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

   “There he is,” said Anzac.

  Sir Aguillard Chevalier had honoured his word and shown no sign of hostility ever since they had left Toledo. However the cleric and the knight had had no doubt that the Order servant would try an escape before the tortures began.

  The prisoner reached the postern gate that was just in sight of where they stood. Slowly easing open the heavy doorway he slipped out and sped into the night. A few minutes passed before half a dozen figures appeared from the undergrowth and trees and followed the knight into darkness.

   “You’re sure your men will be able to keep him in their sights?”

   “We’ll soon find out.”

   “Not the most reassuring answer Bernard,” said a frustrated Schaffer.

   “Frederick, the blood spilt tonight is worth the risk. Have we not stayed in the shadows long enough? The fall of Di’ Vinere and the death of Count Henri is still to be avenged. The Master of the Keys and more of our fallen Brothers have now joined that list.

  “The time has come to discover the lair of the Order, and if the men do lose him on his journey to join them, well, so be it. But Alexander Pierron will still hear from one of his own followers that yet again, the Brotherhood has prevented him from taking hold of another Treasure of Christ.”

  The two stood in silence for a few minutes before Schaffer spoke again.

   “So what next?”

   “We do as we agreed. By now Sir Edward and Sir Guillame should have hidden the other two quarters in the locations agreed. Now it is up to us to hide away our own.”

  Anzac gently patted the satchel which had hardly left his side since they had first recovered it. It had been Sir Edward’s idea and now only four men in Christendom knew what had been done.

  Before reaching Toledo, the Crown had been cut into four. Two pieces had been given to Sir Edward and Sir Guillame, while the other two remained with Anzac and Sir Frederick. They had been more than reluctant at first, Fitzbois full of terror that such an act could well curse them forever. But they believed that if brought together once more, its power would be fully restored.

  Others within the Brotherhood may have disapproved of their actions but such a risk meant that the Order or any other organisation seeking power would never succeed in uniting all four pieces.

*****

Bridgenorth Castle, England, November, 1212

The harsh wind hurled itself against the castle’s strong walls. Many of the household had predicted a cold winter ahead. Jennifer sat near the fire staring into the flames. A small unfinished tapestry sat on her lap, the pattern was an image of the coat-of arms of Spurling that she and Kate had sewn on to Robert’s surcoat. Her son Thomas was sitting on the wolf skin rug which lay on the floor. In his hand was the wooden figure of a mounted knight on a horse, carved and painted by his uncle. Nathanial had a talent for such things.

  She briefly smiled as she watched him playing and then looked back at the scroll that had arrived that day. The castle’s steward had given it to her after he had read its contents himself. She had been reassured by Sir Roger that she could trust the man and she had grown fond of him over the years as if he were family.

  The news in the letter however had dampened any happiness at that moment. It contained a summons for a representative of the castle to attend a gathering of the northern barons to discuss the coming offensive against the man who called himself King of England and Duke of Normandy.

  Nathanial had been awarded the title of constable and charged by Robert to protect the estate and castle of the Montgomerys in his absence. He had fulfilled his duty and the borders of the Montgomery lands had been peaceful and happy. He had trained every able-bodied man and boy the basics of swordsmanship and all were familiar with the English war bow. If it came to a fight and the local villages had to seek refuge in the castle, with their full larders and good supplies, they would be able to hold out for a long time.

  However with such a summons, she knew Nathanial would not be accepted as a substitute representative. Her lineage, as Robert’s half-sister, also made her unsuitable, as well as being completely unfamiliar with such matters of state.

  She looked up at the sword that hung above the fire place. It had belonged to Sir Roger and was similar to the magnificent broadsword which was strapped to Jupiter’s saddle. She sighed and took one last look at the letter. War was coming to the land and she needed her brother back.

Languedoc, December, 1212

The mounted company looked down on the grand city ahead of them. They had come to a stop when they had reached the top of the rise of the hill which looked upon the western walls of the city of Carcassonne. There was timber scaffolding both outside and in where the city’s fortifications were being repaired since the Cathar capital had fallen to the crusade led by Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.

  Robert glanced to his left to see Sir Tomas look upon the city where he had seen so many of his comrades die and his people massacred. On their journey the knight had spoken of the village of Minerve where one hundred and forty Cathars were burned alive because they refused to renounce their beliefs.

  The castle walls were a steel grey unlike those of the Iberian Peninsula which had blended with the sand coloured cliffs and