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

   “No why?”

   “Ah, he’s a character alright. Blunt as a spoon and built like an ox. I bet in his prime, he could hold his own in a fight.”

   “Probably for the best. If we’re outnumbered, we could do with extra help and there’s certainly not enough time to hear your confessions. We’d be here all bloody week.”

  The laughter continued, this time including Robert.

   “Is that right? And what about yourself my grubby friend? Not exactly squeaky clean are we?”

   “Squeaky clean? Bollocks! I’ve sinned as much as you, but I’m ready to dine with the devil if that’s my fate.”

  By some of the faces, Robert could see that such words made the others a little uncomfortable. Death was always close.

  It was Ridley who broke the prickly silence.

   “Won’t be a problem for me, I’ll be dining with captain Wilfred,” he said, revealing a chain that hung around his neck.

  Hanging from it was a small hammer.

   “You’re a pagan?”

   “As Christian as the rest of you. But I still believe the old ways of my forefathers.”

  It was a common thing with the men who had Saxon and Viking blood in their veins. Robert had met several over the years. He remembered the two brothers back at Bridgenorth, Clyde and Trefor. They would still celebrate some of the old customs, regardless of the local priest’s disapproval.

  Their chatter was cut short by the appearance of the Commander.

   “Well, well, well. If you’ve enough time to gossip like a bunch of women, you’ve time for sentry duty. Go on, get to it.”

  There were no objections from the men. They were on second watch which was one of the best. The food had been eaten, the sentry duty allowed it to digest and then they didn’t have to wake half way through the night.

   “Rob, a word please,” said the Commander.

  Robert had risen with the rest of his men, preparing to take his place on the camp’s boundary.

   “Everything alright with the lads?” asked Reynard as the others departed into the darkness.

   “They’re suspicious. Not quite convinced I think.”

   “Not surprising. They’re mercenaries not fools. And how fare you?”

   “As best as one could be in such circumstances.”

   “You worry for Selva?”

   “Is that wrong?”

   “Not at all. You know that Alf will take care of her though?”

   “I know. Clutter too. But I still worry. I will be happier when she is away from here.”

   “From here?”

   “From the campaign.”

   “And where would you take her?”

  There was the tone of amusement in Reynard’s voice. Robert then realised he had not considered what the future held for him and the woman he loved. But he already knew.

   “I will give her the choice. She can go where she pleases with enough coin to keep her safe. Home to Zara maybe? Or if she wishes, back to England with me.”

   “I am pleased for you my young friend. But a word of advice, say nothing of this to her until the campaign is over.”

   “You think things will go badly?”

   “I think it better not to fill her head with dreams that will flood her thoughts. You must consider, this campaign could continue another year or more.”

  Reynard had made the young man realise there were a number of fairly obvious flaws in Robert’s hasty, impetuous rescue. He anxiously started to dwell on other concerns that might cause the woman he had left back at the Crusader encampment to tire of him and the life he led. All he could do was wait until they had fulfilled their mission in hand and ask her upon his return.

Chapter 15

The Town of Baeza, July, 1212

Chevalier was admiring the beautiful Visigoth-design ceiling, which had once covered a pure house of worship, but was now infected by the Moorish invaders and turned into a mosque.

  Earlier they had passed the low walls of the town and found it almost deserted.  Only a few of the inhabitants, too old to make the journey to the fortress to the west, had stayed. The town had been searched by Chevalier and Garcia’s men, who killed some and ignored others. At the centre of the small town stood the ancient building, built by Roman Catholics, sacked and converted by the Moors and now back in Christian hands. For how long? It did not matter to the two knights who led these men, they simply believed they were on a quest for God. Here, they believed, was the resting place of the Crown of Lombardy.

  A groan came from the slumped figure lying on the floor. The Imam of the mosque had stayed along with his protégé. On their entry, the young apprentice had tried to bar their way, attempting to defend his mentor. His life was quickly extinguished by Garcia, who drew his sword and without a second thought, opened the young man’s throat. After watching his pupil die, the Imam had stood defiantly and said nothing as the Templar neared him.

   “Well, at least being on this holy ground, that incidentally, may I point out, your people have stolen, your pup will go to the afterlife quickly,” the knight drawled in the Imam’s native tongue, a thin smile on his face.

  The Moslem cleric remained silent and merely stared back at Garcia straight in the eye. Impressed by the Imam’s fearlessness, Chevalier stood back and watched to see what the Templar would do next. His answer came soon enough when Garcia swung his mailed hand into the Imam’s stomach. The wind drove out of him and the blow so hard it was sure to have cracked some of the man’s ribs. He dropped to the ground,