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Thread: A Painted Shield of Honour

  1. #41
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Chapter XIV - Merchantmen

    Early morning
    November 1313
    Near the souq
    Jerusalem


    He was jittering. The document was still with him.

    Strange events have happened lately to some of his merchant friends, and he was considering leaving the city for a couple of days, perhaps even weeks, to let those delicate, troubling affairs calm down and return to the apparent normalcy he had before. He doubled the number of guards at his house but that seemed to not be enough. Perhaps he was somewhat paranoid, he often thought, but extra security measures can only do good. He called for his servant who came rushing inside his chamber, only to find the strange gaze of his master. Why did he run towards me, I cannot understand. No, I must not let these thoughts get the best of me, I must calm down, Asad thought. Lately, he was becoming even more paranoid regarding this whole issue and it affected the clear judgement he had before. He was no longer ruthless and calculated, he was mellow and weak, giving enough leeway for his rivals to gain the upper hand in the negotiations. One such negotiation went bad for him, and he was to pay a hefty sum that affected his profits.

    “What is the latest rumour, Farad?” asked Asad, the Jerusalem merchant.

    “Sadiq, it seems to me that several market administrators have received a special scroll containing information about three Crusaders who may pose a threat to our integrity. Most odd, I must add, considering they are three men. And why us, it makes no sense.”

    “Do you think it has any connection?”

    “Highly unlikely.”

    “I do think so.”

    “You do, Sadiq?”

    “Yes. This whole business has been affecting me greatly. I must let it stop now.”

    The eunuch did not reply. He did not know what to reply, it was the first time he had seen Asad in this position.

    “Any other information gathered from the market?”

    “There seems to be an inflow of French merchants into Jerusalem lately, they wish to organise their guild.”

    Asad curled his brows and readjusted his position, somewhat worried. What are the westerners doing here again? They have been expelled some time ago, especially the French. The unwelcome visitor was French. Odd.

    “Their guild? In our kingdom?” he asked incredulously.

    “I believe so.”

    “Most odd. The Sultan will not grant permission I believe.”

    Asad gently brushed his moustache and beard, thinking at the same time about these recent developments. He was worried, and not necessarily because of his business. Something was amiss, and Asad was worried.

    “Where is Masruq, the messenger?”

    “He is in Jerusalem, enjoying the company of fine women.”

    “Bring him back and get on a mission for me.”

    “Sadiq, he will be most displeased about your decision.”

    “I do not care!” snapped Asad, yelling at the eunuch who immediately knelt in submission. The move seemed to calm down Asad somewhat, regaining his lost composure.

    “I want you to find out why the French merchants have set up their outpost in here. I have been dealing with foreigners a lot but I still do not trust them. Leave now, and do not come back without the proper information. And tell Masruq to report to me immediately once you find him!”

    Satisfied, Asad sat down at his desk just as his eunuch left his quarters. He took the dubious scroll once more in his hands. It felt rough and somewhat uninviting looking at the yellow colour of the parchment and the odd touch as he slid his callous hand over it. He rolled it in his hands until it fell back on the table, inert and lifeless, the yellowy colour matching the papyrus scrolls on his desk. The sun's rays peeping through the window behind him gleamed against the wax seal, drawing his diverted attention. There was something mysterious and sinister about the scroll itself as he looked at it, but the merchant could not pinpoint exactly what was bothering him.

    "What are the French merchants doing here?" asked Asad, a question only for himself.

    Asad took the scroll and unfolded it immediately on the table, placing small items on each corner to prevent it from reverting to its original shape. His grasp of Latin was perfect, but he still had difficulty in understanding the writing itself and the complex, formal grammar of the writing. It puzzled him to the point that he stood there staring at the document for a couple of minutes.

    “This seems to be the real reason the French merchants are setting up their guild in Jerusalem,” muted Asad to himself. He looked up and saw no one. There was only silence around him, the only sounds coming from the busy roads outside. Asad stood up and called for his servant.

    “Please arrange that I will have a couple of servants and my strongest guards with me tomorrow, I will go to a place inside Jerusalem where I will need protection and help.”

    The servant looked uneasy but complied, exiting Asad's cabinet without uttering a single word.

    “The Temple holds the reasons. Interesting supposition, I would have never thought that myself,” said Asad out loud, all alone in his private cabinet.

    Asad walked away from his desk, looking down towards his luxurious shoes, staring at the thin gold line stretching from the tipping point to his ankle. Stretching his limbs, he paced a couple of steps until he reached his library stacked with treatises and dusty scrolls, piled on top of each other like a knowledge pyramid. A small scroll with Maronite symbols stood out from the pile. He was a Maronite himself, but there was no need for that scroll's knowledge now. He needed a detailed plan. A building plan.

