Keeper Of The Grail by Michael P. Spradlin

Author:Michael P. Spradlin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2008-11-07T23:00:00+00:00

17

I watched in horror as the Saracen’s blade whistled through the air toward Sir Thomas’ head. My hand went to the hilt of my sword, but before I could move from the spot, Sir Thomas blocked the downward swing of the scimitar, spun on one heel and brought his sword around in a mighty stroke, striking the man down.

“Hurry, boy! Now!” he shouted. He jumped over the body of the man who lay bleeding on the floor, through the door and into the courtyard.

The main compound of the city was chaos. Men yelled and horses wailed, and the sound of the battle was deafening. Looking along the main street leading from our quarters I saw only a mass of men, knights and men-at-arms in chain mail fighting Saracens in turbans. In these last few months of the siege we had seen skirmish after skirmish and attack after attack as the Saracens had tried to overrun our walls. But nothing like this. How could they have finally fought their way inside the city?

The sky rained fire. Flaming arrows descended from the heavens, and the thumping sound of siege engines could be heard flinging clay pots of burning oil onto the rooftops of the city. I could hear the whistle of the quarrels fired from the ballistae, like arrows shot from the bow of a giant, and the screams as they found their targets. The brothers would have said that it looked as if the gates of hell itself had opened before us.

Another knight, his mail coat caked in mud and blood, ran past us on his way toward a small group of approaching Saracens.

“They broke through the west gate,” he shouted. “We will rally at the Crusaders’ Palace! Hurry!”

Running a few yards in front of us he launched himself at three attackers. Caught off guard by this approach the whole of them tumbled to the ground, wrestling and fighting hand to hand in the mud of the street.

“My back, lad! Keep a sharp eye!” Sir Thomas shouted, starting down the street as quickly as his battered body would carry him. Surprisingly, we ran untouched by the fighting surrounding us until we reached the first cross street of the main thoroughfare. My sword was in my hand, but I had no memory of drawing it.

As we passed through the intersection of the street, Saracens came rushing toward Sir Thomas, but veered in my direction when they saw me behind him, thinking a young boy an easier target than a knight. The smaller of the two raised his weapon, screaming in rage. I managed to block his first downward thrust, but his sword was much heavier, and my blade flew from my hand. He swung at my head with all his might, and I barely managed to duck. His momentum spun him around so that his back was facing me. I jumped forward, throwing my shoulder into him and knocking him to the ground.

“Run, Tristan!” I heard Sir Thomas say as he pulled at my arm.

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