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

   “Has there been word from The Brotherhood?”

   “Nathanial delivered your letter to London as instructed.”

   “He’s a good lad. He’ll make a fine squire.”

   “Squire?”

   “Over on the table. There’s another sealed scroll. Fetch it for me would you.”

  As he held the rolled parchment he noticed the imprint of the Montgomerie family crest. Robert knew full well that a document carrying such a seal would take precedence over many of the scrolls and letters that William Marshall, the Earl of Pembroke received.

   “This is a copy of the letter I sent to Sir William. In it, it states that I have bequeathed my title and all that is mine to my son, born out of wedlock. But worthy of such a title.”

  Robert broke open the seal on the scroll and slowly read the document which did indeed confirm Sir Roger’s instructions. As he looked to his father, a man he had known for only seven years. He felt a surge of pride and a new weight of responsibility.

   “You are no longer Robert of Oldfield. You are Sir Robert Spurling, knight of The Brotherhood and guardian of Saint Werburgh,” the dying man said in a grating voice. “And most of all. You are my son.”

  Sir Roger, in between gasping breaths, quietly instructed Robert on what he was to do to confirm his title.

   “My time has come. Protect your family and let it prosper. And when the time comes and it will, when dark forces try to take what is not theirs, you must join your Brothers and stand as one. Swear this to me Robert.” He raised his hand.

  Robert took it, his grey eyes fixed upon those of Sir Roger’s.

   “I swear it, Father.”

*****

Northern Europe, January, 1212

Grandmaster, Sir Alexander Pierron waited as the last of the Order’s members took their places in the cold hall of stone. There was no sign of wealth or grandeur for the men who sat upon the wooden stools which ran along the sides of their vast room.

  Steam appeared from the men as they breathed out, the only light was from torches hung in brackets fixed to the wall. The Grandmaster Pierron pulled his cloak tighter over his grey cassock. Others in the hall had done the same, adding an extra layer to protect them from the chill. However there were those who foolishly sat upright, trying to brave the extreme cold. They were the newest and youngest of the Order of the Blooded Cross, and would soon learn that their pride was worthless if they weren’t fit to fight.

  As the last of the Brothers took their places, Pierron gazed in despair at the number of empty places. Twenty years ago, this hall had been full of some of the most powerful lords in Christendom and now, nearly half were empty. Pierron’s bitter memory of the news of The Brotherhood’s victory over them, losing nearly a dozen of his Order knights still haunted him.

  He would try to comfort himself by insisting that it was really the finest assassins and mercenaries who had vanquished some of his most powerful Order Brothers, but that was of little solace.

  Just before the doors closed the last man, wearing a matching grey cassock, appeared at the entrance.

   “Sir Aguillard Chevalier, you are welcome to these halls after so many years,” said the Grandmaster.

   “It is an honour to be among you once again my lord, forgive my lateness. The journey was long and the weather crueller than I remember.”

   “The winter this year is one of the harshest we have seen in over a decade. How goes it in Kaliakra?”

  The Grandmaster was more eager to know of the news in the east.

   “I regret to report that there has been no word of the Brotherhood throughout my network of informants. An agent did send word though that the Brotherhood’s presence in Constantinople is now minimal.”

  Pierron grimaced at the Order knight’s report and flicked his hand aside, indicating to him to take his seat, which had not been used for some time.

   “We shall talk more about your efforts later,” he grumbled. “Now to more pressing matters. By now most of you here will already have heard that the Pope Innocent III has called for a new Crusade. Its purpose - to drive the infidel from Andalusia, which separates the Almohad Caliphate and the Iberian Kingdoms.”

  The noises of approval were heard as they slapped their hands on their knees until the Grandmaster held his hand up to silence them.

   “But beneath this Crusade, a new alliance has been made with one who has asked our help in retrieving a treasure of immense power.”

  There was a pause as if the Grandmaster was struggling to say the words …

   “The Crown of Lombardy.”

  The room went still. The small clouds of the men’s warm breath paused.

  Then the silence was shattered by heavy pounding on the thick oak doors. Pierron raised his stiffened arm to signal the two robed guards to open the doors to the caller. Silhouetted against the faint light the onlookers beheld a tall and broad shouldered man wearing a thick travelling cloak. Walking into the arched hall, the stranger pulled his hood back. He was a man in his middle years with black hair and bronzed skin.

   “Brothers. I present to you Sir Alejandro Garcia, knight of the Templar Order,” announced Pierron.

  Sir Alejandro Garcia said nothing. Instead he let his eyes wander across the room, looking at the faces that stared back at him. He felt he could read people well and could sense that some of those present were intrigued, others were excited, while others were dangerous.

   “You,” he said finally, pointing at one