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

heads glinting in the fresh sunlight. Their orders from the Almohad generals – to destroy the fools who arrogantly sat upon their array of destrier and palfrey horses.

  Those of the first ranks of Almohad soldiers who had abandoned their fallen comrades were given new heart by the approach of the reinforcements. Although exhausted by their time on the front line of the giant melee, they turned towards the Christian devils sensing victory once more.

   “Hold fast,” bellowed Robert as he saw some of his men preparing to charge.

  With only thirty paces to go, the Moors’ spears angled to thrust into the chests of the horses or the stomachs of their riders, the ground beneath their feet began to shake again. In one perfect manoeuvre, the knights of the Calatrava Order and the second unit of the Forgotten Army’s cavalry smashed into both flanks of the enemy troops. With their focus on those who had decimated their fellows in front of them, they had been oblivious to the two fresh mounted units coming in from the sides.

  A cheer rose from the men as they watched the carnage. The Moorish and Almohad warriors, their pikes and spears abandoned, started to fall back in disarray.

   “Charge!” roared the son of Spurling for the second time that day.

  The elongated deadly weapons, originally intended for skewering Robert, his comrades and their horses, fell to the blood-sodden ground. With an almighty roar, both cavalry and foot pursued the scattered enemy.

  In an arrow formation, with Robert at its front, their unit cut deep into the mass of the enemy infantry. Following, with almost no energy left in them, the thin ranks of Hamish and Wilfred’s men dispatched those who wailed and groaned. Some trying to take one last Christian infidel with them.

  Robert swept his sword again and again, striking down at what seemed to be a never ending number. The fleeing enemies’ exposed backs were an easy target and not an honourable kill but in battle, that honour must sometimes be left until the battle is ended. Ahead he saw a large, disorganized unit of cavalry.

  The enemy infantry survivors ran to the safety of the mounted troop.

   “No mercy!” shouted a raging voice.

  Commander Reynard had brought his unit almost level with that of Robert’s. The bloodlust in the Commander’s eyes was startling.

  Then he heard Jupiter scream with pain. For a moment Robert thought his mount was going to fall but he was strong enough to bear it. A Moorish warrior had swiped his scimitar across the warhorse’s side. He was about to strike the horse again, when Robert swung down, severing the Moor’s arm. He then finished the bastard who had inflicted pain on his mount, by stabbing him in the neck and kicked the body from his sword.

  Checking for further danger, he quickly inspected his companion’s injury.

   “Is he hurt?” asked Cherik, steering his horse up by Robert’s side.

  The neat cut was not as deep as Robert had originally feared and by the growls and snorts of anger coming from Jupiter, it was obvious he was eager to re-join the fray.

   “Come on boy, let’s show these bastards what happens when they try to bring us down.”

  He then heard a distant shout and the voice of the Commander.

   “Forgotten Army, rally to me.”

*****

The tides seemed to be slowly turning. Chevalier and Garcia watched as the army of King Sancho broke the enemy line on the right flank.

   “Master Ramirez, the Caliph’s royal cavalry!” shouted another of the Temple knights.

  Looking at the formation and direction they were taking, it seemed certain that the finest of the Caliph’s horsemen were intent on inflicting the same punishment on Sancho’s forces, by hitting their flank. It was clear it could well tilt the balance of the battle yet again.

  But none of that mattered to the Templar Master any longer. For there, amongst the unit of four hundred mounted Almohads, flew the royal banner of the Caliph Muhammed Al Nasir.

   “Ready yourselves Brothers. For now we shed the blood of the infidel. God wills it,” shouted Ramirez.

   “God wills it!” bellowed the Templar knights.

  The knights and their men started to advance, quickly breaking into a fast canter. They were not interested in the exhausted withered lines of infantry, whether they be ally or enemy, but concentrated solely on their objective.

  What were, only moments before, clean, white surcoats, were soon coated in the blood of the shattered enemy line. Garcia relished at the blood that sprung from the men he cut down. Their screams were like music to him. Chevalier too was enjoying the luxury of killing those who stood before him.

  The Caliph’s royal horsemen had seen the renowned banners of the Templar Order and changed their course towards them. Their hasty decision meant that with their army’s right flank fallen, the centre was sure to follow. But the knights of the Temple were worth the sacrifice. The heavily armoured warriors in their bloodstained, white mantles and red crosses were the most hated and worst of the Caliphate’s adversaries.

  Unlike their fellow horsemen, who were about to engage with the mounted units of King Sancho, the royal cavalry was riding in a disciplined formation. Bringing their long spears level and orders shouted from their commander, they started to advance towards the warrior monks, gathering speed as quickly as their enemy.

  The two forces struck one another with a force so colossal that in moments another stretch of the plain became an additional mass of blood and broken bodies. The front ranks of both parties were almost all dead or unhorsed within minutes. If not punctured by lances and spears in the saddle, they were trampled to death by the torrent of heavy hooves of the