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

   “Your fellow speaks the truth. It would do you better to take my life now. For I shall not break my vow to my Order. No matter what you do to me.”

   “Your fellow Brother, Sir Bastell said much the same when we apprehended him in Constantinople.”

   “And he paid with his life. For the Grandmaster killed him himself.”

   “I have no doubt. I offer you one last chance Sir Aguillard. Surrender your sword willingly and you will be treated fairly.”

  The priest was a clever man and Chevalier could tell that he would continue with words instead of steel.

   “Then I have one request,” he answered.

   “You are in no position to demand requests,” snarled Schaffer.

   “Sir Frederick please, cease your temper,” said the Priest firmly. “What is it you request Sir Aguillard?”

   “You will allow me to bury Sir Guarin and you will allow me to place him where the Weapon of Christ has been hidden until this day.”

   “Granted. But you have only a short time for we must leave here by the new day’s end.”

  Anzac held out his arm which the knight took and pulled him to his feet. He then summoned Jurgen who was searching the dead for plunder. Reluctantly the mercenary assisted the one-armed knight to drag the body of Sir Guarin to the pit where the Crown had slept safely for centuries. Placing the body in the unplanned grave and under the watchful eye of Ruscar, Chevalier started to cover his Order Brother over with the grit and soil which had been excavated only hours before.

  To Chevalier, the pain which jolted through his arm was a sign of punishment for his failure. He had snapped the shaft and continued to work with his one good arm. If the bleed was to kill him, all the better. For once he had buried his loyal Brother, he had no doubt that he would soon join him.

The Commander knelt by the side of Sir Arnaud. He knew that the Master of the Keys had died the way he would have wanted. With sword in hand, honouring the oath he had taken so many years ago. Up close he could see that his mentor’s death had been quick. As dishonourable as it was, the knife had struck true and Sir Arnaud would have died almost instantly. He felt regret that their last words were spoken in anger in the heated moments before their battle with the Order and their allies.

   “I am sorry I did not live up to be the man you wanted, but I thank you for all that you have taught me. Be at peace my teacher and friend. We shall continue your work and bring down those that oppose our Brotherhood,” he said.

   “He was a fine man,” came the voice of Sir Elizondo.

   “That he was and that is how he will be remembered.”

  Reynard pulled himself to his feet. His legs felt heavy and like all of his compatriots his body was ready to collapse. He turned and looked for those who still stood.

   “Where is Robert?”

   “I know not. Your man Cherik said that he ran in pursuit of the Cardinal.”

   “Had he found the Crown?”

   “If it was where they were digging then I would think so for Sir Guillame and Father Anzac have searched it thoroughly and there was no sign of it.”

  Quintos continued to explain what they had discovered when the last of the enemy had been killed.

   “We must find him. If that bastard is to escape then all of this has been for nothing.”

   “You need not worry about that,” said Fitzbois.

  The Calatrava knight was behind them and pointed.

   “It seems Sir Robert has recovered both,” he said.

  Reynard turned to see Robert entering the enclosure, his sword pointed directly at the unkempt Cardinal’s back. His shoulders slumped in relief before turning to issue orders.

   “Jurgen, Cherik, return to the gate and have the others come join us. Our work is not yet finished here,” said the Commander.

As they turned the corner Robert took in the sight where the battle had taken place. The white mantles of the Templar knights and their sergeants seemed to be everywhere. Truly God had to have been on their side for them to have such a victory he thought.

  He could see a captive knight with an arrow shaft in his shoulder, filling the pit with earth under the watchful eye of Ruscar. The Moor did not take his eyes off the prisoner as he laboured away. Across the other side of the courtyard he saw Jurgen and Cherik disappear. Father Anzac was examining the bolt that had ripped through Sir Frederick’s arm. Finally his eyes rested on his good friend. The Commander stood with Quintos and Fitzbois. The three knights were layered in the blood of their enemies and no doubt, their own as well. A few feet from them lay the body of the Master of the Keys. He felt another urge to drive his sword straight into the Cardinal’s back.

   “Sir Robert,” called Father Anzac. “Excellent to see you. I had wondered where you were going to find this filth hiding.”

  Robert sheathed his sword and then punched the Cardinal in the back, forcing him to the floor. He did not care if his Brothers disapproved of his actions this time.

   “Father Anzac, Brothers. May I introduce Matthias Esca,” he replied.

   “I am rather impressed you have not already spitted him on your blade.” said the priest.

   “Believe me Father, I have struggled not to. But I thought you would likely have better use for him than just me exacting my revenge.”

   “That I do. And do you have it?” he asked hopefully.

  Robert