    Asad twisted open a lock with a golden key. The glass panel slid open to reveal a small stack of protected parchments and four vellum books. He took one of the vellum books stocked in a corner and opened it on the edge of his desk, the supple pages creating a wondrous feel that the merchant enjoyed even more. It was a local chronicle of the previous warring years, written by a Byzantine scholar. And particular detail was given to the Templar headquarters, the Temple of Solomon. And the building plan was there for him to see.

    “The underneath tunnels have not been mapped. But no matter, I shall see tomorrow for myself,” grinned Asad as he uttered the words to himself.

    -----

    Thank you for reading A Painted Shield of Honour in 2021.
    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  2. #42
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Asad has taken careful precautions, but I wonder if they will be enough - especially if some of those French merchants aren't really merchants! Good update.

  3. #43
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Thank you Alwyn.

    I will aim this year to go from chapter 15 to chapter 25 by the end, so around 1 chapter per month. It has 42 chapters, so we're moving along.
    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  4. #44
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    One of the publishing ideas for this project, A Painted Shield of Honour, was to transform it and publish it into a visual novel of sorts. Given that the action happens in the 14th century, getting in a couple of period-accurate drawings would have been perfect to set the tone and the mood for the reader, and enhance the overall reading experience.

    This is still a plan! And I hope to commission an artist to do some period-accurate drawings to make it a better reading experience, just as I envisioned.

    And speaking of period-accurate enhancements, one of the central points of this story is a not so known episode of what happened with the Pope in that specific period of time. During the 1313 Templar Knight trial, the Pope was not in Rome as was expected. He was in Avignon, in the south of France. In essence, the Pope was in fact a captive, a prisoner of King Philip the Fair of France, which some historians argue that this was what forced the Pope at the time to act so heavily against the Templar Knights. This is a strange moment in history, one that still elicits a lot of questions.

    Very recently, the famous Kings & Generals YouTube channel created a detailed video about this, which I invite you to watch below.

    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  5. #45
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    A visual novel sounds like a great plan, and the period of the Avignon Popes is an interesting one. I hope you can find someone to create the art you're looking for.

  6. #46
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn View Post
    A visual novel sounds like a great plan, and the period of the Avignon Popes is an interesting one. I hope you can find someone to create the art you're looking for.
    Indeed. This is the plan for towards the end of the novel, once all of the edits are done. This too will be released in an ebook format at the end, just as Swords Made of Letters will be. Hopefully with the drawings!

    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  7. #47
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Chapter XV - Struggles

    Early Morning
    October 1313
    Galata Quarter
    Constantinople
    Byzantine Empire

    Secluded on an isolated side of the splendid city of Constantinople, Galata was the fortified Genoese quarter, a place rather skilfully obtained by the Genoese with their excessive demands for exclusive trading rights under the Byzantine restoration reign of Emperor Michael Palaiologos in 1261. With very few options left, the Emperor granted both the rights and the quarter, now surrounded by thick walls and a majestic tower right in the midst of it. Galata was a world within its own; its own leader, its own legislation and its own governing body. Entering the fortified Genoese quarter, even undetected, was a stumbling block. Each gate was heavily guarded and any side passage was closely monitored by armed spearmen, backed up by a troop of crossbowmen or militias.

    "Boat? We can take it from the docks over here," asked Amalric, pointing to the wharves filled with boats for Galata.

    "Might work. All three of us?" said Raymond.

    "One boat for each?" asked Amalric.

    "No use. Let's go together, looks like our only option. Keep your swords close," answered Raymond.

    A quick boat ride later, the three were right beside the guards checking all of the visitors from Constantinople proper. The checks performed by the guards were not intrusive, but they only served to annoy most of the people, especially those regularly exiting and returning to the colony. Large caravans were stationed in huge numbers by the side of each wall, waiting for the customs to be cleared so they could enter the city to unload their goods and leave for their next destination. For Raymond, the caravan trick was tried once and he failed, but this time he was not willing to take a risk and play everything on a single card. He had two other brothers with him, and it was virtually impossible to sneak in without being detected. Somehow, they had to get rid of their true identities and enter the city with totally different aliases.

    It was difficult to get in any fortified compound, quarter or city, and Raymond knew it all too well. It was difficult in getting out of Paris, but now getting inside a fortified quarter was even harder. As they approached the main gate, the guards only took a quick, glancing look at them and did not pay too much attention. They were routinely checked and were about to move on inside the city until one of the guards stopped with his hands on Raymond's back. The knight realised immediately that something was wrong and was about to switch his position when a sword came brushing his neck, the grey eyes of an officer staring directly into his. The same happened to Amalric and Balian, except that the three guards came and formed a perimeter around.

    "A kind suggestion, gentlemen. The Genoese Podesta is expecting you. And I will have the pleasure of personally handing you over to his guards," grunted the officer.


