The Crusader's Crown (Tales of the Brotherhood Series Book 1) James Mercer (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📖

   “Sir Robert, I was hoping I would see you. The lady Selva said you were attending to other matters.”

   “Please friend Christoph. Robert will more than suffice,” he replied.

   “Very well. Many of the men speak highly of your valour and past deeds,” he began hesitantly.

   “Much of that has been down to a little luck, and most of all the men who fought beside me.”

   “Maybe, but still, amongst my people we honour the tradition of a life debt and that is why I am beholden to you.”

  Robert had heard of life debts before. They were similar to the tradition of the oath sworn by Saxon and Dane warriors.

   “Please Christoph, no life debt is necessary. Many would have done what I did.”

   “That may be true. But it was you and your Commander who gave hope to men who were past despair, myself included.”

   “You honour me with your words Christoph.”

   “It is said that you lead the Commander’s scouting party?”

   “I do,” Robert answered curiously.

   “I would ask to join you and your men?”

  Robert noticed that Selva was smiling.

   “It is not my decision who rides with me. That decision rests with the Commander and his captains and you have sworn an oath to serve the Forgotten Army.”

   “I have already spoken with the captain Hamish.”

   “Really? You are a braver man than most. Most men try and avoid him for his short temper,” Robert said with a laugh.

   “He said that if you would accept me then he would grant me my wish to serve in your scouting party.”

  Robert paused, slightly taken aback. He had watched Sir Roger sit and listen to men offer their sword and swear fealty back in Bridgenorth, but had never expected a man to do so to him in the Commander’s mercenary army.

   “Oh for fuck’s sake Rob. Just accept the man’s offer and go get us some grub. It’s your turn to cook and I’m on sentry duty tonight,” came Jimmy’s voice from their tent.

  Selva laughed at the interruption.

   “Very well Christoph, I accept your offer gladly. Fetch your things and join us. You can have my cot for the time being. But I warn you that your companion snores like a hog and farts like a bullock.”

  His proclamation brought a laugh from Jimmy and Christoph and a slap on the arm from Selva. The once sergeant-at-arms left to retrieve his things from Godfrey’s section of the camp. That was where all the new recruits started until the armourer or the Commander decided where they would be best suited.

  Robert undid his belt, freeing him of the weight of his sword and dagger. Stretching his arms high in the air with a yawn he sat upon one of the three crates which surrounded the black remnants of the previous night’s fire.

   “You are still tired?” asked Selva.

   “I am. But that is part of war.”

   “You need not worry about food; I have already started to prepare a meal for you and your sleeping hog.”

   “You needn’t do that.”

   “Why? You need to eat and I need to keep busy. There will be enough for your friends as well.”

   Considering the endless noise beyond the camp, the evening was a pleasant affair. The night was mild and the warmth of a fire not needed. A large, delicious smelling pot of stew bubbled enticingly over the flames, and the food was more than welcomed when Selva started to fill bowls for the men. As well as Robert and Jimmy, they had been joined by Guy, Athaelstan, Ridley, Christoph, and surprisingly Ruscar. The Moor usually enjoyed his solitude, but when the maiden offered him a bowl of the stew he had smiled and joined the small gathering, if not a little further away from them.

  The food was a hearty concoction of meat, vegetables and some sort of wheat. The men licked the spoons clean, complimenting and thanking her on a fine meal. It saddened Robert for a moment, for the memories of such a meal reminded him of Wilfred. As deadly and brave a warrior as he was, he had also had a skill of making a flavoursome meal out of almost anything.

  Finishing their food, a wineskin was passed around the group and the men started to question Christoph about his past, asking how he had ended up in the hands of the Almohads.

   “I served under the banner of the Earl of Leicester, Simon de Montfort,” he began.

   “Montfort. Wasn’t he one of the generals we followed over those bloody walls at Constantinople?” asked Jimmy.

   “Aye, that he was,” answered Robert.

   “So you were at Constantinople as well?” Ridley asked Christoph.

   “No. I was left to guard his lands while he took the cross.”

   “A lot of good that did him,” said Jimmy.

   “For the Lord’s sake will you lot shut up and let the man speak. Please continue Master Christoph, I for one am intrigued?” said Athaelstan.

   “After Constantinople the Earl returned to France. He was soon sent to Languedoc under the orders of King Philip Augustus to join the Crusade against the Cathars.”

  Robert’s ears pricked up. Such news may prove useful, he thought.

   “I was sent south when I was captured. They killed half of my men and the rest of us were taken as slaves. We were taken to the coast where we were sold to the slave traders. Back then we were still strong men and could wield an oar better than most on those cursed ships.”

  He stopped a moment and Robert recognised the look. It was the look of a man who was seeing