The Storms of Retribution by James Boschert
Copyright © 2018 James Boschert
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1-946409-70-6( Paperback)
ISBN :13: 978-1-946409-71-3 (e-book)
BISAC Subject Headings:
FIC014000 FICTION / Historical
FIC032000 FICTION / War & Military
FIC031020FICTION / Thrillers / Historical
Senior Editor: Chris Wozney
Editing: Danielle Boschert
The Book Cover Whisperer: Christine Horner : ProfessionalBookCoverDesign.com
Address all correspondence to:
Penmore Press LLC
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Names and Characters
Map of Middle East
Prelude
Chapter 1 The Messenger
Chapter 2 Corsairs
Chapter 3 Intervention
Chapter 4 Aeneas Sanna
Chapter 5 Tamura
Chapter 6 Zenos
Chapter 7 Palace Games
Chapter 8 The Count of Tripoli
Chapter 9 Salah Ed Din
Chapter 10 A Pact With The Devil
Chapter 11 The Springs of Cresson
Chapter 12 Reza
Chapter 13 Frankish Treaties
Chapter 14 The Springs of Sephoria
Chapter 15 The Horns of Hattin
Chapter 16 Intruders
Chapter 17 The Shield Walls
Chapter 18 A Strong Defense
Chapter 19 Assassins and Punishment
Chapter 20 A Pyrrhic Victory
Chapter 21 Aftermath
Chapter 22 Escape
Chapter 23 The Siege of Tyre
Chapter 24 Lord Conrad Montferrat
Chapter 25 Trebuchet
Chapter 26 The Assault
Chapter 27 Assassins
Chapter 28 Encounters of Every Kind
Chapter 29 The Emperor Returns
Chapter 30 Spies
Chapter 31 Homecoming
Author’s Note
About The Author
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Dedication
It was my soul mate, Danielle, who reminded me of a
dear friend who left us long before his time.
This book is dedicated to
Buddy Height
Though wounded in body and mind
he treated all men with courtesy and kindness
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Danielle Boschert, Christine Horner, Midori and Chris Wozny for their efforts and help with this manuscript.
And to my sources:
Dungeon Fire and Sword by John J. Robinson
Deus Lo Volte by Evan S. Connel
The Crusades Through Arab Eyes by Amin Maaloof
A Short History of Byzantium by John Norwich
Civilization in The Middle Ages byNorman Cantor
Byzantium by Judith Herrin
The Assassin Legends by Farhad Daftary
Castles of the Assassins by Peter Willey
Who’s Who in the Middle Ages by John Fines
The Dream of The Poem by Peter Cole
Wikipedia
Google
Names of Characters:
The Storms of Retribution
Talon’s Family and Followers
Talon de Gilles
Rav’an—Wife of Talon
Reza—Lifetime companion to Talon and family
Max Bauersdorf—onetime Sergeant in Templars; companion
Rostam de Gilles—Son of Talon and Rav’an
Jannat—Wife of Reza
Theodora—Physician from Constantinople
Damian—Son of Theodora
Georgios—Agent Shipping
Talon’s Men
Yosef—Long time Persian companion
Dar’an—Long time companion and Assassin
Junayd—Talon’s man, Assassin
Khuzaymah—Talon’s man, Assassin
Maymun—Talon’s man, Assassin
Nasuh—Talon’s man, Assassin
Palladius—Sergeant of the Guards
Psellos—Greek Priest
Dimitri—Spymaster in Famagusta
Boethius Eirenikos—Merchant in Cyprus (Spy)
Irene—Young daughter of Boethius
Henry—Captain of Falcon
Guy—Captain of ship
Brant—Saxon Warrior
Dewi—Welsh Archer
Caradog—Welsh Archer
Arab Forces
Salah Ed Din—Leader of Arab army
Usama ibn Munquid—Brother of Salah Ed Din
Al-Malik al-Adil Sayf ad-Din Abu-Bakr Ahmed ibn Najm ad-Din Ayyub—Brother of Salah Ed Din.