    In coordinated movements, a group of 8 guards circled them immediately with their swords and shields in full view, taking them by force inside their barracks, build right beside their guard post. Crowds quickly gathered around the commotion zone but were rapidly dispersed by the armed militias guarding the Constantinople gate. Raymond and his two brothers were ushered quickly inside a guard post, a square-shaped building constructed into the walls themselves, a bare, spartan interior, typical of military barracks. Scattered in all corners were the makeshift straw beds for each soldier, along with their meagre belongings resting against the wooden frames. Nothing was in the middle apart from a plain stone floor on which the three were thrown upon and held in position by the threat of the long pikes. One of the officers muttered something in Genoese and left the barracks, returning after a couple of minutes while everyone stood in their place, looking at each other, their pikes still aimed at the knights' necks.

    With one swish of his wrist, the guards retreated from the guard post and went back to the gate.

    Raymond knew that somehow it was the same arrest that had happened to them when they were back in the French kingdom. He did not like this at all, it seemed as if the guards knew exactly who to take. They had no one following them, and he checked routinely. Something was amiss. And not only him, but both Balian and Amalric realised it. Too late now, since they were in the custody of an officer who enjoyed seeing his prisoners locked and imprisoned.

    “There is nothing to be said to help you. All of you shall be here until our Podesta says you will be released. Or executed."

    By the turn of the hour, the officer returned with a different contingent of guards and marched them to a different prison, away from the western wall of Galata, their swords and daggers rather abruptly taken from them. They under lock once again, with only a number of small wall slits bringing slivers of light into the damp dungeon.

    “We end up once more in a filthy dungeon underneath the world,” said Balian with dismay.


    From the outside, it seemed like that. The massive iron bars that blocked their freedom were thicker than the Galata gate bars. Furious, Raymond rose up from the straw bed he was thrown on and kicked the dungeon bars with a force so powerful that it rattled them inside out, shaking them from their joints as they blew off an ear-splitting sound that reverberated powerfully inside the empty prison. Looking up and down the corridor, there was no one to be seen, apart from the despair in Raymond's mind that seemed to become a character itself that haunted his being. That image pounded harder inside Raymond's mind, slowly becoming an obsession that sapped his strength and his will to live. His breath was coming in raspy fits as every second passed, droplets of cold sweat forming at his temples. Raymond was slowly drifting into another world, his body and his mind unable to respond to the outside senses. He felt as if he was floating in a senseless void, but there was a sound that still echoed far in his mind, like a constant rattle that would never cease.

    Trying to discern, Raymond looked up from his palms, a faint sound seeming to emanate from his dreams. No, he thought, these are not my dreams. The sound was real and with every second it seemed to grow louder and louder until everyone in the cramped dungeon room stood up and looked down the corridor in expectation. The loud rattle from the halls from above started to echo inside the dungeons, breaking the sleep and reverie of some of the other prisoners, eventually erupting into a massive yell which burst powerfully inside the eerily calm prison. A whole contingent of people and some soldiers descended into the dungeon, going past every cell. Where were the prison guards? Where was the officer?


    Drawing a deep breath, Balian yelled in the dungeon and waved his hands.


    "Open the door, please! Break the locks if you must!"

    The guard looked for a moment towards them contemptuously, contemplating whether to help them or not. Deciding on the former, he rushed towards their lock, shattering it into small pieces as it broke upon the massive impact with his axe. Raymond did not waste a single second and burst through the opening, with Amalric and Balian immediately following in his footsteps. As they exited the dungeon itself, they realised they had lost the track of time. It was almost late evening, with the sun decidedly set, imprisoned as they were for more than a couple of hours in the dungeon.


    But to their surprise, they were surrounded again. This time by Galatan citizens, torches in hand, advancing through the streets of the quarter in open rebellion against the Podesta himself. Raymond and Amalric quickly dove into the side streets, but Balian was rather unceremoniously shoved aside when they realised he was not one of the Galatan citizens.


    “What is going on?” asked Balian one of the men, wrestling himself from the pushes of the citizens.

    “A merchant revolt! We cannot handle the Podesta any longer, we want him overthrown!” shouted a short, skinny man with a felt hat ornating his head.

    It all made sense now, Raymond thought. The ridiculous monetary policies the Genoese bankers were exerting on the merchants and artisans started to cause civil unrest, and much to his chagrin, it came at the perfect moment. He signalled to Balian and Amalric, the three entering a deserted alley that was adjacent to the main boulevard.

    “This is our chance. We march towards the Galata tower, take whatever we need, and rush out of here!” whispered Raymond.

    “Do you realise the dangers we face? The merchants will think we are one of the palace guards, and to get inside the palace guards will have to be defeated by us! We don't even have our swords!” replied Balian.

    “Balian, do you want to succeed? We either go inside and take what is ours or else we might return to Avignon and become simple peasants.”

    “But before any of that happens, we need to get our swords back. At least,” said Amalric.

