Knights of the Blood by Katherine Kurtz, Scott MacMillan Read Free Book Online Page B

returned with a hacked—off trunk of a date palm, and de Beq signaled them into position as he stretched up to peer inside one more time.
    Hassad was standing nearer the old priest’s head now, one hand stroking the gasping throat while the other slowly turned the blood—stained dagger before the doomed man’s suffering gaze. One of his men had already seized the cup–a simple thing of horn, bound with brass–from its little shrine behind the altar and in it Hassad caught the first spurting gush of blood as he suddenly plunged the dagger into the side of the old man’s neck.
    The double act of sacrilege and desecration immobilized de Beq for just a stunned instant, as the cup brimmed to overflowing almost in an eye—blink and Hassad lifted it in mocking salute to the figure on the crucifix before draining it off at a single draught. As the Turk filled it from the source again and offered it to one of his followers, himself bending to the wound itself, de Beq ducked back sharply and half—fell to the ground, at the same time motioning to the men with the date palm trunk. Seconds later, backed by the weight of a dozen grimfaced men, the battering ram made short work of the chapel door on the first blow.
    “The Sword of Christ!” Someone screamed, as the first of de Beq’s crusaders burst into the chapel, maces and axes clearing everything in their path.
    Like men possessed, the Turks turned on the Europeans and began fighting their way to the door of the chapel. Hassad stayed back, a scimitar now in his hand, watching the progress and occasionally urging his men on. One of de Beq’s men lost his footing, went down in the rush, and was immediately seized by a Turk who stood on his chest and ripped his head off with his bare hands. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Turks in such close quarters, de Beq’s men tumbled back through the door and into the courtyard again.
    De Beq rallied them. An iron mace pulped the skull of the first Turk to charge after them, while the next two were hacked to bits by knights rushing to de Beq’s side. One of the serjeants had run to the door of the chapel with his boar spear, ready to impale the next Turk through the opening. He reached the doorway just as a small Turk emerged brandishing a scimitar. The serjeant thrust at the Turk, who deftly parried the spear on his small round shield and then dashed back inside, the serjeant hot on his heels.
    De Beq and his men raced after, but not in time to save the hot—headed serjeant, whose dying eyes reflected eternal surprise and disbelief as he sagged to his knees just inside the door, trying to gather up his entrails in his arms. De Beq nearly tripped over him, but recovered in time to avoid a similar fate as a fat Turk lunged at him with a dagger and missed.
    The Turks had been momentarily stunned by the Europeans’ attack, but now they reacted with discipline as de Beq’s men renewed their offensive. The Turk who had cost the serjeant his life leaped forward, slashing at de Beq with his scimitar, but William of Etton parried the cut with his mace and swung hard at his attacker. The Turk brought up his shield defensively and managed to deflect the knight’s blow. William kicked out with all of his might and caught the Turk on the side of his knee.
    The small man’s leg buckled under the impact and the Turk went down. Screaming imprecations, he turned his attention to William now, going for the knight’s leg, but the larger man was raining blows on him so hard that his attack had little effect. Eventually, William’s mace connected with the Turk’s elbow, turning the joint into shattered pulp. The Turk screamed in pain as his arm fell useless to his side, and the knight was able to sink his mace into his adversary’s conical helmet.
    Martello held one of the Turks at bay with his spear as two more grappled with serjeants Joffre and Brandstadter. Joffre’s hand—and—a—half sword was too long to be used effectively in