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

camp life and off on the reconnaissance mission south. However he was less enthusiastic about the new garment he was expected to wear.

   “Ah stop your complaining. You’ve always been a fool anyway,” replied his brother.

   “Ever fancied growing a tail? ‘Cos you might well have one after I’ve shoved this new dress up your arse,” snapped Cherik.

   “Trust me Cherik. If the weather continues like this, you will be glad that you wear this over your armour,” answered Ridley.

   “Especially when we cross the plains,” added Robert, slightly embarrassed at his friend’s reaction.

  He had been the only one left to arrive and appeared just behind the small party who were checking their horses.

   “But we’ll be seen over a mile off!” argued Cherik.

   “I thought you would welcome the opportunity?” he replied.

  Cherik paused for a moment and considered. Robert had a point, so the only answer he gave was a shrug of his shoulders, a slight sigh and then pulled the surcoat over his head.

   “Right then. Jimmy, have we the spears I requested from Godfrey?”

   “Two apiece as requested. Reinforced and sharpened by the armourer himself”

   “And the pack horses?”

   “Two of them. One for supplies, the other for arms.”

   “Excellent. We’ll take it in turns leading them.”

  Usually for such tasks, they would have used sumpters, sturdy packhorses that would carry supplies. But Robert had appealed to Alfonso and been able to acquire two fine palfreys instead. They were both young and strong animals that could either carry supplies or replace one of the other mounts if the worst was to happen.

   “Beg your pardon Sir Robert,” said Guy.

   “Guy, I’ve told you before Rob will do. What’s the problem?”

   “I was just wondering why you would partake in leading the horses considering your rank?”

   “We’re all men of the Forgotten Army Guy. Whatever title I hold inside of the Commander’s forces means little. Especially when it’s leading a long distance scouting party.”

  Guy looked a little confused.

   “Don’t worry lad. You’ll get the hang of it,” said Cherik. “We had a knight by the name of Sir Leon de Clemence with us for nigh on two years. But to us he was just plain Leon who fought side by side with all the other butchers in the Army. By God he was a fighter. Do you remember that hammer of his, Jurg?”

   “Hard to forget. Do you remember the noise it made? When that thing came down, no matter what was in its path; shield, sword, armour, they were crushed to a mangle of metal.”

   “What happened to him?” asked Athaelstan, impressed by the man they spoke of.

   “He fell at the battle of Bridgenorth castle,” said Robert.

   “Aye Rob. But he left a pile of corpses at his feet and died with honour,” replied Jürgen, sensing Robert’s regret.

   “That he did Jürgen. That he did.”

  Taking his own surcoat, Robert pulled it over his head and let it drop over his mail. It was loose fitting but tight enough not to get in the way during combat. Checking that his equipment was secured tightly to Jupiter’s saddle, he finally nodded that he was satisfied. He glanced at the Templar broadsword, strapped to the saddle. He wondered to himself whether they would encounter the rogue Templar, Garcia, and his followers while on the road and plains.

  Finally pulling himself up and settling comfortably into the saddle, he dug his knees into Jupiter’s sides, encouraging him to start moving forward. He turned and saw Selva standing alone, head held high, by her tent. He lifted his hand in farewell and then faced forward. Their journey had begun.

*****

The plains of La Mancha, June, 1212

Chevalier took a large mouthful from his water skin to saturate the dryness. The dust, hurled up by the thousands of marching feet and countless horse hooves, was almost blinding.

  They had only just started their long journey across the plains and already the shadow of the Morena Mountains had disappeared. He shook the flask to see how much was left before he would call on his squire to fetch some more.

  To his left, Sir Olbrecht had discarded his helmet and wrapped a scarf across his face to protect his mouth. Many others had done the same but Chevalier was too self-righteous to show his Templar adversary that he could be beaten by the natural elements trying to bar their path.

  Due to the clamour from thousands of men and horses, he did not hear Garcia’s charger approaching them. Cardinal Esca followed the knight, coughing and choking on the clouds of sand and dust. When he saw the Cardinal suffering, Chevalier stifled a mocking laugh.

   “Have you had news?” asked Garcia over the racket.

   “We have confirmation that the Commander Reynard and his rabble are fighting under the banners of Sancho of Navarre,” replied Chevalier.

   “And the accomplice?” choked Esca.

   “There is no news of Robert of Oldfield.”

   “Maybe he has abandoned them or remained in Toledo?”

   “No,” muttered Esca.

  The Cardinal’s mouth was so dry he was having trouble stringing a sentence together.

   “No, he’s here somewhere,” he wheezed.

   “Our informant said that a knight by the name of Spurling had attended Sancho’s headquarters on one occasion,” replied Sir Aguillard.

   “He is no knight,” the Cardinal said bitterly. “He is the bastard son of a whore and nothing more.”

   “And still he serves the Brotherhood and was pardoned for his crimes,” goaded Chevalier.

  Garcia pondered over Chevalier’s theory.

   “Cardinal. You will pool your resources to discover who and where this knight, Spurling, comes from,” he ordered.

  Esca was about to object until he was silenced by a dangerous glare from the Templar. As his