Najm ad-Din Ayyub—Father of Al Malik
Al-Aziz Uthman (Egypt)
Al-Afdal (Syria)
Al-Adil I—Younger Brother of Salah Ed Din
General Muzaffar ad Din-Gökburi
Arab Pirates
Ibn al-Bannā Makhid—Leader of corsairs, cousin to Sultans Al-Adil and Salah Ed Din
Abul-Zinad—Makhid’s cousin
Rashid Ed Din—Master Assassin in Lebanon, known as the School Teacher
Kingdom of Jerusalem
Baldwin IV—King of Jerusalem. Leper (Died 1185)
Baldwin V—Nephew of Baldwin VI (Died 1186)
Sibylla—Sister to King Baldwin IV
Guy de Lusignan—Husband to Sibylla (King in 1187)
Raymond de Tripoli—Count of Tripoli
Odo de St Armand—Grand Master Templars 1171-1180
Arnold de Torroja—Grand Master Templars 1181-84
Gerard de Rideford—Marshal of Jerusalem,
Next Grand Master in 1185-1187
Roger de Moulins—Master of the Hospitaliers
Gerard Jobert—Master of the Hospitaliers 1172-77
Balian of Ibelin—Lord, and friend of Raymond de Tripoli
Count Conrad de Montferrat—Defender of Tyre
Reginald Grenier—Lord of Sidon, married to Agnes of Courtenay (third husband)
Joscius (also Josce or Josias)—Archbiship of Tyre
Reynald of Châtillon—Pirate and marauder who caused the battle of Hattin
Sir Guy de Veres—Talon’s mentor, killed in the battle for Jacob’s Ford
Sir Matthew d’Aix—Knight to Tripoli
Brother Martin—Monk in Acre who saved Talon’s family
Names Byzantium
Emperor Isaac Angelos
Manuel I Komnenos—3rd Komnenos Emperor of Byzantium
Andronikos Komnenos—Murdered Emperor
Theodore Kastamonites—Uncle to Angelos
Porphyrogennetos—One born to the purple
Pantoleon/Exazenos—Former Executioner
Family Kalothesos:—Family Name
Damianus— Senator executed by Andronikos
Alexios—Son of Damianus and brother to Theodora
Palace of Emperor Komnenos
Isaac Komnenos—Brother to Manuel I, King of Cyprus
Tamura—Chief Concubine for Isaac
Martina—Slavegirl to Tamura
Siranos—Eunuch to Tamura
Diocles—Chief Minister and advisor
Julian—Village elder
John—Village leader
Zenos—Gatherer of Information
Himerius—Greek agent in Beirut
Aeneas Sanna—Palace Secretary
Aquila—Bodyguard for Aeneas
Macrobius—Bodyguard for Aeneas
Marcianus—Captain of the ship that brings Aeneas to Cyprus
Greetings
As-Salaam-Alaikum, the Arabic greeting meaning “Peace be unto you” was the standard salutation among members of the Nation of Islam. The greeting was routinely deployed whenever and wherever Muslims gathered and interacted, whether socially or within worship and other contexts. Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, meaning “And unto you peace,” was the standard response.
Insha’Allah—“As God wills” or “If God wills”
Map of The Middle East and Cyprus - 12th Century.
Prelude
The King is Dead. Long Live the King.
How comes the Day o’ercast? The Flaming Sun
Darkn’d at Noon, as if his Course were run?
He never rose more proud, more glad, more gay,
Ne’er courted Daphne with a brighter Ray!
And now in Clouds he wraps his Head,
As if not Daphne, but himself were dead!
—Anne Killigrew
It was towards the end of summer, August of the Year of Our Lord 1186, when in the late hours of the night the young King of Jerusalem, Baldwin V of Montferrat, also known as Baudouinet, died. Sickly since birth, he had been King for only three years. He was just a boy of eleven when his time came, in the austere, candle-lit chamber within the darkened Templar citadel that dominated the western side of the city of Acre.
Gathered around his bed were not only his two physicians and the priests but most of his immediate family, as well as others who had a keen interest in the future of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Raymond, the Count of Tripoli and Regent of the Kingdom—up until this point—grimaced in disgust. He stood with his back to the narrow window, firmly shuttered to keep out the clean night air, and regarded the people clustered about the deathbed.
He had wanted to bring his own physician, a man infinitely more skilled than the two Leeches currently leaning over the bed. But his man came from Egypt, and the shrill objections of the boy’s mother and the priests had put a stop to that. He glanced at the men who called themselves physicians. Filthy hands, dirt ingrained under their fingernails, their clothes stiff with grime and other people’s blood. They had probably hastened the boy’s death with their willful ignorance.
Arrayed around the walls of the stark chamber were several Knights of the Temple: dark, bearded, silent guardians clad in chain mail with black crosses sewn onto their surcoats. Some wore their white cloaks despite the stifling warmth of the room, which rendered them ghost-like in the gloom. The Count held a kerchief over his nose. The rank smell of unwashed bodies (the Templars never bathed) in the stuffy room already thick with women’s perfume and incense gave him a headache.
The boy’s mother, Princess Sibylla, and his aunt the Countess Isabella were in attendance, surrounded by their ladies in waiting and important nobles of the kingdom, present to witness the somber event. The weak draft seeping in through the shuttered windows caused the candle flames to sway and to cast ghostly shadows that swept across the grim, bearded faces of the men and the pale faces of the women in the further reaches of the chamber. The light gleamed on chain mail half covered by dark cloaks and hoods; it glittered on the gold and jewels around slim female necks, and produced a sheen on expensive silk dresses.
The gleam of candlelight in the watchful men’s eyes as they observed the activity around the bed reminded Raymond of wolves waiting in the shadows. But who was their prey, now that their young King Baldwin V, nephew of King Baldwin IV, who had been known as the Leper King, had passed away?