    The swords. Their vital piece of equipment was now gone, so they had no other choice than to return to the dungeon. The empty prison now had every door and portico broken or destroyed apart from the one they needed the most. In a coordinated kick, the three smashed the door towards the quartermaster's storage room. Small but filled with weapons, the three had more than a wide choice to choose from. Once more, luck smiled to them, and in one corner their swords were neatly arranged one near the other, resting against the wall.


    Back outside, clutching his sword's grip as tightly as he could, Amalric finally erupted and drew his sword in front of the two men. He looked at them as if he would be looking at his enemies and left for the tower, marching along with the merchants at a steady pace as if he was on a military parade, proud of his achievements. The other two reluctantly joined Amalric, trying to keep up with his frantic pace through the streets and through the revolted citizens. Uncomfortable but without any other choice, Balian and Raymond had to endure the looks of everyone as they marched on the street alongside the rioters, Amalric's stature drawing side glances and dubious looks from the protesters.


    As the group closed in on the Podesta's palace, Amalric slowed down somewhat and grabbed one of the merchants that lagged, dragging him with no shame to the corner of a building. He pulled out the sword and edged the blade close to the man's neck, who was visibly frightened by the sight of the imposing knight.

    “How do we enter the tower without the guards spotting us? Your leaders must have told you,” Amalric asked.

    “You, you, go, go, go to the tower, and enter through the building on its right. Only a few guards are stationed, but there is an underground tunnel leading inside that will lead you to the stairs that will end up in the Podesta's cabinet and personal quarters. That is what I have been told."


    "Is that it?"


    The man nodded, shaking. "Nothing more! Release me, I beg you!”

    Amalric dropped the man to the ground, who did not even have the courage to look up. They reached the small, village-like fortifications surrounding the tower and the adjacent buildings, protected by heavily armoured guards. Raymond immediately spotted a cubic house with only a single floor extending to the left of the tower, with only three guards armed with spears and heavy shields protecting the entrance. The merchants were stirring up the masses inside and they were thankful as the guards' attention was diverted towards the civil unrest rather than three suspicious strangers looking through the gates towards the building.


    As they hoped, the cube was rather empty, but not in the way they expected. The cube was entirely devoid on the inside, with no floors, furniture or even people. It was an empty cube of a house and Raymond still had some doubts whether this was actually of any use. A cubic house, empty and deserted, with only twelve wine barrels, dusty and forgotten in a corner their owners. There were no floors inside, the windows on the first floor were there for decoration. Any sound they made echoed rather strongly between the four walls. A screeching sound soon boomed inside the cube, forcing Raymond to turn towards Balian who was pushing a trap door.


    "Is this what we're looking for?" asked Balian.


    Raymond looked down through the opening. "Not quite. I was more expecting to go inside the Podesta's house, but this will do."


    "Any idea where this goes?"


    Raymond brushed his beard. "Back to Constantinople. It cannot lead anywhere else. Grab a torch or two from outside and let's go."


    The Podesta's tunnel was narrow and nothing much could be seen inside the pitch-black darkness without a close-up with a torch. Every discernible object inside it was covered with different substances of unknown provision that emanated a rancid smell, making it a heavy assault on their nostrils. Neither of them even dared to touch the items, even out of simple curiosity. The stench was hardly bearable, but then again, so were the other substances inside. Raymond and the brothers ignored everything around them, shutting down their senses as they blocked any avenue of distraction that might lose their focus. They advanced slowly through the muck and peered up every couple of meters, spotting numerous air vents that led towards the basement or the underground of the Podesta's building. Underneath the building itself, the Templars stopped, inhaling deeply the new smell. It certainly changed the atmosphere, and the difference was easily discernible.

    “They are burning items, either in the house or in the tower. And somehow the smell is so powerful it reaches the shaft we are in.”

    Nudging forward, the three continued their journey until they reached a crossroad inside the tunnel, with a barely visible iron ladder just in front of them. They stopped and looked around, but there seemed to be no one, and there were no sounds apart from their mail chausses dipping inside. The three advanced further, peering carefully around for anything suspicious. Once again, there seemed to be no one except them, so Raymond grabbed the ladder and looked up the shaft. The knight shook it hard, but it seemed locked in place, immovable and well built. Satisfied, he turned to his brothers.

    “Alright, we need to think. Most of the guards are out on the streets taking care of the protesters. I do not like to say this, but we must split up if we were to achieve our goals. Amalric and Balian, distract the guards outside and join the merchants in the revolt. Stir them up if you must."


    "And you?" asked Balian.


    "I must go up and deal with the Podesta's men and take what we need from his own library. If I can find anything of use, that is.”

    “You are not going alone brother,” countered Balian.

    “It is clear for me that we have been followed even once more, and the spies have reported the actions to their leaders. All of Philip's allies know about us, and Genoa has always been a faithful ally of the French kingdom. And since the officer told us the Podesta knows what we are after, we have been betrayed by someone. I am not risking your life to reach our objective, so it is best if I go by myself to resolve this issue.”

