Storms of Retribution Page 7
The pirates, knowing they would get no quarter, sold their lives dearly, and Talon’s men suffered for it; but it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. One man in particular, wearing expensive armor and a gold-inlaid helmet and shield, fought like a tiger. He was cutting and stabbing with deadly effect, which drew Talon and Reza towards him.
“He has done a lot of damage!” Talon panted as he surveyed the carnage.
“Give him to me, Brother!” Reza called over the din.
Talon nodded. “Try not to kill him, Brother.” Then he noticed Rostam hovering behind Reza. “Get behind me!” he snapped. The boy hastened to obey.
Reza darted forward, elbowing men aside and in one case cutting away the sword of another by the simple means of cutting off his hand with a flick of his blade. That man died from another’s spear thrust. It was only a moment before Reza stood before his chosen opponent who drew back after cutting down one of Henry’s men with breathtaking ease.
His black hair was drawn back in a ponytail that extended from under his helmet, and the large gold rings in his earlobes bounced as he moved. His black eyes glared balefully at the slim, dark figure who suddenly appeared before him.
“So you want to die, do you?” he shouted at Reza. “I am here to oblige. Your turn to go to hell!”
He leapt forward with his shield held across his lower body and his heavy sword swinging more like a club than a sharp weapon. A thin stream of blood flew off the blade as it swept sideways in towards the motionless figure of Reza. But then there was a clink of steel on steel and Reza was gone from where he had been. He danced out of the way and nicked the sword arm of the pirate, making the man wince. Reza’s blade had cut through the expensive chain links as though they were mere cloth.
The pirate stepped back hurriedly and glared at Reza as though reassessing him. He flicked a look at the wound on his upper arm; blood was welling up, staining his armor. He shook his head and charged, swinging his sword left and right, holding his shield forward like a battering ram. Once again his target was gone from where it had been, and there was another cut on his upper arm. This time it was deeper, and the pirate could feel the pain. His sword arm wavered and dropped for just an instant. But that was enough for Reza. He slipped in and his sword blade prodded the pirate’s throat, drawing blood.
“You may surrender now and live,” Reza invited the man, who coughed as Reza’s blade pushed harder, causing more blood to flow. “Or you can die. Drop the sword and the shield!” Reza ordered sharply.
The pirate hesitated, but another prod from Reza and he reluctantly complied. He had no sooner done so than Talon’s men rushed forward, snatched up his weapon, then bound him. He submitted with resignation, only wincing as his wounded arm was pulled behind him.
Reza wiped his own blade clean on a rag, displaying the unique waved effect on the surface of the long, slim blade, then slid it into its sheath.
“I think we have won the day, Brother,” he called.
The only people left standing on the bloody pirate deck were Talon, his companions and their wildly cheering crews. A small space was cleared around Talon and Reza by the jubilant men. Everyone was spattered with blood, and many were wounded. Neither Talon or Reza were hurt, but both were soaked with other men’s blood.
“Where is that boy?” Talon roared, looking for Rostam, suddenly panicked with worry.
“It’s all right, Brother. He is right here with me.” Reza laughed at the concern in Talon’s voice. Talon visibly relaxed, then was about to bellow angrily at his son when Reza cocked his head at his friend and shook his head.
“He did well, Brother. He saved my life. He is a true warrior.” He reached behind him and pulled the boy forward. Rostam still held his sword, which was bloody. Reza tousled his hair. “The boy is his father’s son!” Reza shouted at the happy men with a laugh. They cheered again, and Talon gave his son a quizzical look, tinged with respect. “If Uncle Reza said so then it was so,” he told the boy. “I am proud of you.”
Rostam looked as though he were going to burst with pride.
Junayd slipped up to Talon and went on one knee. “I could not stop him, Lord. He was too quick. I kept near him, though. He is like…”
“His father! Ha ha!” Reza finished for him.
Talon had been ready to chastise Junayd; his face was grim, but then he decided to let it go. Smiling down at the contrite Junayd he said, “He is certainly that, Junayd; you must watch him more carefully.” Everyone let out their breath with relief. Talon was known for being a hard taskmaster, no less so with his son and his closest aides.
As the crew set to work to clean up, Sir Matthew came and stood before him. His rent hauberk and battered shield were testimony to the intense fight on his own ship. He grinned and ducked his head. “My thanks for your timely arrival, Lord Talon. Your men are formidable fighters.”
“Are you wounded, Sir Matthew?” Talon asked with concern.
“I? No, but I have men who are injured, and I am worried because I have no one who can dress their wounds and prevent infection. We had not expected to encounter pirates.”
“At this end of the sea you always expect pirates, Sir. We have seen these ships before.” Talon searched the horizon. “I just wish we had been able to destroy the third one.”
Henry and his men were rounding up the very few pirates still on their feet and binding their arms. The dead were being piled into a corner, while the mortally wounded were being dispatched by crewmen using knives to cut their throats.
“We have a physician from Byzantium, one of the very best, at the castle. Your men can go back to port with Captain Henry here, and he will make sure they are sent up for treatment. He will be hanging the surviving pirates.”
