The Crusader's Crown (Tales of the Brotherhood Series Book 1) by James Mercer (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📕

  Neither man stirred, however there was movement from inside. An elderly knight appeared at the entrance. He said nothing at first and stared straight at the captain. Finally his grim expression broke into a welcoming smile and he and the Italian grasped arms.

  As they parted the knight then spoke in perfect Norman.

   “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again Alfonso de Mantes and certainly not on a battlefield!” he said.

   “Nor I you my friend. Sir Diego, may I present Sir Reynard Sancerre and Sir Robert Spurling. Sirs, this is Sir Diego Perez, advisor to the King Sancho VII of Navarre.”

  The three knights acknowledged one another with a bow of their heads.

   “Sir Diego and I fought at Acre together, many years ago,” said Alfonso.

   “Too many years ago. Sir Robert, you are a relative of Sir Roger Spurling of the Knight’s Hospitaller?” asked Sir Diego.

   “He was my father. Sadly he died not long ago,” answered Robert.

   “I am sorry to hear that. I fought with the Knights Hospitaller in Palestine. Sir Roger was a fine warrior but do the Brothers not take a vow of chastity and their oaths forbid them to marry?”

   “I was born illegitimate and then was bequeathed my father’s title after his passing.”

   “He broke his vows to his Order?” said the elderly knight disapprovingly.

  Robert was not overly happy by Sir Diego’s impertinence. He swallowed and looked the man in the eye.

   “A failure which I’m sure he regretted for the rest of his days. And maybe the reason he returned from the Holy Land to become a vassal of the Lord Montgomerie and defender of Bridgenorth.”

   “Anyhow, lucky for us that he did succumb to the charms of a beautiful maid, otherwise we would not have one of the finest warriors amongst us now” interjected Reynard. “Who has proved himself time and time again in battle,” he added forcefully.

   “I’m sure,” answered Sir Diego doubtfully. “Well enough talk, let me present you to his majesty. If you would follow me.”

   “Excellent,” said Alfonso.

  The captain shot the Commander and Robert a look of apology before they followed the knight into the tent.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the tent’s main compartment, before following Sir Diego into a secondary partition which was obscured by a curtain. On entering they encountered a huddle of around a dozen men surrounding a table. Upon it lay a beautifully illustrated map of the Iberian Peninsula.

   “Your Grace, may I present Sir Reynard Sancerre, Captain Alfonso des Mantes and Sir Robert Spurling,” announced Sir Diego.

  One of the men who had his back to them turned. He was of average build with bronze coloured skin, black hair and a perfectly trimmed, short beard.

  The three of them bowed to the King and waited for him to speak.

   “You are welcome to my camp Commander Reynard of the Forgotten Army. That is the title you prefer, am I correct?”

   “You are your Grace,” replied Reynard.

   “And you Sir Robert. You are also of the Forgotten Army?”

  Before Robert could answer, Sir Diego interrupted.

   “Sir Robert is a comrade-in-arms from the battles of Constantinople your grace.”

  Sir Diego’s interference was starting to irritate Robert, but he kept his fortitude so as not to dishonour himself or his fellows.

   “I am a follower of the Forgotten Army Your Grace and serve Commander Reynard where he wishes,” he replied.

   “And if the Forgotten Army is here to join my army?”

   “Then I too, like my equals, will fight under your banner.”

  The King smiled and beckoned the three men forward. Introductions were made to the lords and vassals of the King.

   “We are currently surveying our best options after the departure of our so-called French supporters,” the King said bitterly.

  The King then continued to point out potential routes, strategic positions, castles that were under enemy occupation and finally the latest reports of where the Almohad armies and their Andalusian militia were camped.

   “King Alfonso wishes to move our entire force south and confront the Caliph’s army within the next few weeks.”

   “And what is your opinion your Grace?” asked Robert.

  The King smiled.

   “Alfonso and I rarely agree on much, but in this case I agree. The longer we linger, the more chance we allow Al-Nasir and his generals to swell their ranks and raze our frontier castles to the ground.”

   “The vanguard is where my men will be the most affective your Grace,” answered the Commander.

   “If that is your wish, I have no objection Commander. However the Kingdoms of Portugal, Castile and Aragon will also have their own vanguards as well. It is most likely that your forces will merge, once we are on the move.”

   “As long as these other vanguards are prepared to fight at our side, then we will have no quarrel with them.”

  The King grunted with amusement.

   “Very well your Grace. I will inform my captains and have them prepare.”

   “I do have one request Commander.”

  Reynard waited to see whether the King was going to request the inevitable.

   “Your men’s appearance!”

   “My men fight better, when they do not wear surcoats your Grace.”

  The King then nodded to a clerk who had been noting their conversation. He stepped forward and handed the Commander a large purse, filled with silver coins.

   “I do not demand they fight under my colours Commander but I have standards. We have heard of your men’s ferocity and bravery. So I would ask that they fight in your colours if you so wish it?”

   “This silver should cover the costs and there are merchants aplenty in the