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

   “What in God’s name would they be doing here?” asked the captain.

   “Very clever,” the Commander said to no one in particular.

   “Clever, Commander?” asked Ridley.

   “What better way to remain furtive than by using assassins of the east. And not just any mercenaries but skilled killers. Someone was doing their best to put us off their scent.”

  John appeared by Robert’s side.

   “Sir Robert, I think it best if you send the others back to their tents.”

  Robert looked at his new squire. He could sense a tremor of excitement in the young man.

   “Lads, we need to get rid of the bodies,” said Robert, still looking at John curiously.

   “Rob is right,” said Alfonso. “The Ayyubids cannot be found in the camp. Take them beyond the army’s picket lines and dump them,” he ordered.

  As Ridley and Guy went to fetch horses, the brothers and Jimmy searched the other three bodies. Robert shook his head in amused disbelief when he saw Jimmy pocket some coins and slide two daggers into his own belt. Once the others returned with the horses the bodies were draped over their backs and they headed to the perimeter of the Crusader encampment.

   “Athaelstan, Ruscar. Wait here. We will need you to deal with the prisoner’s body.”

   “What’s going on Robert?” asked a frustrated Commander.

  Robert looked back at his squire and nodded.

   “Commander, Sir. Whoever was trying to put us off the scent failed,” said John.

   “And how did you come by that conclusion?”

  John turned and walked back to where he had gone before killing the Ayyubid assassin. There was the sound of something being dragged along the ground and John reappeared hauling the body of another man dressed in black with his face covered. His hands and feet had been tied.

   “My God! Is he alive?”

   “Yes sir.”

  The Commander walked over to John and his captive. He looked down at the still form and then at the squire. Raising his hand he clapped it on the young man’s shoulder.

   “You’ll make a fine addition to Sir Robert’s retinue,” he said.

   “Where was he John?” asked Robert.

   “He was running away from the tent while you were fighting with the other four. This was in his hand.”

  John revealed a long dagger, similar to the seax’s carried by Athaelstan and Ridley. Blood covered the blade.

   “I think we’ve found our killer,” said the Commander.

It was agreed that unlike the four Ayyubids, whose bodies would not matter much if they were found outside the walls of the fallen city, the Cardinal’s body needed to disappear.

   “Wrap the body in the tent, ride two miles north and burn it until there is nothing left but ash,” ordered the Commander.

  Being a pagan and a Moor, Athaelstan and Ruscar were the best choices to carry out the task. Although generally the morals of the rest of the men were dubious, to say the least, Robert and the Commander knew they would feel a little uneasy about disposing of a servant of the church in such a way.

  The two warriors pulled the tattered canopy off the wooden frame and quickly wrapped it around the dead Cardinal’s body.

  After their departure, the Commander knelt down beside the unconscious figure. Up close he could see why the man had been out cold for so long. Blood covered the part of his face that was not masked. The strong squire had certainly dealt the man a harsh blow.

   “Now let us see who we have here,” he said quietly.

  Peeling back the blood soaked scarf he pulled it free to reveal a face that was certainly not that of an Ayyubid warrior.

   “Well I’ll be damned,” whispered the Commander.

   “It can’t be,” said Alfonso.

   “It is,” answered Robert.

The prisoner stirred as he felt the cold water splash against his face. He quickly realised both his hands and feet were bound. A fire was crackling nearby and three familiar looking men sat around it, all of them looking straight at him. A fourth man stood above him a water skin in his hand.

   “So, Sir Tomas Berengeur of Aragon, how long have you been in the service of the Cathars?” asked the Commander coldly.

  Sir Tomas still felt groggy from the force of the blow he had received when trying to escape and spasms of pain pulsated through his skull. But he still had enough sense to answer.

   “Not as long as you have served the Brotherhood Sir Reynard Sancerre,” he replied.

   “You tried to kill my men!”

   “Collateral damage.”

  His reply earned him a growl from the young man who towered above him.

   “Did you know that one of those men who would have been collateral damage was also of the Brotherhood?”

   “For that I regret, for we have no quarrel with the Brotherhood.”

   “You could have started one tonight,” said Robert furiously.

  Sir Tomas paused a moment as he looked at the young knight. He gave a snort when he realised.

   “What a fool I was to think he knew it all. You are Robert of Oldfield aren’t you?”

  Robert said nothing.

   “So what now? Torture? Execution?” he continued.

   “Why not just drag you to your cousin and tell King Pedro that his own blood is a Heretic,” answered Robert.

   “And why would he believe your words over mine? You Sir Robert, a lone knight who follows a mercenary horde? Or me, his own blood who has served him loyally?”

  The Commander had dealt with such men before and he merely smiled. He was not as good at this as Anzac but he was good enough.

   “Why kill Esca?”