    “You are still not going alone,” warned Amalric.

    “Somebody must go up. We will easily be spotted if we go two of us outside.”

    “Then one of us will come,” countered Balian.

    “I shall let Balian go with you,” said Amalric.

    Raymond took notice of Amalric's tone. “And where will you be in this case?”

    “Outside. The merchants already consider me one of them, so I might as well prove my fighting prowess against the Podesta's guards. That way I can engage in some fighting before the real ones get thrown at us.”

    Balian shuddered and looked shocked towards his brother, his eyes widening greatly. Amalric let out a low chuckle, seemingly amused by the knight's reaction. He gave a quick wink to Balian and shifted his gaze towards Raymond. Without much of a choice, he bowed to Amalric to signal his approval of the plan, despite the fierce objections roaming inside his head.

    “Alright. Go, Amalric, we shall see you at the gates in two clocks. If we do not come, leave without us. You know where to go,” replied Raymond.

    “I shall come after you. We fail together if we must.”

    Raymond nodded but ignored the remark as he bode farewell to Amalric, who wasted no time and turned the corner in the tunnel. Now alone, Raymond pointed towards the ladder and started the climb, making sure Balian was behind him.

    “Let us go, Balian. Draw your sword close to your chest and be careful.”
    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  8. #48
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    The 'kind suggestion' is an ominous moment. The revolt provides a useful opportunity, but I'm still on the edge of my seat, wondering what will happen to Raymond and his companions.

  9. #49
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Thank you Alwyn.

    More chapters will follow soon, as I do their edits. Long way to go until the final chapter that is Chapter 42!
    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

    Total War Org - https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/

    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

    Visit ROMANIA! A land of beauty and culture!

  10. #50
    Basileos Leandros I's Avatar Writing is an art
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    Default Re: A Painted Shield of Honour

    Chapter XVI - On the Offensive

    -----
    Afternoon
    Late October 1313
    Galata Quarter
    Constantinople
    Byzantine Empire



    Scraping sounds reverberated in the tunnel as the two unsheathed their swords, Raymond wincing in anticipation of retaliation. Fortunately for them, the only retaliation they received was silence. There was no one with them. And most of their sounds were muffled by the ruckus in the quarter. Wary, Raymond and Balian climbed the ladder towards the opening overlooking the main lower floor hall of the Galata tower. With no soul above them, Raymond grabbed the handrail of the iron stairs tightly with one hand, sword in the other, and pushed aside with the side of his clenched fist the covering that blocked their way. Encountering resistance, Raymond smashed the cover with the hilt of his sword, knocking it out of its hinges with a loud crashing sound that rang in his ears. The shield used to cover the opening broke into small bits littering the marble floor of the tower.

    Raymond peeked through the opening.

    “Surprising.”

    “What is?” asked Balian.

    He did not reply. They climbed out of the shaft and stood for a couple of seconds idle, expecting at least a guard to come forwards and check up on the sounds. No one. The two sheathed their swords back in their scabbards. Raymond motioned with his head.

    "Seems clear. At least for the moment. Let's move, Balian."

    Nodding, Balian lurched forward into the hall of the tower, at the same time as a guard sprang from the other corner, right in front of them. For a couple of moments, the guard stood pinned to his spot, his mouth agape, unsure of what to make of the two armoured intruders in the tower. Balian reacted faster than Raymond, leaping to the guard's neck with his sword and slashing the man's jugular faster than he could even manage to switch his neck's position. Cushioned by the Templar, the man fell to the ground with a soft thud on the marble floor.

    “I did not like it, but I had to,” whispered Balian.

    Raymond did not reply. He placed a hand on Balian's shoulder and urged him forwards. To their right, they noticed a large door blocking the entrance inside the hall, which Raymond suspected was locked from the outside rather than inside. The round handle of the door peered through the shadows, as did the unsprung lock, but neither of them wanted to test the door. Balian motioned with his fingers around the tower.

    “Do we take care of the guards now or do we do it once we come back?”

    “Forget about them for the moment. They are locked outside, they cannot get in and help the other guards. Upstairs is what we are looking for. Follow me closely, and be on the lookout for any other guards.”

    With one quick, sweeping glance of the surroundings, Raymond realised the actual tower was only a wider and shorter copy of the Byzantine tower located at the south-eastern tip of the Galatan colony. It was a simple guarding tower used by the Genoese Podesta to make himself look more important in the faces of his subjects. It was not a square-shaped keep, nor was it as tall or as fortified as a citadel tower, but it provided protection whenever it was needed. They raced up the stairs and rapidly reached the first level, the dormitories of the guards judging by the items inside the chambers. Three other guards were sleeping soundly inside so there was no need for any disturbance unless they were looking for a fight. Motioning forward, Raymond and Balian left the floor and headed up the stairs once again, just about to reach the second level when they heard loud words coming from inside the dormitories.

