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

   “We ended up on one of the Caliph’s vessels and then maybe a year back some of the other slaves and I were taken from the ship. We were given the dubious honour of where you found us that day.”

   “Your men?” asked Ridley.

   “The last of them, Ranulph, died at the oars, a year before I was taken to join the Caliph’s circle of slaves.”

   “A sad tale,” said Athaelstan. “How did you keep your sanity?”

   “Faith. I knew that one day I would find freedom. I just never thought it would be in such terrible circumstances.”

   “Well, hopefully you can soon pay them back for their cruelties,” said Jimmy.

   “If I learnt anything while a slave, it is that I will only kill an enemy with a sword in his hand, intent on killing me or those by my side.”

   “An honourable pledge Christoph, but not one that is so easily kept,” said Robert, getting to his feet.

  Bidding his friends and comrades goodnight he disappeared into the darkness.

   “Did I say something to offend?” asked Christoph worriedly.

   “Amongst such a band of butchers like us, regardless of the code we follow, Rob is easily the most honourable of us all. But his past is not a pleasant one,” said Jimmy.

   “I heard that he once killed a priest?” asked Guy hesitantly.

   “The man he killed was no servant of your God,” came the deep voice of Ruscar. “He deserved the fate that came to him.”

   “Why?” asked Ridley.

   “Bastard raped his sister when she was just a little girl,” said Jimmy. “Rob drove a blade right through the man’s black heart. Aye our Rob’s an honourable man but ‘e’s merciless when it comes to it.”

*****

Robert woke the next morning with Selva close beside him. Slowly easing away from her, he quickly dressed and left the tent, making his way to meet with Reynard. The Commander looked an impressive sight when he came into view. Just like Robert, his surcoat had been washed and scrubbed until it looked almost new. The battle scarred combatant who usually looked like any other warrior in his band of mercenaries looked the honourable knight that he truly was.

   “Not often you make such an effort to impress,” said Robert.

   “Not often we have to go and see a King is it?”

  Alfonso soon arrived, but instead of his armour and surcoat he had donned one of his many outfits that made him look more a noble gentleman than warrior.

   “Shall we be off then?” he said jovially.

  The three of them left the confines of the Forgotten Army’s camp and walked to the grand quarters of King Sancho.

   “So, Hamish tells me that the freed sergeant-at-arms, Christoph, has asked to join your retinue?” said Reynard.

   “So it seems,” shrugged Robert, pretending it meant little to him. He was still slightly surprised by what had happened the previous day and needed time to take it in.

   “I think it not long that soon you will have enough men to follow your own banner.”

   “The Forgotten Army’s banner suits me fine.”

   “The Forgotten Army is but a crowd of skilled killers. Better to have your own men-at-arms,” said Alfonso.

   “I shall think on it. So do you have any idea what the King wants to discuss with you?” asked Robert, eager to change the topic.

   “No idea. Other than the odd messenger coming to the camp to tell the Commander that we were to stay put, we’ve heard nothing,” answered Alfonso.

  They knew they were nearing the Royal headquarters of the Navarrese King as the tents became more flamboyant. The nobles would never change. Whether they be fearless on the battlefield or not, most could not help themselves by showing off their wealth and privilege. Turning a corner they saw the front of the vast tent. The royal banners which were mounted on poles had been planted in the ground and beside them stood the personal guard of the King. There were even more than the last time Robert had visited.

   “Reynard,” said Alfonso, nodding towards a collection of fine looking horses.

  Almost every mount’s reigns was being held by a squire. Robert could not distinguish the crests that were stamped upon their tunics, although there was one emblem that looked familiar to Robert, one that he had seen charge across the plain at Tolosa. As well as the squires, these horses also wore the coat-of-arms on their trappings.

   “I think we may be in for a surprise,” said the Commander.

   “A surprise indeed,” added Alfonso.

  They announced themselves to one of the guards who turned and disappeared into the tent. Soon enough, Alfonso’s old friend, Sir Diego Perez appeared.

   “Still alive then my friend?” smiled the King’s advisor, in his local tongue.

   “That I am Diego, but alas I cannot wield a sword as I once could. Age is catching me up too fast.”

   “For you and I both,” he replied.

   “Sir Reynard, Sir Robert, forgive my rudeness,” he said in their own language.

   “No apology necessary my lord, you are well I trust?” said the Commander.

   “Well enough considering our situation. Come, the King awaits us.”

  As they wandered through the small maze within the tent Sir Diego continued to talk.

   “Rumour has it you made quite an impression after the battle Sir Robert,” he said.

   “An impression?” asked Robert curiously.

   “The King himself spoke of how you and Sir Reynard were the first to approach the chained slaves that surrounded the headquarters of the Caliph.”

   “Such behaviour is truly the action of a coward,” replied Robert.

   “That it is. Now, if you will be so good as to