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

when he is told that you have declared a conflict with Commander Reynard Sancerre of the Forgotten Army?” asked the captain.

  In seconds, the young knight’s face had turned from red to a pale yellow. The knights and men-at-arms behind him started to murmur to one another nervously. Like so many, they too had heard of the mercenary horde and their Commander.

   “Now Sir Jean-Claude, shall we start again? I ask respectfully, why do you ride north?”

It was nearly an hour before the captain and his escort returned. The Commander had watched throughout as the two parties met and saw Alfonso ride towards the main body of the procession alone with one other. All the while the vast column of men had continued to slowly traipse north.

   “By God, you took your time man,” said the Commander, on their arrival.

   “Apologies Commander. We had to contend with a silver-spooned little prick before I was introduced to their own commanders,” replied Alfonso.

   “You were there so long with the prick, I’m surprised he couldn’t have told you all you needed to know?”

   “Yes … well, Robert decided to provoke the prick,” Alfonso said disapprovingly.

   “Bloody brilliant it was, ‘ad the little turd squirming like a worm,” chuckled Jimmy.

   “Shut ya hole Houghman and get back to ya post,” shouted Hamish. “That goes for all of ye. Back to ya positions.”

   “Rob, return to the vanguard. I’ll speak to you later,” said the Commander hotly.

  Robert opened his mouth to protest before thinking better of it. He gave Alfonso a long look before turning his horse and cantering off.

  After Robert’s departure, the Commander continued.

   “So make it quick because I’m half cooked sitting here for so long. Who are they?”

   “French volunteers. They had marched south to join with the Crusade but disapprove of King Alfonse’s fair treatment of captured Muslims and the protection of the Jewish quarters in the city.”

   “And you believe that?” asked the Commander.

   “There may be some truth in it. But up close, by the looks of their men and the condition of the horses. I suspect they weren’t expecting these conditions,” answered the captain.

   “Like Hattin all over again,” said the Commander.

   “Hattin Commander?” asked Hamish.

   “One of the main reasons why that fool of a King ‘Guy de Lusignan’ lost at the battle of Hattin was that by the time they met with the Saracen, his army was exhausted of water and supplies. The Sultan Saladin obliterated them.”

   “You think they fear defeat?”

   “It’s probable we’ll be facing twice our number against the Almohads along with their allies,” said Alfonso.

   “Bloody cowards,” growled the Scotsman.

   “Bloody French, more like,” added the Commander bitterly. “Very well. Hamish, give the order for the column to march.”

   “Aye Commander.”

  Once Hamish departed, Alfonso turned with his oldest of friends to watch the long trail of knights and men tramp north to the safety of their homeland.

   “How many would you say?” asked Reynard.

   “Fifteen thousand at least, maybe even twenty,” replied the captain.

   “No sign of the Holy Orders?”

   “No matter what vows they make, those warrior monks won’t miss the chance for bloodshed and glory you know that?”

   “They can only pray so much I suppose,” joked Reynard.

   “What numbers was King Alfonse hoping for?”

   “Fifty to sixty thousand maybe.”

   “Good God.”

  The Commander took a swig of water from his flask, washed his parched mouth of the dust and then spat it out. He then passed it to his captain.

   “Well. More the glory and spoils for us and the lads I suppose,” he said lightly.

   “You really believe that?” answered Alfonso, as he enjoyed the draught of the cool refreshing water.

   “With the armies of Aragon, Castile, Navarre and Portugal, there is still hope.”

   “We’ll soon find out I suppose.”

  Reynard trusted Alfonso with his life. The captain knew of his old friend’s past and his involvement with the Brotherhood. But he had no idea that the Forgotten Army’s participation in this new Crusade was mainly so that Reynard, Robert and several others could fulfil their true quest. To face the Order once again, along with their new Templar ally, and put them to the sword.

*****

Ponferrada Castle, May, 1212

Chevalier could not help but admire the tremendous sight of the Templar knights and their sergeants as they sat astride their mighty chargers.

  The destrier horses were of the highest quality and as dangerous as the men who rode upon them. Most of the knights were wearing pot helms, which protected the entire head, while their sergeants, the more favourable and less expensive Norman helmet with its protected nose guard.

  Chevalier was certain most of the Templars would remove their armoured headpieces within only a few miles of the castle owing to the heat. But their departure had to be as heroic as they believed they were on the battlefield.

  On the request of Garcia and the agreement of Chevalier, the Order knights and their men had donned the brown and orange surcoats. The same ones Garcia and his accomplices had been using on their raids.

  With the assistance of his squire, he pulled himself up onto his horse and took one final look at the inner castle walls. He had no doubt that by the time the Templars had finished their work on the ancient fortress, this man-made, stone colossus would almost be impregnable.

  His eyes then rested on the approaching Templar knight, clad in his white mantle. He had not yet donned his helmet and instead only had his chainmail coif, covering the crown of his head and neck. Beside him rode the Cardinal Esca who was sat upon a chestnut palfrey.

   “So Brother Chevalier, shall