    One of the doors however was slightly ajar, piquing Raymond's curiosity. Glancing through the door slit, Raymond could see no one until Balian barged him intentionally forwards, ending up both in full view of an armed guard with a tall, sharp halberd in his hands. Before both parties could fully comprehend the situation, a small puncture opened in the guard's neck that sent him sprawling to the ground with a soft thud. Raymond turned towards Balian in shock, only to see him smile mischievously and raise into view a small brown tube.

    “What is that? Where did you get it from?” whispered Raymond.

    “It's called a solenarion. A Byzantine invention, I bought it from one of the Greek sailors who were on the ship with us while we were heading towards Rome. He desperately needed some money so he sold me this. He also taught me how to use it.”

    “It resembles a tube.”

    “It is supposed to shoot small arrows with the help of a bow, as an arrow guide, but he reconfigured it when he saw some Venetian swashbuckler use the same method. Take the bolt, slide it inside the tube, and blow. The length of the tube ensures some accuracy, but more than a couple of meters it will not go.”

    “Alright. Let us leave fast, I do not want the guards to see us when they discover their man.”

    Returning to the spiral stairs of the small tower, Raymond raced to the top level and found himself in front of a large unlocked iron door. As Raymond peered through the door, Balian looked around but could only see blank white walls, the spiral stairs and a small oval-shaped window a couple of meters up on the wall where nobody could reach it. It was the only light that entered the tower on this floor, but luckily for them, the sun was shining brightly enough to eliminate the need for a torch.

    Glancing with one eye through the opening, Raymond could see one man with his back turned, dressed in ceremonial attire. Presumably, it was the Podesta himself but to Raymond's dismay, the man was not alone. He was flanked by two guards pacing the far corner of the chamber, sometimes advancing only a couple of paces away from the door. Ceremonious, the man turned around and easily paced through the chamber. Raymond could now see that he attentively examined a leather-bound book with gold insertions on the cover, a wide smile pursing his lips. The guards stepped away from the Podesta, heading towards the door that led to the stone balcony overlooking the Golden Horn, the opening right ahead of the Templars' position.

    Raymond shook his head to Balian.

    “Draw your sword and pass me the dagger.”

    Raymond took Balian's dagger and closed in on the opening. With his fingers clenched on the side of the blade, he threw the dagger towards the podesta but missed rather spectacularly, the sharp blade smashing into the stained glass beside the balcony door. The odd scraping sound drew the guards' attention but the Templars managed to squeeze through the door and hide in the left corner, shielded from open view by wooden racks filled with leather-bound books. In the opposite corner of the room, a rectangular wooden table held two potter amphorae placed atop, surrounded by pieces of hardened bread and bits of some kind of cooked meat beside it.

    Raymond glanced as the guards returned moments later, baffled at the sudden apparition of a silver dagger that smashed into the window of the office. Behind the amphorae, the Podesta himself looked rather crestfallen, his face a ghastly white with beads of sweat appearing at his grey temples. His hands were shaking and he was forced to put down the book he had in his hands to prevent it from crashing to the floor.

    "They don't seem to understand. They think it's from the protests, someone threw a dagger at his office," said Raymond.

    "What do we do with him? He's not a problem we want to deal with."

    “Distract him to his chamber and we lock him out. That way we have enough time to explore this whole place.”

    Raymond switched his positioned and tip-toed forwards, his head crouched beside the wooden racks, drawing closer and closer to the guards. As he closed in, the Podesta waved off the guards and retreated to his chamber, leaving the two armed men for him and Balian to deal with. All alone, the guards did not notice the incoming threat. The Templars were only a few feet away from them and had the element of surprise.

    In splendid coordination, Raymond and Balian burst from the cover of the racks and charged toward the two guards. With both of them turned towards the broken glass and balcony, the Templars had no issue in downing them rather easily. Remembering there was still one more task to do, Balian rushed towards the door and closed it shut, destroying the lock by a simple sword blow that jammed it outside of its position. With the Podesta and the guards now out of the way, they had a free hand.

    Raymond blocked the entrance to the apartment from the tower and went straight for the nearest bookshelf, hoping to find something of use. To his right, Balian took a moment and stepped outside onto the balcony, the breathtaking view too enticing to refuse for Balian. The whole splendour of Constantinople unravelled before his eyes, the natural port of the Golden Horn a bustling space filled with ships coming and leaving at an astonishing rate. The Bosphorus strait itself was filled with numerous warships and merchant galleys waiting to enter the other ports of Constantinople, manoeuvre space at a premium for every vessel ready to unload its cargo. Going to the edge of the balcony, Balian tightly gripped the iron rails as his heart sank inside him. He felt an invisible hand choke him slowly, an iron fist closing around his neck like the tightest of ropes, the sight shattering the calm moments from before.