William of Montferrat, the boy’s grandfather, and Lord Joscelin of Edessa were also present, kneeling with their hands clasped in prayer and their bearded faces tilted heavenwards. The Patriarch, Eraclius of Caesarea, overladen with rich robes of the church, had administered the last rights. He now knelt as near to the two nobles and as far away from Raymond as possible in the crowded room. He and his attendant priests were now chanting prayers for the departed.
Something brushed by Raymond’s head, and as he jerked away he realized it had been a bat. For a brief, absurd moment he wondered if the soul of the boy was within the creature and trying to escape the confines of the death chamber. He shook his head and crossed himself. Raymond was not deeply religious, but he was as superstitious as the next man, and wondered cynically what the Bishop might think of that!
Standing nearby was another man whom Raymond detested. Lord Guy de Lusignan, a mere knight from Poitou, now the husband of Sibylla, had gained rank which the Count felt the man had no right to enjoy. Raymond deemed him an adventurer who had seduced Sibylla, little more; but the man was accumulating power at an alarming rate and bore watching. He was standing close to the kneeling Sibylla, scratching his neck and picking his nose. His disrespect for the dead bordered on treason, but this was not the time or place to deal with this upstart. Later, Raymond promised himself, there would be a reckoning.
The Count heaved a deep sigh quietly as the women began to go through the ritual of wailing and symbolically tearing their hair in grief. Their cries and wails all but drowned out the high-pitched chanting of the priests. The ladies-in-waiting measured their own demonstrations of grief by the behavior of the two noblewomen. He doubted that anyone really pulled their hair out, even if the tears were copious. Sibylla didn’t possess enough to part with, so her vanity would prevent too much damage.
Isabella behaved in a somewhat more dignified manner. The child, after all, had not been hers, but the throne to the kingdom might be—if her champion Raymond had anything to do with it.
Observing the restless and fidgeting gathering, the Count of Tripoli gave some thought to what might come next.
As the body could not be suitably preserved for any length of time in late summer, it would have to be taken immediately to Jerusalem for burial in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, alongside his uncle Baldwin IV. The boy had, after all, been a king. Raymond assumed that the boy’s grandfather, William of Montferrat, would take responsibility for the transportation of the body and the funeral. He, meanwhile, had other things to arrange.
Unless he could keep control of the situation, the succession could spiral out of his hands, which to his mind would be a disaster for the kingdom and all its subjects. There were two men who could contribute to that condition. Raynald de Chȃtillon and Gérard de Rideford. Both were his implacable enemies.
*****
In a region known as Oultrejordan, just to the south and east of the Dead Sea, is a massive castle called Kerak. It sprawls along the walls of a steep cliff edge, and its immense glacis alone would daunt any would-be conqueror. This castle currently belonged to Lord Raynald de Châtillon. It dominated the southern approaches to the Dead Sea and overlooked the caravan routes used by the Arab and Egyptian merchants on their way north to Damascus and the domains of the powerful new leader, the Arab Sultan, Salah Ed Din.
The Lord Raynald was eating with his wife in his quarters when there was a loud banging on the chamber door.
“Enter!” Raynald roared, wiping grease from his bearded mouth. His lank, greying hair hung loose, and some of it was dragged across his beard as he did so. Raynald was not one to fuss over his appearance. He had, after all, been a prisoner of the Saracens for years, and they had not provided him with a mirror.
The door opened and a young soldier poked his head through the opening.
“Well, what is it? Speak up, man!” Raynald called out, fixing the unfortunate youth with his fierce glare. “Why am I being interrupted in the middle of my meal?”
“Sire, er, Sire, Sir Gandar sent me,” the boy stammered. “He, he said that you wanted to know immediately if there was a caravan in sight.”
“He did, did he?” Raynald snorted and tossed a chicken bone to a couple of shaggy hounds which had been watching his every move with the meat. They jumped on it almost before it landed on the filthy wooden flo
or and began a snarling fight.
“Shut up!” Raynald shouted and kicked at the hounds, making one yelp as his boot connected. The hounds scampered out of range with their tails between their legs.
“How close is the caravan?” he demanded.
“Two leagues, perhaps a little more, Lord,” the soldier replied.
“Get out!” Raynald grunted. The man vanished, leaving the door open for his leader to follow through. Raynald seized a side of roasted fowl, glanced at his wife and smirked. “This might be the one!” He chuckled, took a swig of his wine, and got up from the table. He slammed the door on his wife, who turned away with a grimace of disgust.
Raynald was still chewing when he emerged onto the eastern battlements of the castle and joined the men gathered there. They were a rough crowd, clad in a mixture of chain hauberks that had seen better days, sporting an assortment of surcoats denoting former lords to whom they had once owed allegiance. There were even the surcoats of Templars to be seen among the scarred group of cutthroats. However, they parted ranks respectfully enough as their lord lumbered towards them.