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

   Robert nodded. “It looks as though they are going to commit their horse as we speak.”

  Turning in the saddle, the Commander watched as King Sancho led his men from the front and charged the enemy who were pursuing the fleeing Crusader infantrymen. There was nothing more inspiring for the men to see than their leader, whether they be Commander, lord or King, ride into battle at the head of his army. And with their King at the front, the Navarrese knights and men-at-arms roared their challenge as they ploughed into the enemy lines, shattering it.

   “Are you ready to fight?” shouted the Commander.

  The men bellowed a cheer.

   “Rob, lead your unit to support that mad Scotsman and reinforce the line. Once you’ve drawn the enemy in, Alfonso and I will attack from the left while the Calatrava knights the right.”

  Robert looked over to the fanciful banner of the Order of Calatrava and its impressive entourage of knights. Amongst their number were the newly welcomed members of the Brotherhood, Sir Guillame Fitzbois and Sir Eugene Archambaud. But today they would not be fighting for the Brotherhood. They like their Calatrava Brothers were there to exact revenge for the destruction of their home.

   “Spears!” he yelled.

  The sixty or so mounted men under Robert’s command were in a column of three ranks. The second and third keeping their spears aloft. The front rank started to lower their own. Quickly building up speed Robert shouted at them to keep formation and with half the distance covered, he roared at the top of his lungs.

   “Charge!”

  Seeing a gap in the thinning line Robert led his men through to avoid their own ground troops and drive back the enemy that was attempting to pour through. The first stage of the Commander’s plan had worked. The fresh mounted troops had momentarily stunned the Almohad line and scattered its warriors. But now they started to charge the horsemen just as Reynard had hoped.

  With new hope, the surviving infantrymen of The Forgotten Army cheered their mounted division on. As he charged through Robert had glimpsed his old mentor fighting off three enemy soldiers.

  Wilfred was starting to tire. Over a dozen enemy bodies lay about him but still they kept on coming. His men who had fallen, had fought well and held the line long enough before they were overwhelmed. About to make his final stand and dispatch at least one of the three bastards before he went to feast with his forefathers, he noticed a change in their faces.

  Only a second before, two had been snarling and the third almost smiling as they closed in to butcher the barbarian responsible for the corpses before them. Now their faces paled and expressions turned to terror.

  Untouched, Wilfred was forced to the ground as the rushing momentum of Jupiter shot passed him. The closest of the Saxon’s three assailants was quickly skewered on Robert’s spear, the weapon burying deep into the man’s chest, Robert quickly released it and drew his sword, just in time to parry an attack from the second of the three. Sweeping the scimitar aside, Robert lifted his sword and brought it down on the man below him. Although deadly in combat, the swift and more elegant blade of the scimitar snapped as the strong, Frankish-forged sword crashed down onto the Saracen’s helm.

  Before the man had even fallen to the floor, Robert was looking for the last of the three, only to see him lying dead at the Saxon’s feet.

   “What took you so long lad?” shouted the seasoned warrior.

  Although covered in the blood of his enemies, Robert could see a nasty gash in his friend’s shoulder. With no time to yell a riposte, a holler announced the arrival of another wave of Almohad infantry running toward them.

   “Horsemen to me! Rally to me,” he shouted.

  The mounted unit immediately moved in on him.

   “Form up and get ready to charge.”

   “Sir, most of them bastards have got spears. The horses will be dead before we’re through them,” shouted one of the men.

   “Form line and prepare to engage,” Robert shouted again.

   “Rob ‘e aint wrong. With that number of bastards comin’ at us the horses will be downed in minutes,” Jimmy shouted over the havoc around them.

   “Not if all goes to plan,” answered Robert firmly. “Now do as I say and get into bloody formation.”

  Fifty or so of the unit were still on their horses. They had carried out their orders well. The original Almohad line had been decimated and now the second stage of the Commander’s plan was about to take place. Robert could see some of the men were anxious while they watched the mass of enemy spearmen running toward them. The survivors of their first wave, who had fled had started to turn and stagger back towards the mercenary horsemen.

   “They’re speeding up Rob,” shouted Ridley.

   “Hold fast,” Robert called again.

   “Is he bloody mad?” shouted one of the men behind them.

   “Shut ya gob or I’ll fill it with ya balls,” bellowed Cherik.

  Suddenly Hamish pushed himself through the two ranks of horses. He looked like a creature from the depths of hell. In one hand was his axe and his double-handed broadsword in the other. How he carried it in one hand, Robert couldn’t believe.

   “Robert, what in hell’s teeth are you doing man? Can you not see what’s comin’ at ya?” he growled through deep breaths.

   “Trust me captain. There’s a reason for this madness,” answered Robert.

   “Don’t let me down Reynard,” he thought to himself.

  The Moorish warriors of the Caliph were advancing towards the Forgotten Army’s cavalry. Their armour, helmets, pike and spear