    “Raymond! Amalric is in the midst of the battle with the Genoese guards!”

    Raymond dropped the golden book he held and rushed to the edge of the balcony, only to see that Balian's loud rasping was true to the word. It was not hard to spot Amalric's imposing stature delivering quick blows to each side as he tried to break the organised line of the Genoese guards. The more blows he lashed out, the more blows he received in return. At the existing pace, he was slowly crumbling underneath the organised defence of the hardened warriors in the pay of the Genoese, and with him whittling between the guards, the rebellion gave way as well. The merchants were no match for the guards even with Amalric's inspired leadership.

    “Rush!” shouted Balian.

    Raymond wavered for a couple of moments.

    “Somebody must look for the document while we are gone!”

    Raymond nodded. “We do it together. And we do it now. I know it is hard, but Amalric can manage it for himself for the time being. And the faster we do it, the faster we can help him. Move now!”

    Balian barged back inside the apartment and started scurrying all over the racks and shelves placed all over, skipping every book title to check whether it was the right one. Tens of minutes passed without any success until Raymond decided they needed a different approach. Balian let out a sigh of relief and looked toward his brother.

    “Most probably it is in a large and carefully decorated book that contains the political advancements of the Genoese republic. Check with care, it must be here.”

    Another couple of minutes agonizingly passed as they scoured through the racks. Nothing. It was either hidden, or it was not to be there. Balian's voice eventually broke Raymond's thoughts and the constant rattle from outside as well.

    “I found it,” replied Balian triumphantly.

    Raymond moved to Balian and looked closer at a somewhat worn red leather-bound book embroidered with gold letters that spelt out Respublica Genoa in Latin. They opened the heavy collection of treaties and scanned every vellum page with care until they found what they needed. The Genoese treaty dealt with the Templar Knights.

    “Genoese treaties, all the copies. The original is in Genoa most likely, but a copy that is reproduced exactly as the original will work for us.”

    “How sure are we this is going to help us?” asked Balian, somewhat suspicious regarding the real value of the treaty in front of them.

    “We have nothing better. We had to take something from Constantinople, and since there is nothing we could gain from these Romans, it had to be our old partners the Genoese. Take it, and keep it with the rest inside your garments for safekeeping.”

    “The whole book?” said Balian, rather surprised.

    “Rip the original treaty apart. Or cut it with the dagger so there will be no edges. Roll it carefully and slide it inside.”

    Balian took the dagger from his brother's hand and ripped the treaty apart, sliding the document with the utmost care into a small pouch underneath his armour. They scurried out of the Podesta's apartment and descended the stairs slowly and without any sound, checking every floor to see if the guards woke up and were on patrol. No soul in their way, they rushed to the entrance of the tower only to find the door broken at its hinges and the lock crushed into small bits by axe blows. Raymond frowned as he took a closer look at the sheared metal. It offered him no clues but it did tell him no one else was around, and as the situation shaped up, the merchant revolt was more than a simple uprising by now.

    Apart from a couple of sounds coming from the main boulevard which were probably from the rioters, everything else was silent. Only the seagulls were roaming around the mansion grounds, shrieking their playful wails from the top of the roofs they sat atop. Not waiting to be told to leave the place, Raymond and Balian sped up until they ended back in the side streets of the Genoese colony beside a large tavern that was bustling with people. They were safe for the moment, but they had to find Amalric.

    Leaving the tavern behind, they reached the main boulevard of the Genoese colony once again. Raymond spotted the large gathering of people coming towards them but did not discern much because of the distance. He did not realise what was going on until he felt his hand pulled heavily from behind that nearly threw him to the ground.

    “Run!” yelled Balian.

    Raymond had no idea what was going on and where to head, but he followed Balian without any questions. Balian somehow was running with incredible speed, Raymond barely able to keep up the pace on the narrow streets lining up cubic houses on one side and imposing Roman-style villas on the other. Balian stopped in his tracks and glanced around, spotting an old mansion between the villas that looked like a derelict ship about to sink. The boulevard was to their left, parallel with the narrow street they ran through, along with the house. He smashed the wooden door of the broken houses with the edgy handle of his sword and dragged Raymond inside, leading him to the first floor of the building. The whole house was deserted except for the shattered planks of wood, pottery and other items that littered the damp floor.

    "Alright, explain. You nearly threw me off the ground. What are we doing here?" asked Raymond.

    "Genoese guards. Those you saw. You know, the ones you did not react to. If we do not find Amalric soon we're going to be leaving this place just me and you."

    "Fair."

    Panting heavily, Raymond drew closer to the windows. He scanned the rows of houses but also kept a close watch on the ever-approaching contingent of guards who by that time were banging their swords and axes against their shields.

    “I hear it. Can you see him anywhere?”