Matthew looked alarmed. “A Greek? A woman?” He sounded uncomfortable.
“You seem not to know this, but the Byzantine and the Arab physicians are among the finest in the world. I would never allow myself to be placed in the ignorant hands of a Latin ‘Bleeder’,” Talon told him with some asperity. “Believe me, she will save many lives which the Latins would lose through neglect, ignorance, or sheer stupidity. But it is your choice. Let me know as soon as you can.” He turned away just in time to hear a shout behind him.
He turned and noticed some of the crewmen dragging a boy almost the same age as Rostam towards him. The boy was dressed in expensive clothing and wore a breast plate like the man Reza had bested. He was bare-headed, and it was easy to see his resemblance to the formidable pirate in the younger, pale and frightened face.
“Bring the other prisoner to me,” Talon ordered his men, who shoved the pirate in front of him, none too gently. They forced him down onto his knees alongside the boy. His helmet was gone, presumably booty for one of the crew, Talon surmised. His long black hair was now loose and fell about his face. He was still defiant and spat on the deck. “My cousin will be back with more ships to avenge me, you will see. Do what you will!”
“Do we see a likeness there, Reza?” Talon asked.
“I’d say so. Father and son, perhaps?” They were speaking Farsi at this point, so no one except Rostam and Yosef could understand them, but it seemed the adult prisoner understood. “You speak Farsi?” he demanded in surprise.
“Shut up, you!” one of his guards slapped his wounded arm, making him wince but not cry out, although it must have been painful.
Talon raised his hand to deter further punishment, but then responded in Arabic. “Yes, we do, but that is not your native language, is it?” he said.
“No, I am Syrian,” the man said. He stared back at his captors with a proud expression.
“Pirates are usually hung no matter where they come from,” Reza told him, his tone ominous.
“You may hang me; I do not care.” He looked at the boy, who stared tearfully back at him. “I ask only that you spare the boy.” There was an edge of pleading in the proud man’s voice.
“First things first. Who are you, and
what are you doing here?”
“My name is Makhid and I am a cousin of Sultan Al-Adil. We can provide ransom.”
Talon looked startled, as did Reza. “If you are related to Sultan al-Malik al-Adil Sayf ad-Din Abu-Bakr,” Talon gave the name all its syllables, “then you are also related to Sultan Salah Ed Din, for they are brothers,” he stated. He was watching very carefully for a response and was not disappointed. Makhid had not anticipated that Talon would know of Salah Ed Din. Few Crusaders knew any of the leaders of the Arab coalition.
So it was Makhid’s turn to look surprised. He ducked his head clumsily. “Yes, we are related on my mother’s side.”
“What were you doing here? Were you coming to raid?” Talon demanded.
Makhid hesitated. Reza gestured for the boy’s captors to bring him forward and drew his knife, which he placed alongside the boy’s neck. “Answer the Lord Talon, or you will have no son.”
Makhid stiffened. “I have heard of you… Lord Talon. And you,” he turned and half bowed, “must be Reza, known as the Ghost! I ask again that you spare my son if you will not spare me.”
Reza looked pleased, but Talon frowned and said, “Answer the question. What were you doing here?”
“We… we came to raid, yes,” Makhid said reluctantly. “But it would appear to have been a bad idea.”
“I would have to agree with that,” Reza said, and pushed the boy roughly back into the unkind hands of the crewmen.
Makhid raised his head. “Tell me, Lord. Did anyone survive from the first ship that you sank with your devilish devices? That was not Greek Fire I saw strike his ship.”
“Not that I can tell,” Talon responded, and glanced towards the distant coastline three leagues away. “Not unless they can swim like fish.”
In his mind’s eye he could see the splendidly dressed man he had killed lying on the deck of the sinking boat.
Makhid sighed and looked down at the deck. “It was commanded by my brother. I shall mourn him.”
“You knew the risks of raiding. I doubt that you would have given a thought for mercy had your raid been successful,” Talon retorted. “Junayd, Yosef. Search him carefully and then take him below. Guard him well.”
“Your son is my hostage,” Talon told Makhid. “If he misbehaves, he will be hung out of hand by my people. Equally if you misbehave he will be hung. If and when a ransom is offered for you, you have my word that he will be released. That is my word.”
Makhid struggled to his feet and bowed his head. “It is God’s will. I accept your terms, Lord.” He turned his head to stare at his son. “Remember to honor my word, which I give to Lord Talon. You are not to try and escape. I know of this man Reza; he will find you no matter what. I shall, God willing, live and be able to receive you when my freedom is granted. God is great. Go with God.”
The boy was in tears, but he nodded and dropped his head. “I shall obey you, my Father, and the Lord Talon.”
Makhid was led away to Talon’s ship.
Henry had been hovering about, unable to understand everything that was being said but just enough. He said formally, “What are your wishes, Lord Talon?”
