsided. He nodded reluctantly. “On the other hand, he might throw us both in prison if we venture near him. You for stealing a ship and me for stealing his peace of mind one dark night for the sake of a letter.”

  Talon and Max chuckled at the memory; it broke the tension that had been building in the room. They had both been on that ship when it fled down the Nile and out into the Mediterranean Sea, closely followed by war ships intent upon capturing them and re-enslaving them.

  “I loved what you did, Uncle!” Rostam chortled, referring to the incident when Reza and his men penetrated the tower where Salah Ed Din slept, and demanded a letter from him. “I will do the same one day! I shall break into a well guarded chamber and place a knife on a pillow, the way you and Father have.”

  “Rostam, you will stop this idiotic nonsense at once!” exclaimed Rav’an, sounding exasperated. “What are these ideas you two are putting into his head?” She glowered at them, then at a not so contrite Rostam. Reza winked at the boy. “Don’t let your skills go to your head, boy,” he admonished Rostam with a grin.

  “You are not to encourage him either, Reza!” Jannat chided her husband, but it was said with affection.

  “I suspect that we might get a hearing with the Sultan if the Count of Tripoli is with us and we have a safe conduct pass.” Talon told his family

  “But who will you take with you, Talon?” Rav’an asked the question on everyone’s mind. “You cannot go alone.”

  “I cannot leave without anyone to protect the village and the castle,” Talon said. “Reza, I ask that you stay. If Isaac gets wind of my departure he might try something that would imperil our families.”

  While Reza was silent, as though thinking of a reason to object, Max spoke up. “Then I should go with you,” he said. Theodora gave him a horrified look but said nothing, biting her lip. Talon smiled at his old friend.

  “I need someone here to keep Reza in check; you know how impetuous he can be, Max!”

  Reza pretended to be mortally offended and said, “You see how I am treated!” Then he looked more sober. “I really should come with you, Talon. We both know the Sultan, and I can help, I am sure of it.”

  Talon reconsidered, then nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right, Reza. The two of us can manage this and be back before anyone notices our absence in Famagusta. Max, you must stay. Your knowledge and experience will keep Palladius and his men on their toes.” He had not failed to notice Theodora’s reaction to Max’s statement. “I want to make sure that this place is well looked after.”

  “Can I come too, Father?”

  Talon smiled at his son. “Not this time, my boy. But the time will come before too long.”

  Rostam looked very glum. “You are doing very well with the other trainees, Rostam. Stay with it and your time will come,” Reza assured the boy.

  “You will, however, accompany us on the sea voyage to Tyre, as Guy wants to keep your navigation skills sharp,” Talon told the surprised and delighted boy. Rav’an rolled her eyes in defeat.

  “Hurry down to the harbor and tell Captain Guy what is happening. Don’t forget to swear him to secrecy. We cannot leave before Henry gets back, but he is due any day now. I don’t want to leave the harbor unprotected without a ship remaining in the port when we leave.”

  “So there we have it. Reza and I will be going, but it will be in Guy’s ship. I do not want to be dependent upon any ship but one of our own. Where is Henry, by the way, Famagusta or Paphos?” He was referring to the second of their ships.

  “He is in Famagusta at present, Father. We had a pigeon in today, remember? Things are going well with the sale of our oil and figs in the market there. Dimitri said that even people in Antalya on the mainland want to buy our produce!” Rostam chirped up.

  “Very good, Rostam. Auntie Jannat, I entrust our pigeon communications with Boethius and Dimitri in Famagusta to you. Please keep Max and Rav’an informed, and don’t forget to reply to Diocles should he send a message next week. It is important that he feels secure.”

  Boethius and Dimitri were Talon’s spies in Paphos and Famagusta respectively, while Diocles was the Chief Minister of the Palace in Famagusta, where the Emperor lived. He was also one of Talon’s most important informants.

  “He is a very useful man to have on our side. Perhaps another case of wine could find its way to the palace too?” Reza chimed in. Talon chuckled his agreement.

  The Emperor had, according to the Chief Minister, developed a taste for the wine from Kantara but didn’t know its origin. Had he done so it might have gone badly for the minister. Isaac had been humiliated too often by Talon and his people to endure a nightly reminder in his cups. Talon turned his head and glanced out of the window. The sun had set, leaving a reddish glow in the sky.