    “I saw him from the balcony, and in that case, it was to our left. The guards are approaching from our right, and there is a possibility we might end up fighting the guards as well along with the rioting merchants. We are trapped in between them.”

    "Alright. Any other ideas?"

    "None. We fight both. Or find a way to just get Amalric out of it."

    “So it is. March!”

    Balian and Raymond raced down the stairs and out of the house, crossing the main boulevard, rather strangely devoid of people. They took to the side streets parallel with the boulevard on the right, running between houses, inns and taverns that were packed with people instigating a full revolt against the Genoese legate. With each street they passed and each person they knocked from their path, their desperation grew bigger and bigger as neither of them could see Amalric. Their lungs protested with each stride, their breathing aching their throats and their legs not far from buckling under the stress of the streets either. They wandered for another couple of minutes until they reached the entrance of the port, swarmed by a large group of merchants and the militias who joined their side were planning their attack on the Genoese guards. Raymond approached one of the merchants and hailed him, only to notice it was the same merchant who Amalric brusquely approached beforehand.

    “Have you seen the tall knight somewhere in these areas?”

    “Th-the one that has fought the guards with the merchants? The one that approached me before?” replied the merchant.

    The fear was visible in his grey eyes. He banked his whole body to the left and away from Raymond, afraid of any other aggressions.

    “Yes.”

    The merchant nodded, his voice almost a screeching yell.

    “He has disappeared after the fight was over, he headed for the main gate. He is injured!”

    He yanked his hand from Raymond's grip and slid away from the two knights as fast as he could. Raymond frowned. If Amalric had indeed left for the gate, then there would be no chance of them finding him before the guards got to him.

    “We go towards the guards. No other way. And look at the buildings and on each street, no matter how long it is.”

    Unseen and unheard, desperation slowly crept inside their minds. Once they closed in enough to the guards, Raymond and Balian could see the Genoese soldiers as they posted roadblocks and dealt with resistance pockets that were hurling stones and molten oil toward them from the rooftops of the houses. Fights erupted between the armed rioters and the soldiers who only managed to give more time to the knights in their frantic search.

    But they found Amalric, with a good dose of luck, much to their relief.

    Amalric rested against the corner of a building at the crossroads of the main boulevard, his face white as milk and his only eyes half open from the misery he was enduring. A gashing wound spread from his abdomen just over the appendix, a battle mark that impeded his movement and eventually forced him to drop to the floor at the corner of the building. Amalric ripped his tunic apart and knot it tightly around the wound in a makeshift attempt but it was not strong enough to contain the bleeding. Balian stood down and pressed against his wound, Amalric returning to his senses for a couple of moments. His sword was gone, and his face was full of bruises. He did not react when the Templars came to his side, and it took him some effort to even utter words.

    “Water,” said Amalric in a faint voice. “I want water...”

    “No, it will only make it worse. Can you walk?”

    A couple of long seconds passed agonizingly. “Yes, barely.”

    “We have to go back to Constantinople until he is ready to fight once more.”

    “I can fight,” protested Amalric.

    “Not by a long league. Let us head towards Constantinople and we see after what we shall do.”

    “And how do we deal with the guards? They will block our way path at the gate,” replied Balian.

    “Take the port. We can find a ship that transits Galata and Constantinople.”

    To their relief, and with Amalric on their shoulders, the Galatan port was untroubled by guards and it was certainly no longer swarmed by merchants either. Shortly before darkness set in, the three arrived in Constantinople, with Amalric in a worse and worse state with every minute that passed. With some disapproving grunts, the monks tending to the city hospital beside the Hagia Sophia took him in for treatment. With Amalric now in the hands of the monks, Balian signalled Raymond and the two left Amalric in the hospital for the night, heading back into the streets that were now almost empty.

    “At least he is in a safe place now. Should we go back to the inn we visited yesterday? I am sure the keeper would be more than delighted to see us,” said Balian.

    “Good idea. Let us go to it, we need to regain our powers until tomorrow.”

    They found the inn rather easily, by now accustomed to the streets of Constantinople, entering the now broken door only to find the innkeeper collapsed on the counter. The man was snoring loudly beside a couple of broken bottles of wine smashed to pieces just a few inches from his head. Raymond slowly came to him and gently placed a hand on him, shaking him enough to open his eyes cobwebbed from the deep sleep. Confused and dazzled by the sudden apparition of the men, the innkeeper brightened his jovial expression upon the sight of his favourite guests as much as he could but it was evident the dormant nature got the best of him.

    Balian smiled at him. “May we have a room for the night in your inn?”

    “Yes, yes, please go upstairs! We shall talk about the pay tomorrow morning!”

    “Thank you.”


    ****
    Ja mata, TosaInu. Forever remembered.

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    Swords Made of Letters - 1938. The war is looming over France - and Alexandre Reythier does not have much time left to protect his country. A finished novel, published on TWC.

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