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

  Running for a ladder that led to the outer wall’s parapet, he started to climb. He was nearly at the top when a strong hand grabbed hold of his robe and pulled him to the ground. He landed in a heap, the solid ground driving the wind from his lungs. Looking to his side he saw the black leather boots of the man who had pursued him through the deserted town.

   “Wait,” he said, holding his hand up to halt the aggressor.

  Ignoring his words the man pulled him to his feet. Delirious and exhausted he backed against the wall.

   “Do you not know who I am?” he said, attempting to sound threatening.

   “I know exactly who you are Matthias Esca of Venice,” answered the young man before him.

  The man still half hidden in shadow was breathing heavily.

   “Then you know that I am a Cardinal of the Vatican?”

   “You are nothing but a power-hungry murderer who has weaved poisonous sins wherever you have gone. Whether it was the great city of Constantinople, the walls of Bridgenorth castle, or the abandoned town in which we now stand. And here it shall end.”

  The man’s voice was calmly dangerous. Constantinople and Bridgenorth castle.

   “You are Robert of Oldfield!” he gasped.

  Robert’s whole body burned with pain. He was beyond exhausted. It was only hatred for the man before him that kept him from collapsing. Here was the man responsible for the deaths of so many. The vile execution of his comrade and friend Nico and the unimaginable tortures dealt to Sir Marcus Malay. Every part of him wished to end the miserable cleric’s life but the memory of one man held him back.

   “Do not lose your honour on such a creature my son” came the voice of his father.

   “The Treasure of Christ Matthias Esca. Surrender it,” he answered, holding out his hand.

   “The Almighty meant for me to find it,” snarled Esca.

   “God does not listen to a man such as you. I shall only say it once more. Give me the Crown.”

  He had been so close. He was clutching the wrapped case, close to his chest.

   “Robert, why not join me?” he pleaded. “Together we could achieve such great things. We could…”

   “THE CROWN!” Robert roared, lifting his sword high as if he were about to strike the Cardinal down.

   “The Crown for my life?” the miserable cleric stuttered.

  There was no reply.

   Knowing there was no escape, he slowly held out the box, his hand trembling with fear and grief.

  Taking the casket, still wrapped in its material, similar to that of a grain sack, Robert wrenched it from the cleric’s grip. He could feel movement within.

  Lowering his sword he pointed it at the Cardinal’s chest.

   “The High Council of the Brotherhood will decide your fate. Not I,” said Robert.

*****

The bloodthirsty skirmish was over. The crossbowmen were the last to die, courtesy of the Gutsberg brothers and Athaelstan.

  Chevalier sat with his back against a wall, a spear head only inches from his chest, held by a giant Moor. The sun was slowly climbing and the light revealed the grim sight of his Order Brothers, their men-at-arms and their dubious allies. All of them dead.

  He could see the lifeless eyes of Garcia staring at him from across the small enclosure, blood trailing from his open mouth. He then looked to his left to see the mailed Priest dismount from his warhorse and approach him. The priest stopped and looked down at the Order Brother.

   “The mysterious Father Anzac,” said Sir Aguillard.

  The arrow head had dug deep into his muscle and sent tremors of pain through his body, yet he smiled when he looked up at the priest. He could see that Anzac was surprised by his words.

   “So many of my Order Brothers believed you to be just a ruse. But the Grandmaster had sometimes spoken of a young cleric who acted as record keeper for the Brotherhood.”

   “Alexander Pierron never had the time for a lowly clergyman such as me. Our paths only crossed twice before he betrayed his Brothers and established his Order.”

   “Had he known you could split skulls as you did with Sir Guarin there he may have noticed you more.”

   “To spill the blood of one so young darkens the soul. But I do what is necessary to protect that which needs protecting.”

  Chevalier sighed as if he were bored of the priest’s answer.

   “You talk of your foolish belief of secreting away the Weapons of Christ. Just kill me and be done with it Father.”

   “It is tempting but no Sir knight. We shall not kill you,” replied Anzac.

   “At least not yet,” said a knight, arriving beside him.

  The knight was almost as big as the Moor who continued to hold the spear to his chest. He was covered in the blood of his enemies and had a crossbow bolt stuck in his arm, yet it seemed not to disturb him. The knight’s sword dragged along the floor, held by his other blooded arm.

   “Speak your name Sir knight?” said the Priest.

  There was no longer any reason to hide his identity.

   “I am Sir Aguillard Chevalier of the Blooded Cross.”

   “You have done well Sir Aguillard for I know many names who serve the Order. Yet I have not heard your name spoken before.”

   “Like you Father Anzac. I do what is necessary.”

   “We are sworn enemies you and I. There shall be no ransom wanted. However, surrender your sword and you shall be treated as a knight not a slave.”

   “Knight be damned,” growled Schaffer. “Let us grant him his wish and have his