  “We have a guest to entertain tonight, and I shall give him my answer tomorrow,” Talon stated. There is much to do before I go. We should take Yosef and Dar’an with us, Reza. What do you think?”

  “I will take Junayd as well. All three are competent.” This was a big compliment from an instructor as exacting as Reza.

  “Then we must keep all this between just the family for now. I don’t want word of any of this to get to the Emperor by any means,” Talon told them.

  The evening meal was a quiet affair. Despite the fact that they had a guest from the Kingdom of Jerusalem, which was very rare, there was a pall hanging over the meal. Those in the family who knew of the situation were quiet and thoughtful, yet still eager to hear more from the knight, who was willing enough to tell them what he knew.

  Talon and Max drew Sir Matthew out and as he relaxed in the friendly atmosphere in the noisy hall, he told them that he had come to Palestine with a contingent from Languedoc via the bay of Aigues Mortes and had been attached to the Count of Tripoli ever since. He was a veteran of several of the battles that had taken place in Talon’s absence and during Max’s incarceration after the disaster at Jacob’s Ford in 1179. Since then there had been skirmishes and periods of tentative, short-lived peace. While he didn’t speak the Arabic well, he appeared to share the Count’s respect for the cultures that moved about in the country. Talon spoke to him in French, as did Max, who was eager for news of the Templars despite the fact that they had abandoned him.

  The tables were laden with food that Matthew had not enjoyed for a long time, not even at the Count’s table. There were huge loaves of bread, big cheeses, bowls of olives in oil, roasted fowl, and baked fish covered in capers and herbs. The fish roe paste was plentiful, and bowls of steaming baked mussels and oysters were handed around by the servants to lords, ladies and attendants alike. The knight and his men leaned over their bowls and devoured a mouthwatering mutton stew, with the meat floating around in a soup of gravy, garlic and olives. The course bread soaked up the gravy with the wine to help wash it all down.

  Talon and his family observed the common practice of being seated at a high table while the attendants, men-at-arms, huntsmen and their families were seated on benches along the center of the hall. The conversation, shouts of laughter and titters of amusement at some joke or other generally lent a happy atmosphere to the meal that Sir Matthew had not enjoyed for many years. He could barely take his eyes off the vision who was the Lady Rav’an.


  “You have a very plentiful table and your people seem contented, Mistress,” he stammered in a clumsy compliment to Rav’an, who nodded back, pleased.

  “We have settled here into our new home and our people are contented,” she responded, but he noted there was a tinge of reserve. Her husband was about to leave for the Kingdom. Even Sir Matthew, who was not a sensitive man, recognized that Lady Rav’an did not welcome the fact that her husband was to leave for the confused world of warring factions on the mainland.

  “My Lady, I apologize for bringing this ill news, but your husband is very respected by my lord the Count. I am sure his presence will be valuable, and God willing it will not be for very long.”

  “I pray that it will be so. It seems that every time we find a degree of peace somewhere, the outside world intrudes yet again,” Rav’an stated. “But I am not being a good hostess. Tell me how it is with the people from your lands.” She smiled at him, and Sir Matthew felt encouraged to continue.

  “There are shortages everywhere now in Tripoli, my Lady,” he continued. “The coastal cities, like Tyre, Acre and Tripoli, are supplied from the sea, but lands further inland now lie untilled because of the fear of Arab raiders from the North. They come and plunder wherever they can. They take slaves, and people are afraid. Bad news travels fast, so people are migrating to the cities, which cannot feed them well.”

  Talon was thoughtful. Raynald de Châtillon was a fanatic who had spent time in Arab prisons, eventually coming home a pauper. He had hardly done badly since, having gained possession of a rich wife who owned the castle of Kerak down in the south. His persistent attacks on caravans, however, were causing ripples of pain all across the Kingdom as the Arabs retaliated.

  Talon pointed out a man to Matthew, one seated further down the long tables with some of the villagers who had been invited to the feast. Although the large, crowded hall was full of dancing shadows thrown against the walls from the flickering candles, in the light of the oil lamps his features were clear enough to be seen. His nose had been cut off and his lips mutilated. It had turned his face into something from a nightmare.