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

  An hour had passed when Robert felt a nudge against his side. Athaelstan had prodded him gently with the handle of his axe which was enough for Robert to heed his comrade’s warning. Trying to use the faint glow of their dying fire and that of those further off, he peered into the darkness.

  He looked to his left to see that the glint of Athaelstan’s armour and helmet had disappeared and guessed what the Varangian was up to. Then nearby he heard the slight sound of a boot scraping along the hard ground. Was it his companion or was it someone else?

  Suddenly they emerged from the darkness like phantoms from the underworld. There were four of them, all dressed in black, carrying swords. Robert already had drawn his sword when the first of them swung at Robert’s head. His shield was still on the floor.

  Blocking the strike, Robert swept the blade aside and in the same motion drew his dagger and rammed it into the attacker’s chest. The blade sank right up to the hilt and would easily have punctured the man’s lung. He guessed they were either wearing extremely light mail or none at all.

  Just as the second shadow was about to reach him and sweep a sword into Robert’s stomach, Athaelstan’s axe appeared as if from nowhere. The deadly weapon was swung from above and its blade almost tore the man in half as it sank just between where the shoulder met the neck. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

  Pulling the axe head free Athaelstan had only an instant to punch out with his fist. The warrior favoured the leather glove rather than the Norman mail, but his were unique – he had had metal studs imbedded into the knuckles.

  As his fist smashed against the man’s face like a hammer against an anvil, it caused the assailant to fall backwards. Whoever he was, he was fast, for when the Varangian axe came for him, intent on shattering his sternum and ribs. He quickly rolled to his right and started to rise to his feet, but the strike of Athaelstan’s fist had not worn off yet. As he tried to regain his footing the Varangian discarded his axe and pulled out the seax, hanging at his side, driving it into the man’s belly.

  Robert had got too close to his second attacker and the two them had locked blades pushing with all their might to force the other off balance. The man kneed him in the leg causing his thigh to go numb. Robert retaliated by head-butting his assailant, knocking him backwards but before he could finish him off a sword blade was driven through the attacker’s back and burst out of his chest.

  There was a moment of silence while the four assailants lay dead at their feet. For a moment he, Athaelstan and the newcomer remained still to check that there were no others.

   “Listen,” said Athaelstan.

  There was the faint sound of someone choking.

   “The prisoner!” whispered Robert quickly.

  The two of them raced to the tent and looked inside. It was pitch black but they could hear the sound of Esca, choking on his own blood.

   “The man’s dying,” whispered Athaelstan.

   “He was no man,” answered Robert coldly.

  He knew he had failed in his duty. He had let the Cardinal die but he felt no remorse, no regret. He had just risked his own life to try and save a man who had deserved a far worse death. “I broke no vow.”

  The tent filled with a new stench as the dying cleric lost control of his bowels. Stepping out of the tent, Robert looked at the figure that had remained standing half hidden in shadow.

   “Show yourself,” Robert said to his rescuer.

  Out of the darkness appeared John. With hardly any light it was hard to see the squire’s expression.

   “Forgive me Sir Robert, but I was taught to always protect my master’s back,” he said nervously.

   “You had a wise master young John,” said Athaelstan.

   “I am sorry that I followed you without your permission sir.”

   “Your curiosity saved my life John. I am not about to berate you for that. I thank you.” answered Robert, holding out his hand.

  Voices and shouts were getting nearer to the tent. The noise of the brief skirmish had woken those camped nearest.

  Robert knelt down by the dead would-be assassin.

   “Athaelstan, start a fire. John, go and rouse the Commander and the others,” he ordered.

  Without a word John ran off while Athaelstan started to bring the fire back to full flame.

   “Let no-one near the tent.”

  By the time the Commander arrived, nearly forty of the men had gathered around the dead bodies. There was curiosity on their faces.

   “Alright lads. There be nothing left to see here. Back to your tents,” boomed the voice of Hamish.

  The men did not need telling twice when the giant Scotsman gave an order. The group quickly dispersed leaving the Commander, Alfonso and the selected men.

   “The prisoner?” asked the Commander.

   “Dead,” answered Robert.

   “Who are they?” asked Jimmy.

  The Commander knelt down by one of the dead assassins. The man had a scarf covering half his face. Pulling it back, he took a closer look at the corpse. A trail of blood ran from his mouth to the floor.

   “Ruscar.”

  The Moor came forward and inspected the body. He found a jambiya dagger in the dead man’s belt.

   “Ayyubid warriors,” he said. “Of the finest quality.”

   “Ayyubids. Here?” said Alfonso.

  Robert had heard of the Ayyubids of the east. The loyal followers