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

   “Who is your leader?”

  The four men looked at the ground, saying nothing. Robert waited a moment before he spoke again.

   “You see, now I’m curious. Because if he was dead or if you had any sense, one of you would have pointed to one of these poor bastards,” he said, pointing at the bodies that littered the floor.

  This time a man with a defiant glare, stared up at him. The man was young, probably a few years younger than Robert and likely in his early twenties. There was blood running from a wound on his head.

   “Him!”

   “Him?” answered Nathanial. “Why him?”

   “Because I would stare at a man like that if someone had just killed my father,” Robert replied.

  The young man growled and tried to get to his feet, struggling against the hands of Trefor and another who held him in place. His eyes then darted towards one of the bodies. Robert looked over to the older man who had charged him before being killed by the arrow.

  The prisoner was still snarling and fighting against the restraints until Trefor butted him in the back of the head with the pommel of his axe. The strike was enough to cause the raider to cease struggling but remain conscious, allowing Robert to walk closer to the prisoner who was now breathing slowly.

   “You raid my lord’s lands, you loot his villages, kill his people and rape our women,” he said in disgust.

   “As you have mine for centuries,” replied the Welshman, his anger returning.

  Robert stared at the man silently.

   “That’ll do for a guilty confession.”

After gathering the plunder that the raiders had stolen, Robert and his retinue left the small clearing with the animal hide shelters burning on the fires. Upon them were the piled up corpses of those that had fallen in the skirmish. Meanwhile four bodies swung from ropes. Their faces pale blue and left there for the carrion to feast upon.

  As honourable as he was, Robert had no time for prisoners such as these. Anyhow, he had more pressing concerns at home.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Bridgenorth Castle, November, 1211

Robert stood at the window and looked down at his nephew. The young boy was watching in awe at Nathanial practicing his sword drills against a thick, timber post which stood in the castle’s courtyard. The eight year old boy already relished the thought of riding into battle, dressed in armour and swinging a mighty sword like his two uncles.

  Behind him, Robert heard the choking cough of the man who lay in his bed. Sir Roger’s face was pale and gaunt, a constant sweat covered his brow. His laboured breathing and the struggle of digesting food was enough to tell that he was fading fast.

  Katherine, the younger of Robert’s two sisters dabbed a damp cloth to the dying man’s forehead. Since early winter, the fever had clung to Sir Roger’s body, slowly coursing through the veteran warrior, sapping him of his strength.

  The two sisters along with a local healer and the manor’s priest had all tried to combat the cursed illness but to no avail. Crossing the room, Robert placed a hand gently on his sister’s shoulder.

   “Kate, Matthew requires your attention as well. Go to him, I will sit with father.”

  Only seven years had passed since the son had found the father and the father discovered he had a son. But their bond had strengthened more quickly than anyone would have thought, even them. Then again why wouldn’t they, considering the circumstances in which they had met and only days later fought side by side?

   “The wet nurse is with Matthew. Father needs my attention more than my son at the moment and maybe if that confounded husband of mine ceased swinging that wretched sword he could spend more time with his son.”

  Kate pulled away from Robert’s soft touch and continued to soothe her adopted father’s brow. It had not been long after the victory at Bridgenorth and the departure of Reynard, that Sir Roger had said he would love and protect Robert’s sisters as if they were his own. Although Robert was Sir Roger Spurling’s illegitimate son and his sisters only shared the same mother. He too was silently delighted by the knight’s fondness of the two of them.

  His older sister Jennifer, had been happy to accept but had never been able to grasp the idea that she was now in a slightly more elevated position amongst local society. Kate on the other hand had been the happiest Robert and Jenny had ever seen her.

  Within months of their newly combined family Kate had started to call Sir Roger father, which pleased him. Jenny however would often still refer to him by his title and in Robert’s case, he too would refer to Sir Roger by his title and only in private would he call him father.

  Sir Roger suddenly coughed violently, lurching forward as his infested chest rattled in response to his laboured breathing.

  Kate’s eyes had filled with tears as she slowly eased the old man back on his pillow. Sir Roger gave a weak smile.

   “How’s that young grandson of mine?” he whispered.

   “He is well my lord,” she answered.

   “You be sure this foul pestilence doesn’t take him from you. Promise me child?” he pleaded.

   “I promise,” she smiled as she took his hand and squeezed it gently.

   “Go to him Kate. I must speak to Robert alone.”

  As his sister departed, Robert took her place on the side of Sir Roger’s bed.

   “So what news?”

   “No changes. The barons continue to grumble while Welsh