“You arrived just in time, Henry!” Talon complimented his friend. “It will be your task to take the wounded back to the castle, where our physician will, I am sure, be eager to put her skills to work. He…” he pointed to the boy, “goes with you as a hostage. He is to be treated well but not allowed to escape, and one of Reza’s men is to be in attendance upon the boy at all times. Do you follow, Henry?” Talon spoke French to his captain, who replied in the same language, “Yes, I do, Lord Talon. It shall be as you order.”
Henry turned away and began to shout commands to his willing crew.
“Oh, by the way, Henry!” Talon called.
“Yes, Lord?”
“Remember to take any treasure that is found on this ship back with you.” They both laughed. On a grimmer note he said, “Don’t forget to hang the remainder of the pirates, when you get to port, Henry.”
Henry nodded somberly. “Yes, Lord. And the ship itself?”
“Take it with you. Repair what is necessary.”
Henry grinned with delight. “I shall take care of everything, Lord. Now we have our third ship again!”
“Send news to the castle as soon as you arrive, Henry. They will have seen this fight from up there and be very concerned. Relieve their worries and tell them we are all in good health.”
Talon turned his attention back to his own people. Sir Matthew was busy supervising the transfer of his nervous wounded to Henry’s ship, while others were put to work cleaning up. There were four ships alongside one another, three of which now belonged to Talon. He surveyed the abundance of vessels with satisfaction. It crossed his mind that he might even have a navigator for the captured vessel, but that would have to be discussed it with Henry and Guy.
Sir Matthew, once he could see that his wounded were in good hands, approached Talon. “You must tell me about that pirate, Lord,” he said with a wry smile. “I did not understand a word, but I suspect that you were negotiating. I would have simply hung him.”
“Yes, I dare say you would,” Talon responded. “But you see, understanding the way people think in this part of he world is a good thing. A prisoner of this rank can be useful. He will be ransomed, and his son is now a hostage for his good behavior. Also, his cousin might be deterred from raiding my lands, once he learns that two of his blood are out prisoners.”
“He is a noble?” Matthew said with surprise.
“More noble than you or I,” was the laconic response. “His own people probably consider him to be a raider. All of Christianity is fair game to them.”
Matthew shook his head. “It seems I have much to learn.”
Talon merely nodded. “Your captain should prepare to make sail. I am about to leave. This time, stay behind me and you will be safe. Take your dead back with you if you insist, otherwise you should bury them at sea. Throw any of the dead pirates overboard. They belong in the sea.” Even as he spoke there were splashes as the dead pirates, and there were many of them, were tossed overboard.
“Safe sailing, Sir Matthew,” he told the knight, but then he paused. “Sir Matthew!”
“Lord?”
“I noticed an interesting maneuver while you were defending your ship. The last time I saw it at work was during the battle of Myriokephalon. The Varangian Guard formed a shield wall, and it was highly effective. It seems you know how to do this?”
“Not I, Lord. I’m a horseman. It was that fellow over there.” Matthew grinned and pointed out a huge man with gold torcs on his arms and blond braids hanging down his back, who was helping toss the limp bodies of dead pirates overboard. He had an axe thrust into his belt next to his sword, and his shield was slung over his back by a strap.
“He is a warrior who joined the Count’s service and now works for me.”
Talon stared. “A Norman?”
“No. A Saxon, and his French is horrible!”
Talon snorted a laugh and looked around for his brother and son. Rostam waved impatiently from Talon’s ship.
“What is his name?”
“Brandt. I do not know its meaning.”
“Hmm,” Talon said. “We will talk more in Tyre.”
Standing on the battlements of the castle, Rav’an, Jannat and Max, along with Palladius and several men, had seen the arrival of the distant ships and the ensuing engagement. They watched in a fever of apprehension as the pirates attacked. When the messenger’s ship was boarded, Jannat squeezed Rav’an by the hand till it hurt as she gazed with anguish at the conflict, knowing as she did that Reza would put himself in the thick of the fighting. At last the ships parted, two returning to port while two others began to sail away towards the horizon. Rav’an put an arm across her sister’s shoulders. “I think it is all right, my Jannat. Look, the ships with our men are sailing away. Had the battle gone badly they would surely be coming home.”
Palladius saluted. “At once, my Lady. I shall go myself. if Sir Max will allow it.”
“Of course. As speedily as you can, Sergeant. The survivors may need assistance,” Max told him.
“It becomes clear to me that we are now solely responsible for the safety of our people, Max. We must prepare for whatever might come our way while Talon and Reza are away,” Rav’an said slowly.
The old Templar sergeant nodded. His features were somber. “We will make ready, my Lady.”
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Chapter 4
Aeneas Sanna
What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,
And in the wither’d field where the farmer plows for bread in vain.
—William Blake
Aeneas Sanna hurried along the busy road between the Palace of the Porphyrogennetos and the Royal Palace of Blachernae, the center of the Byzantine Empire and to all intents and purposes his home.
The street vendors of Constantinople were cluttering the streets with their makeshift stalls and the accompanying rubbish. He was forced to watch where he put his sandaled feet. Dog and donkey feces, interspersed with the larger lumps of camel dung, sullied the paving stones, along with rinds and trash tossed aside by careless buyers. He wrinkled his nose at the noisome fumes emanating from the drains alongside the highway.