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

   “A fine body of men, even the armour on the squires looks like it cost a pretty penny,” said Jimmy in an approving undertone.

   “Hang on a moment,” said Jurgen quietly. “That knight over there with the friar. I recognise him.”

   “You do?” asked Cherik.

   “Remember when we captured that ship back in Constantinople. He was there afterwards. I’m almost sure of it.”

  A wrench of panic struck Robert. Jurgen was right. Schaffer had been on board the ship in which they had rescued Sir Marcus and it had been Sir Frederick who had taken one of the Order knights and gutted him as justice for the tortures done to his Brother knight.

   “Aye he was there Jurgen. But hold your tongue,” said Robert quietly.

   “But what’s he doing here?” insisted Cherik.

   “Cease your gab I said, and that goes for all of you,” growled Robert.

  The men were silent as they watched their younger superior steer his horse forward to the Commander’s right.

   “Right then lads, dismount and gather round,” shouted the Commander.

  The men dismounted, eager to exercise their legs a little. The ground was still harsh and bone dry so the ride was not as comfortable as it had been back in the Angevin and French territories.

   “Right boys. We’ll make some quick introductions and then we ride again. This here is Father Bernard Anzac, a fine healer and familiar with this region.”

  That was a lie for starters. All of Anzac’s knowledge of the Caliphate came from his readings.

   “This knight here, some of you may recognise. This is Sir Frederick Schaffer, a veteran knight who battled alongside the Forgotten Army at Constantinople. He and his men are vassals of the lord of Rouen and on loan to the King Alfonse of Castile.”

  A well spun story Robert thought. He looked back at his men and could see that they were still not entirely convinced. However it would suffice for the others.

  The Commander quickly introduced the rest of the knights, changing their titles and the lords they served and above all, erasing any relations to the Holy Orders.

   “Now that’s out of the way. Father Bernard, would you and Sir Frederick be so kind to lead on?”

*****

West of the City of Ubeda, July, 1212

Chevalier stared into the camp fire which had been made by his squire. The sun was starting to set and the temperature was falling. He had forgotten how, even in the peak of summer, when the sun was up and could heat armour to the point that it would burn the skin, that at night it was cold enough to want a fire and travelling cloak.

  He mulled over the last few days and those that were to come. They would reach Baeza by tomorrow and he was unsure what to expect. Would the garrison stand and fight or would they flee to the castle to the west? He looked up at the fires of the Templar knights. Although Garcia had mentioned that they would try to integrate their men, he knew there was no truth in the Templar’s words.

  Chevalier had ordered his men to keep their arms close. With the loss of Sir Olbrecht and their situation, regardless of who he and his Blooded Cross Brothers knew, he knew they were alone. All he could do now was hope that his man back at the Crusader Army’s camp had been able to make it to Toledo safely. Sir Aguillard had often been mocked by his fellow knights but in his opinion, a backup strategy was always required. They were relatively safe until they reached Baeza. But from there, he would need more men.

   “Sir Aguillard.”

   “Brother Guarin, come, sit.”

   “I did not mean to disturb you.”

   “Nay Guarin, I could do with the company. Have you eaten?”

   “I have not.”

   “Squire!”

   “My lord.”

   “Bring food and some of that piss-poor excuse for wine.”

  The squire nodded and returned to his own fire.

   “How fare the men?” asked Chevalier.

   “They are disgruntled my lord. They hold the Templars responsible for the loss of their comrades at the battle.”

   “That they were. But they fell in battle, in service of the Order. No man could ask for a better death,” replied Chevalier.

   “You wish for such a death?”

   “I wish to die knowing that I have brought honour to the Order yes. My ideal death? To die with a sword in my hand, knowing that the weapon of Christ we will soon unearth will be placed before the Grandmaster and our Brothers. One could not ask for higher an honour.”

  Sir Guarin said nothing.

   “I take it by your silence, that you do not wish the same?”

   “No I wish the same Sir Aguillard. But I fear that my time will come too soon, when I know I have so much more to give to the Order and my Brothers.”

   “A fair answer.”

  Chevalier’s squire had returned with a wooden platter. Upon it was some cured meat, hard cheese and dry bread. In such circumstances, the meal was a pleasant enough dish. The watered wine had not soured and helped to soften the bread and cheese as they ate.

  Dismissing his squire with the wave of his hand he watched Sir Guarin who was staring into the fire.

   “I suspect something else is playing on your mind?” asked Chevalier.

   “This Commander Reynard. You have faced him?”

   “I have not. But I know many who have and as I have said before, few have returned.”

   “Is he really that strong a warrior?”

  Chevalier removed some gristle from the meat and threw it into the fire.

   “I suspect he is skilled in combat