The Crusader's Crown (Tales of the Brotherhood Series Book 1) by James Mercer (ink ebook reader txt) 📗

at them from both sides and nowhere to retreat, the Almohad warriors were running out of space.

  Knowing that the stairway was soon to be taken, those closest started to run down it as fast as they could. This was when their preferred armour was of use to them. The lighter chainmail and thinner plates of steel, allowed them to move quickly. Robert heard a scream ahead of them, and out of the corner of his eye saw a man fall from the walls as the defenders pushed and shoved against one another to reach the stairway before it was too late. They knew the pitiless mercenaries were coming for them.

   “We’re there Rob,” shouted Athaelstan.

  Robert had been focused on cutting down another opponent and was about to continue forward when his comrade shouted out.

  He was right. They had fought their way to the stairway that would take them to the outer roads of the city.

   “Christoph, Jimmy. Take half a dozen men and continue down the parapet until you meet the Commander,” ordered Robert.

  Once the two had rallied some of the men behind them Robert ordered the rest to follow him and Athaelstan down the steps.

  The stairway of a fortified city’s walls could be just as dangerous as what they had just left. Thrusting blades and spear heads could sever legs or be driven upwards, slipping through the weak points of a man’s armour. However on this occasion only one warrior tried such a manoeuvre. He had gone for Athaelstan’s right leg and failed. The Byzantium steel greaves had served their purpose. Yet the strike of the blade, had been able to cut a neat slice near the man’s knee cap, causing Athaelstan to growl with pain. His swift response was to raise his axe high and bring it down at full speed on the attacker’s exposed spine. The man’s body almost shattered.

  Seeing the man collapse in a bloody heap, the last of those who had been standing upon the stairway lost their nerve and fled downwards.

  Reaching the bottom Robert stopped and raised a hand to halt those behind him. The enemy was running in all directions, most of them turning down streets and alleyways that led into the city.

   “Shield wall,” he shouted.

   “They’ll be back and in greater numbers if we wait too long,” said Athaelstan.

  Quickly the men started to build a shield wall which started to grow as more men began to gather. Robert had been studying the nearest streets when the Commander arrived.

   “What took you so long?” asked Robert breathing heavily.

   “Ran into a spot of trouble,” Reynard answered.

  Dried blood covered the Commander’s face and his ventail, and there was a fresh trail of his own blood coming from underneath his helmet.

   “Whore’s son was able to slide a nasty, little blade under my helmet. Lucky it wasn’t my eye. How many did you lose?”

  Robert turned to count the men behind him. Of the sixty or so that he had been given to command, half of them were still with him. Others not of the Forgotten Army but those of the Aragonese were also starting to arrive.

   “Can’t say for certain. Once we took the wall, we divided forces. Athaelstan and I came this way while the brothers went right.”

   “You were fortunate. I lost six before we even crossed the bridge. After the arrows took three of the men, some of the lads just saw red and charged. They were spitted by pikes and another volley before they even made the ramparts.”

  The Commander estimated he had lost nearly half his detachment in the operation to take his section of the walls. But considering it had always been considered a suicide mission they reckoned they had got off lightly.

   “So what now? Do we continue?”

   “Hamish is leading his men towards the gatehouse. Once the gates are open and more men are within, we’ll continue into the city,” answered the Commander.

  An unfamiliar voice then sounded from behind them.

   “Commander Reynard.”

  A man pushed through the crowd of mercenaries and soldiers. More men had descended the walls and now there were over a hundred of them. By his expensive armour he was most certainly a knight of high rank. Over his armour was the royal coat-of-arms of King Pedro. He must have been one of the King’s household knights.

   “You are Commander Reynard of the Forgotten Army?”

   “I am.”

   “Commander why do you stop? Victory is within our grasp,” he shouted.

   The Commander looked at him levelly before replying calmly “The walls are ours and the city will soon fall. Let us wait for the rest of the army before we storm the city.”

   “King Pedro and King Sancho ordered us to take the city.”

   “And we will. Once the gates are opened and we have been reinforced.”

   “Can you not see that the infidel run like the cowards they are?”

   “They will not give up the city easily, I assure you brave knight.”

   “I am no mere knight. I am Sir Carlos Juan Zurita, cousin to King Pedro, commander of the Aragonese royal guard that stands before you now.”

   “How many bloody cousins does this King have?” thought Robert.

   “And I now order you and your men to follow me to what will be, without doubt, a noble victory. Or will you hide here like the cowards who run from us?”

  The men of the Forgotten Army snarled in response to the nobleman’s words, some of them even shifting their blades.

   “Stay your arms!” the Commander roared at them.

  The Commander glanced at Robert and then looked over their shield wall. No arrows came and the outer street was starting to empty as the