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

   “I’m going to try and find out what went on here.”

  Walking through the bodies, Robert noticed the different cultures who had put aside their differences and decided to live in peace instead of conflict. Among the inhabitants were Iberians, Almohads, Moors and others whose skin tones and religions differed from their neighbours.

   “Rob, come look,” said Jürgen.

   Robert joined his friend who was looking down at the body of an armoured warrior. He was an Almohad. The man had been impaled on a well-aimed spear which had pierced the chainmail and leather undergarments, grinding deep into the warrior’s muscle and sinew.

   “Not much to go on, but at least we know who they were.”

  When the others returned, Jimmy and Guy had found another dead Almohad down one of the alley ways.

   “Died slow by the looks of it. Dagger to the groin and gut. I’d guess he bled out sluggish. No chance he was going to manage to ride,” said Jimmy.

   “What do you think happened sir? Robert,” asked Guy.

  Robert knew full well that Ridley, Athalestan and the Gutsberg brothers had lived the life of a warrior far longer than he. But his younger years with the Forgotten Army and then his time protecting the borders back in England had given him a talent for working out the most likely outcome. As he took one last look at the slaughter, he finally spoke.

   “Whether given no choice or welcomed, I think these men-at-arms from Castile had come to resupply and water their horses,” he said, nodding to the well. “I don’t know whether the enemy was awaiting them or happened across them. But it looks as though the Castilians certainly weren’t on their guard.”

   “And the people?”

   “Butchered as punishment and to make an example,” said Athaelstan.

   “Example, to who? We’re not exactly near a town or city,” answered Cherik.

   “We should bury the dead,” said Guy.

  Their new affiliate had looked above to see the gathering of carrion, eyeing up the corpses in which they intended to dine on.

   “We have no time, I’m sorry Guy,” said Robert regretfully.

   “Then let us at least burn the bodies?” he replied.

   “And that wouldn’t give our position away at all would it you dumb ball sack?” snapped Cherik.

   “Enough,” growled Robert. He sighed and took one last look at the grey-faced bodies. “Guy, I admire you for your Christian charity, but time is of the essence and that idiot on his horse there is right for once. A fire would only alert our position to the enemy.”

   “We should water the horses before we leave,” said Cherik, irritated by Robert’s insult.

   “Not from there you won’t, you fool. Not if you want them to live anyway. The water has been fouled,” snapped his brother. “There are at least two bodies down there. See for yourself.”

   “Some of these people were probably Christians,” said Ridley, looking down at the body of a young woman of Andalusian heritage.

   “Judging by the terrain we’ve crossed, the armies will likely pass through this way. Hopefully they will give them a proper burial,” answered Robert.

  He felt guilty. He suspected that even though the inhabitants of the village lived peacefully side by side, the Christian Generals, even if they were to make the effort, would only order the burial of those who were followers of Christ.

  Remounting, the seven departed from the settlement via the southern gateway which like its counterpart in the north, was much like that of those used for an animal pen. Bar the sound of their horses’ movement all that could be heard were the cries of the wretched vermin above waiting for their departure. The sound of death.

It took an hour to catch up with the culprits responsible for the massacre. From a distance it looked as though they were preparing to settle for the night. Jimmy, who had the best eyesight, was certain at least one of them was suffering from an injury of some kind.

  Soon enough the enemy was aware of their presence. The flat plains had offered no cover for either side and the enemy were already mounting their horses.

   “How many Jimmy?”

   “Twice our number I’d say.”

   “Guy, hobble the pack horses.”

  Guy led both animals over to one of the few shrubs that had broken through the solid ground. As he tied their reins to the plant he could see that it was dead to the core and so brittle if they wanted, the palfreys could easily break free.

   “Some of them are stringing bows Rob,” said Jimmy urgently.

   “Let’s hope they go for us instead of the horses then,” he replied. “Guy bring the spears.”

  The Norman handed out a long spear a piece. Perfect for using in a mounted charge.

   “We need to halve their number on the first charge. Stay in a wedge formation which should split their line, causing them to scatter.”

  Robert had seen such a manoeuvre back in England when he and his father had been invited to join a conroi back in England.

   “Cherik, Jurgen, you take the left flank. Ridley, Athaelstan – you’re either side of me. Jimmy, you take the wing on the right. Guy, you the left.”

  Just as the Commander did with all his men, Robert had allowed his troop to wear the armour they were most comfortable with.

  Robert, Jimmy and the Gutsberg brothers had all brought the more common triangular shield. Guy preferred the traditional Norman kite shield and the two Varangians still favoured the round shields of their forefathers. Although they didn’t protect as much of the body, Robert had seen how effective they could be in the right hands, especially the iron