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

   “I know of no such statue.”

   “He lies,” hissed Esca.

   “It is likely that it may have diminished over the years to become something unrecognisable,” said Chevalier, ignoring the Cardinal.

  There was a pause before the old man answered. He tried to sit up but his strength was failing him.

   “You will give your word that you will not attack the castle?”

   “You have my word.”

   “There is a tree at the south end of the town. Below it is a solid piece of carved stone….”

  The old man stopped and started to cough. Specks of blood flew from his mouth.

   “Bring water,” ordered Chevalier.

   “My father said it was once a symbol for the false God,” the old man wheezed.

  As Sir Guarin arrived with water, the old man slumped forward.

   “A tree? A tree and a solid lump of rubble,” said Garcia in revulsion.

   “We are in a town Sir Alejandro. I doubt there are many aged trees within its walls,” answered Chevalier.

   “Sir Aguillard, if I may,” said Sir Guarin. “I believe we may have already found such a tree while checking the town for an ambush.”

   “Then lead the way Brother Guarin.”

  They had ridden to the edge of the town where the cliff edge neatly cupped its crumbling walls. After a few false turns, Sir Guarin led the mounted group into a small, public, gathering place. It was circular, surrounded by plain insignificant houses with several streets and avenues leading out of it. At its centre was a patch of grass, contained within an old granite and cobbled border, and in its middle was an ancient olive tree. Its branches looked awkwardly twisted, entwined and crooked, making it look forbidding or cursed. Yet all of them seemed to be reaching for the sky.

  Dismounting Chevalier approached the ancient specimen. Was it under the tree maybe?

  Repeating the words of both the Imam and the elder in his head, the knight stood silently thinking hard.

  Embedded amongst the rickety stone border around the parched grass, he noticed the mixture of flint and mortar which was out of place in amongst the granite and cobble. Taking his hand from the handle of his sword he strode forward and noted more of the mortar and stone, which had smoothed over and merged with the ancient slabs of the circlet.

   “Bring men and tools,” he said loudly.

   “For what?” mocked Esca.

   “Cleric. Utter another word in my presence and regardless the protection provided by your Templar masters, I will have your tongue.”

  Chevalier’s voice had never sounded so dangerous. It was certainly enough to silence the Cardinal who stared at Garcia, obviously expecting the Templar to counter the threat. But to his disappointment the response was not what he expected.

   “Sergeant, see to it. Bring more men and tools. Spades, pick axes, anything you can find,” answered Garcia.

  The Templar dismounted and joined Chevalier. It was only then that he realised what the Order knight had discovered. He then looked up at the sky above, where the glaring sunlight echoed down upon them.

   “It lies beneath the golden sun,” he whispered.

  Taking a knee, he traced where the square foundation of the monument would have been.

   “Cardinal Esca, find a well and bring water. This is going to be hot work.”

   “Me? Fetch water, like a common slave?” answered the Cardinal in dismay.

   “Then maybe you would rather dig?”

*****

The sky was a haze of red and orange, smeared by the odd cloud that drifted across the skyline. The town of Baeza was just in sight, its elevated position dark on the horizon. Ruscar had returned with news. He had found sure evidence that the town’s inhabitants had fled the city for the protection of either Burgalimar castle or the city of Ubeda. Shamefully he admitted that he had inadvertently given away their arrival having being spotted by one of the enemy’s lookouts.

   “Do you think they got word to their masters?” asked the Commander.

  Ruscar’s look was enough to answer his Commander’s question.

   “What is it you smile at Sir Reynard?” asked Sir Edward moments later.

   “Because that was a bloody stupid question,” laughed Reynard.

   “They will soon realise though Commander,” answered Ruscar, his head bowed in disgrace.

   “You have done well, mighty Ruscar,” came a voice behind them.

  The Master of the Keys had been listening at the back of the group.

   “You have confirmed that the enemy are within the town and the inhabitants are gone.”

   “But we do not yet know their numbers and they will be prepared,” said Sir Guillame Fitzbois.

   “They would already be prepared and would have had more than enough time when they saw us approaching the town, over this blasted plain. And by the tracks we have followed I would estimate they outnumber us by not many,” replied Taillefer.

   “What of their fortifications?”

   “The walls of the town are low and the gates have neither a portcullis nor bridge,” replied the Moor.

   “Whatever they’re up to in there they will concentrate as many of their men in preparation for a frontal assault,” said Schaffer.

   “That’s because they believe it is our only way into the town,” answered Reynard.

   “Well where else would you…?” started Father Anzac.

  He stopped suddenly and stared at the Commander as if he were insane.

   “You’re a bloody mad man.”

   “Ruscar can it be done?” asked the Commander.

   “They would have to carry no armour,” he answered.

   “How high?”

   “As high as the walls of the great city of the Byzantine capital, if not more.”

  The Commander knew that Ruscar spoke of the colossal battlements of Constantinople.