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

Like several others at the table, they were well aware that Esca had been heavily involved in the atrocities dealt to the former Brotherhood knight. Although broken, he had been revived to a point but decided to put aside his sword and had now taken sanctuary in a monastery on the island of Rhodes.

   “That opportunity may come Sir Frederick. If Sir Robert’s and Reynard’s theory is correct,” answered Anzac.

   “So what is to be done then?” asked Sir Edward.

   “Sir Arnaud.”

  The Master of the Keys rose from his chair.

   “The fall of Di’ Vinere and the murder of the Lord Arbiseaux was a harsh blow to the Brotherhood. Although the High Council had already dispersed, six of our Brothers were captured or killed along with the Count. Two, we know died bravely. The other four, we know not whether they live or have perished.”

   “It is the wish of the High Council, that we return a swift blow to the Order of the Blooded Cross and remind them that we will not be deterred from our sacred duty.”

  There was a banging of hands on the table as the members of the Brotherhood showed their approval of the knight’s statement.

   “With the evidence that we have gathered today, we have the chance to strike at the very heart of Alexander Pierron and his followers. We shall destroy their hopes of discovering the Crown of Lombardy. And God willing …”

  He made the sign of the cross across his chest.

   “We shall seize one of their followers. Whether it be this cursed Cardinal, the rogue Templar or the Order knights who have joined them here. And we shall discover and destroy the stronghold of the Order.”

  A further banging of approving fists followed and the men who sat at it bared their teeth in eagerness to exact revenge on their common enemy.

   “There is one thing Father Anzac, which has not yet been mentioned,” said Reynard. “Where does the Crown actually reside?”

  A pause followed while those within the room, still unaware of its potential resting place, waited with baited breath.

   “It is said to be hidden in the town of Baeza, in the south of Iberia.”

   “Baeza? But that has been beyond our borders for decades?” answered Count Rolf.

   “That it has. But according to this record, the Crown was hidden there before the Moors crossed the straits of Gibraltar. Our new Brothers of the Calatrava Order, have scriptures that speak of a church that was said to have been more than just a place of worship. But a residence of purification and healing. It has since been converted to a place of worship for the followers of Allah, and that is where I believe it to be concealed,” finished Anzac.

  The meeting continued for another hour before the members started to distribute the tasks they faced.

  Robert and Reynard were known to the Order, so it was they who would need to remain the most vigilant. Their objective was to try and draw out the Order knights or their servants. Others would try and discover the identities of the Order knights through their own informants.

  Meanwhile, Anzac, Schaffer and the two Calatrava knights, Fitzbois and Archambeaux would continue to find the exact resting place of the Crown.

When they went back into the open air, the sun was starting to descend. Ruscar was sitting in the shade, carving what looked like a bone. He often fashioned something with his curved dagger, whether it be bone, wood or stone. Robert had never asked whether they were sentimental, religious or symbolic. But once completed, the beautifully carved objects would often be seen hanging from the Moor’s saddle or sometimes even his armour.

   “I think we have had our fill of Toledo today don’t you Sir Robert?” said Reynard.

   “Aye Commander that I do. And please stop with the Sir. It becomes tiresome after a while.”

  The Commander laughed, for he too would often tell his friends to cease their reference to his heritage.

   “You’ve been in my company too long Rob.”

  The streets had started to clear and the city’s inhabitants retreated to their homes. The last of the traders were packing away their goods and pulling down shutters to safeguard them from thieves.

  As they passed a side street, a greasy, fat merchant with a weedy moustache and goatee shuffled up to them.

   “Brave knights, can I interest you with the finest silks of the east?” he asked.

  Robert looked down at the man with his vast gut.

   “And how would fine silks help us in the battles to come?” he replied bluntly.

  He was tired and was not in the mood for the standard merchant bullshit.

  For a moment the merchant looked a little nervous but quickly regained his composure.

   “For maybe a sweetheart or beauty back home? Come sirs, see for yourself, my beautiful wife dressed in such fine fabrics.”

  The merchantman snapped his fingers as if summoning a slave. From the rear of his stall a slim figure appeared wearing a silk gown of silver and light blue. Her face was concealed by a veil that hooded her hair and face.

  Robert felt his heart falter. He recognised something about the way she moved. He looked at her soft hands and could see bruising upon them.

   “Very fine workmanship, but we are still not interested,” said Reynard, moving his horse forward.

   “Wait!” ordered Robert. “Ask the maiden to remove her veil.”

   “There is nothing to see here sire, only a sour young feline,” replied the merchant, quickly, starting to push her back.

   “I said, remove her veil,” growled Robert.

  His voice was dangerous and he placed his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword.

   “Robert!”