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

last of the surviving troops of the Caliph ran to safety. To refuse an order from this arrogant peacock could possibly cause huge damage to the alliance of the Crusader Kings, and then the Forgotten Army could be held accountable for it.

   “Well Commander?”

   “Very well Sir Carlos,” he answered. “Lead the way.”

   “Form up your men behind those of my own. Sergeant Agapito, have the men form ranks,” shouted Sir Carlos proudly.

  John arrived and provided Robert with a new shield and he returned his Templar sword to the sheath that was strapped to his baldric.

  The Sergeant quickly distributed orders that the Aragonese troops form lines of ten men and those of the Forgotten Army to do the same behind them. Once organised, Sir Carlos nodded his satisfaction and shouted the order to advance down a nearby road that would lead into the city. The royal banner was raised at the centre of their column.

   “Bloody coward. Gutless puppy isn’t even leading in the front.”

   “Quiet yourself Athaelstan,” ordered Robert.

  But Athaelstan was right. Sir Carlos had situated himself in the centre of the second rank while the sergeant Agapito stood in the front rank.

   “Advance!” shouted Sir Carlos.

  The company of soldiers and mercenaries began to march. Although the echoes of battle could be heard behind them there was very little nearby and nothing ahead.

   “I don’t like this,” said Guy uneasily.

   “They’ll be waiting for us further into the city, that’s what I’d do,” replied Cherik.

   “Guy is right. It’s too quiet,” answered the Commander.

  Every few minutes, Sir Carlos would shout something which he believed would inspire his men.

   “You see Commander. They have fled like dogs,” he called back.

  The Commander did not reply. Robert could sense that Reynard was ill at ease about the stillness in the streets. Every house seemed to have been abandoned, although that was hardly surprising. The city’s inhabitants would have known what fate awaited them if they were taken.

   “You remember Wilf’s stand on the beach at Constantinople Rob?” asked the Commander quietly.

   “How could I forget? I was in the bloody middle of it.”

  Robert could remember every detail of how the Saxon had rallied the surviving men together to form his own version of a Roman testudo.

   “Move the men into position, something’s coming.”

  Robert did not need telling twice. Without disrupting Sir Carlos’s naïve advance into the city, he quickly started to reposition the men. Any carrying the Norman kite shields were put to the front and sides while those with circular and triangular shields were placed in the middle.

The road met a junction, the streets branching right, left and straight ahead. They all seemed deserted. Without hesitation, the order was given to continue forward down a street a little narrower than the first, causing the ranks of the royal guard to lose their formation.

   “What’s that up ahead?” asked Jimmy suddenly.

   “The first of many I’d guess,” said the Commander.

  A large contingent of enemy infantry had appeared three hundred paces from them and was forming up along the wide street.

  Their oval shields overlapped one another, while a second rank stood behind with their long spears pointing forward toward the advancing Crusaders. Sir Carlos continued to shout orders for them to advance.

   “Sir Carlos we should fall back,” shouted Robert.

   “They will run before we reach them,” spat the royal peacock.

   “Come in closer lads,” the Commander called to his men.

  The sergeant Agapito did not understand the words spoken by the mercenary leader but looked back to see that his men were closing ranks. They were preparing for the inevitable.

  With only two hundred paces to go, Agapito tried to shout an order to his men. But another order could be heard from the Almohad ranks first. A volley of arrows suddenly burst from behind the enemy shield wall flying into the air.

   “Shields up!” bellowed the Commander.

  Sir Carlos’s cocksure arrogance had led them into a perfect and bloodthirsty ambush. The narrower street had distorted his royal guard’s strict rows of men, which in turn, slowed the speed with which they could raise the shields carrying the royal emblem of Aragon.

  Chaos rained down on them and after two volleys, over a third of Carlos’ men were down. Too arrogant to call for his men to fall back, he ordered his sergeant-at-arms to charge the Almohad barricade. Meanwhile the Commander and his men remained stock still, their shields held close together.

   “Closer,” he shouted, as the second volley drove into the rooftop of shields.

  An arrow had just slipped through and taken one of the men in the neck.

  As the men started to bunch together, the doors and windows of the buildings, burst open and more archers appeared.

   “Watch the flanks,” shouted Robert.

  Two men fell on the right while another three on the left, as the arrows darted passed the shields finding unprotected legs or faces.

   “Commander! Heavy cavalry behind us,” came a voice from the rear.

   “Have at them!” shouted Robert, charging the nearest archer who stood in a nearby doorway.

  The Commander and the rest of the mercenaries followed suit, flinging themselves forward to engage with fighters who had remained hidden until moments before. The Almohad archers hastily discarded their bows and reached for close quarter weapons as more enemy soldiers appeared in doorways to confront the men of the Forgotten Army.

  However, the element of surprise, which had worked so successfully on the Aragonese soldiers, was losing its impetus against these unconventional soldiers. Wielding all manner of lethal weapons, and dressed in their variety of armour, the mercenaries slashed and hammered their way forward to counter the ambush.

  Sir Carlos fled