Read Online Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar by Robyn Young - Free Book Online

the knight, the hardness of his gaze not diminished by the fact that he only had one eye. The other was covered with a worn leather patch. “Continue!” he barked, returning to the edge of the field where sixteen boys of Will and Garin’s age were standing in a line.

    Not all sergeants in the Temple were instructed in the art of combat. Many would serve as laborers: cooks; blacksmiths; tailors; grooms, in the numerous preceptories and estates, and would never go to war. But those who were candidates for knighthood were expected to be accomplished warriors by the time they came of age at eighteen. Basic schooling—the trivium of rhetoric, grammar and logic, which most monks in holy orders would be privy to—was considered far less important, although the sergeants were expected to know, by heart, all six hundred clauses of the Rule. So, by the age of fifteen these boys could ride a horse at full tilt carrying lance and shield, but other than a few exceptions, Will and Garin included, they couldn’t write their own names.

    Will faced Garin, keeping his weapon locked in front of him. The sword was scarred with use, the edges splintered. Garin made the first move, yelling as he charged. Will avoided the first strike, but Garin pressed the attack, forcing him back with a series of short, cutting blows. Will recovered his stance and they crashed together. Swords locked, they pushed against one another, neither willing to give quarter. Their breath steamed on the air and their feet churned the mud to a slick, black slime. Will snarled into Garin’s face and shoved his blade forward. Garin’s eyes widened as his foot slid sideways in the wet. He fell, his grip loosening. With a quick, stiff-armed strike, Will slapped the sword from his opponent’s hand, sending it flying and, as Garin sprawled on his back, Will stood over him, pointing the tip of the blade at his throat. A few cheers rose from the sergeants on the sidelines.

    The knight silenced them with a brusque wave. “The battle wasn’t worthy of praise.” He gestured to Will and Garin. “Stand down.”

    Will withdrew his sword from Garin’s throat and offered his hand. Accepting it, Garin pulled himself up and collected his blade. They jogged to the sidelines, their tunics and hose soaked. Will scowled as the knight began to address the group.

    “Campbell’s defense was weak. A strong defense could have allowed him to weaken de Lyons, whose opening assault was disorderly and easily anticipated.” The knight turned to the two youths, his eye falling on Will. “Then you wouldn’t have had to resort to such crude methods by which to beat de Lyons. Your final move consisted of brute strength alone and lacked technique. But at least Campbell used the terrain to his advantage.” He turned to Garin. “Where was your balance, de Lyons?” As Garin opened his mouth to speak, the knight cut him off. “Brocart. Jay.” He nodded to two of the waiting sergeants. “Take your places.”

    Will flexed his arms, loosening his stiff muscles, as the sergeants headed for the center of the field. He glanced at Garin, whose gaze was on the knight. “Your uncle is in his usual good mood, then.”

    “I think he’s concerned about the meeting tomorrow.” Garin turned to Will. “I hear you will be there.”

    Will hesitated. Owein’s threat was still fresh in his mind, as were the blisters on his hands from cleaning the stables’ stalls, mending tack and polishing saddles.

    Garin leaned closer. “You can tell me,” he said, out of earshot of the other sergeants. “I’ll be at the king’s parley also. I’m bearing my uncle’s shield.”

    “Sorry,” said Will, relaxing. “Owein forbade me from speaking of it.”

    “My uncle did too, but he let slip this morning that you would be there.” Garin gave Will a rueful look. “I’m afraid the prospect of your presence at such an important event has displeased him.”

    Will looked over at the grim-faced