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

   “You’re bringing him?” said Chevalier in distaste.

  The knight remembered how splendid the Venetian cleric had looked on their first encounter in Constantinople. He had worn a bright, scarlet cassock of the finest quality, surrounded by his own personal bodyguard. Now in a faded red robe, he looked almost insignificant.

   “The Cardinal still plays an important role in our success.”

   “Your Cardinal has partaken in two attempts to capture servants of the Brotherhood and over a dozen of my Order Brothers have perished. Who says he is not cursed by the almighty or worse?”

   “That was none of my doing. Your Order Brothers were naïve and arrogant. They believed that they could overpower the Brotherhood by mere force,” the Cardinal insisted.

   “Mind your words clergyman when you speak of our fallen Brothers,” snarled Sir Guarin.

   “You will address me as Cardinal,” spat Esca.

  The cleric was confident that under the protection of the Templar knight and his entourage, he could finally speak his mind.

   “Silence your tongue Cardinal or you will walk to Toledo, like a good pilgrim should,” growled Garcia. “Rest assured lord Chevalier, I will take responsibility for the Cardinal’s actions,” he finished.

   “Very well Sir Alejandro. But if trouble befalls us and your valuable Cardinal is even slightly involved, I will take his head myself.”

  With their discussion finally ended. Garcia trotted his horse to the main gates. They were made of the strongest timber, blackened and forbidding. He shouted the order for them to open and the two doors creaked as they were pulled apart. Their journey to join the Crusade had begun.

Chapter 7

Toledo, May, 1212

The city of Toledo was alive with the preparations for war. Countless encampments surrounded its walls, with banners of colours displaying all manners of crests.

  From a distance, Robert thought to himself that even with the loss of the French allies, there was surely a chance to beat back the enemy to the south.

   “Quite a sight is it not?” said Alfonso.

   “Much like Venice. Crusaders rallying for the good of the faith and look how that turned out,” Robert replied, not taking his eyes off the view ahead.

   “True. But there are no scheming Venetians this time.”

  The captain made a valid point. But Robert had no doubt that there were plenty of schemers and turncoats amongst the honourable gathering.

   “There!” they heard Ruscar call to the Commander.

  The Moor pointed west of the city.

  The Commander and the rest of the men amongst the mounted vanguard followed the Moor’s hand and finally spied what the Commander was seeking – the standard of the King of Navarre.

   “Well done Ruscar,” said the Commander. “Alfonso, we’ll pitch camp south of the Navarrese force, along the river. I want sentries on duty round the clock.”

   “As you wish Commander.”

By late afternoon the Forgotten Army’s camp was completed to the Commander’s expectations. Pairs of sentries were posted around the entire perimeter. The cart horses were watered along with those of the cavalry unit and then kept secure within the camp’s compound. Horses were of high value in such surroundings, especially with so many mouths to feed.

  Robert splashed water over his face to cool his brow. The Commander had been wise to choose such a location. As well as being near enough to the army of Navarre, they also had the use of the fresh river water before it was fouled by the sewage of the city which it flowed past.

  The sun had been merciless throughout their entire journey but the final day of the march had been the harshest. Not a cloud in the sky, empty water skins and weary legs. Jupiter was drinking greedily, noisily lapping up the water. The heavy warhorse had earnt the reward and although Robert pined for some peace and quiet he let his mount continue.

   “What I wouldn’t give to strip down and take a plunge in that water,” said Jimmy.

   “Don’t even think about it,” replied Robert.

   “Why not? No-one’s looking?” said Cherik.

   “Because he’ll most likely poison the water he’s so filthy. Not to mention you’ll obviously make off with his clothes,” answered Robert.

  The other men nearby laughed and Robert earned a flick of water from Jimmy as he eyed up Cherik suspiciously. The German only grinned.

   “Sir Robert,” came a voice behind them.

  Robert and the others turned to see one of the Commander’s riders.

   “Rob will suffice friend. What can I do for you?”

   “The Commander has asked you to accompany him to meet with the King of Navarre,” answered the messenger.

   “A meeting with a King eh?” said his old mentor, Wilfred behind him. He then walked into the shallows of the river and stuck his whole head under the water. As he rose up, he raised his arms in the air and cheered.

   “Ahhhh … nearly as sensational as the embrace of a naked lassie!” he gasped.

  The veteran turned to the others.

   “Next we’ll be calling him Lord Robert,” he teased.

  Robert’s cheeks flushed, a combination of Wilfred’s joke and the news that had been delivered to him in front of his friends.

   “Tell the Commander I will attend him shortly, I just need to drown an old man who has a rather nasty rash around his groin,” he replied.

  There was more laughter from the men, including Wilfred. But the scout remained.

   “Was there something else?”

   “Aye sir, I mean Rob. The Commander ordered you wear your household livery and bring a squire.”

  There was a collection of snorts and sniggers from the men.

   “That’ll be a problem. Because I haven’t got a squire.”

   “The Commander said that