Crusader Gold: Gold Trilogy, #3

By Dion Mayne and Paul Richardson

A story about the treasures of Alexander the Great

And lengths men went to, to have them.

Young Saracen, Yasheed, breaks his oath to the Brothers of Order to save his father and himself from certain death at the gallows from the Crusaders, and sparks an adventure filed with daring, deceit, and opportunity.

The enigmatic French general, Pierre Favre and his charismatic colonel Bertrand Resolu, lead their former Crusaders on ransacking raids in a rebellion against the King of France.

With the Brothers of Order aghast at Favre's actions, they send an odd pairing to seek revenge. But it is not only the Order in pursuit of the former Crusaders. King Philip II of France has become suspicious. He wants his wayward crusaders brought to justice, and more importantly, wants any treasures they may have acquired. The King commissions Delano the Butcher of Blois to use whatever means necessary to quell the ambitions of Favre's newly formed Knights of Argos.

At a time in history when life was ruthless, Crusader Gold tells a story of commitment, passion and resilience. Intertwined with historical events, it is the final book in the "Gold" trilogy.

Boomerang Gold, Masquerade Gold, Crusader Gold, traverse more than five centuries. The books can be read as published or in chronological order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dion Mayne
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223210924

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Acre 1191

Particles of dust hung in the beams of light which had pushed through the loosely tethered side materials of the military tent, as their geometric sharpness penetrated the lingering residue of darkness and signal the first moments of a new day. The rays methodically edged down the inside of the hand-woven panels, crept across the strewn floor rugs and ruffled bedding, to shine directly onto the face of French General Pierre Favre. The concentration of light stirred him. The warmth soothed his alcohol induced headache, but the pink light pushing through his eyelids annoyed him. He rolled onto his back, opened his eyes, and allowed them to adjust to the shadows beyond the intrusive rays which had been his wake-up call. As he became accustomed to the light, he focused his thoughts and brought himself back to where he was and why he was there.

He felt the warmth of the body beside him. As memories of the previous night came back, he smiled. With post-sleep effort, the aging General sat up. He wiped the crust from his eyes. A flick of his right hand pushed his grey fringe up and away from his forehead. Both arms stretched out above him. Fingers splayed. Thin white legs pushed out. Ankles cracked as they flexed. Toes curled and pulled at his legs. As his muscles completed their awakening ritual, the General looked at his features. Skin sagged on his arms behind his biceps. Rolls of a well nurtured hair-covered belly sagged to almost touch the tops of his thighs. Knobbly knees pushed up like two white bulbs at the midpoint of his lower limbs. He sighed. He was no longer the virile warrior he had once been. But as a general, it was his brain and not his brawn which drove his ambitions.

He looked at the young woman, still asleep beside him. Her olive skin was smooth and alive. The curve of her back and the fullness of her buttocks inviting. Favre slumped onto his side again. He pressed himself in behind the woman and took her in his arms. Without a sound and little effort, the woman adjusted her posture. Despite having lost the strength of a frontline combatant over the years, it soon became obvious to the woman with him that Pierre Favre had not lost his lust for life.

It was as that desire was at a crescendo, a young squire entered the tent. For the junior knight, such activity was commonplace in Commanding Officers’ quarters, so, out of respect for his General he stood at the tent opening and waited. But he had orders to deliver to Favre and several other officers. Despite the moaning amidst the melee of arms, legs and silk cloth, the squire said in a raised voice, General Favre, King Richard the Lionheart has ordered the executions of the Muslims to begin!

The woman released her clutch hold on the General’s thighs, reached out for a half full goblet of last night’s wine and tossed it in the direction of the squire. In a voice much raspier than the sensuality which exuded her body, she screamed. He will be there! She paused, took a breath, and screeched, When he is done here!

Pierre turned his head and looked at the squire. With a wave of the General’s left hand, the squire left the tent.

Without the usual time for both physical and emotional recovery, it was not long before the General was on his feet. He looked down on his lover, now lying on her front, left leg bent, foot in the air. He said, You have once again given this General great satisfaction. I thank you!

The woman rolled on to her back and smiled. She blew a kiss up to Favre. She knew the commitment to satisfy a senior officer at his beck and call was more than compensated by the perks and privileges she gained as a woman consigned to such a high-ranking officer.

The General gave his body a shake. He poured two cups of wine. He drank his without breath. He said, As I step out of the tent this morning I must transform into a heartless soul. I wish for you to remember me as I am now as none of my countrymen nor I believe these executions ordered by this English King are humane or right! We can only hope God ignores what is to take place here today.

The woman took a sip of wine, her mind trying to maintain focus on the present and not the day ahead. She said, I only think of you as you are when we are one. The gentle soul inside the armour, not the man seen by those you command. I do not let your duties pervade my thoughts.

The General smiled. He knelt and kissed the woman’s forehead. Those kind words may be of great benefit to me, especially tonight when you return to my tent. I am sure I will need a distraction from today’s events which will surely trouble my mind.

Dressed in French armour, Favre left in search of his second in charge. He didn’t need to look far. Colonel Bertrand Resolu was beside the entrance of his tent. A solid, tall man with attractive features and locks of brown hair to his shoulders, Favre was surprised the officer was already up and about. He said to Resolu as a greeting, Old friend, I thought you would still be sleeping off last night’s adventures!

With a chuckle and in his unmistakable deep voice, Resolu replied, Not so much with the ‘old’ thank you! You are lucky, you just have the one paramour to satisfy. I had two last night! I slept soundly until that pest of a squire woke me up.

A broad smile lightened Favre’s face. You never cease to amaze me, Bertrand. You are such the ladies’ man but a gentleman at heart.

Pleasantries over, Favre asked, Have you spoken with any others this morning in regard to the executions?

The Colonel lowered his head and shook it despairingly. Just a couple, but they share our thoughts and those they have spoken to are also despairing of this execution order. There are possibly two thousand prisoners here! It’s absurd and inhumane! I for one have no tolerance of those who seek to kill so wantonly.

I agree, said Favre. Though, after you left the meeting last night, King Richard dictated that he wants the executions to be carried out on the highest point on Ayyadieh Hill, so the entire Ayyubid army and Sultan Saladin’s headquarters will witness it! He thinks it may be the catalyst for some reciprocal prisoner swaps. Yet he is determined to carry out this barbaric act to its fullest if there are no concessions by Saladin’s forces. The gallows that were built may not be required. The English King is wanting to put the prisoners to the axe.

Resolu showed shock and horror. The axe! Does the Englishman not know this horrendous event will set off the Saracens and they will attack all day! Such fire in the bellies of those warriors is something I do not want to face.

Favre nodded his head, Yes. A point we made last evening as well. If only the ‘fearless’ King Philip the Second of France had remained on the Crusade, then this massacre might not take place. We have men who have been captured by the Ayyubid army. We do not expect them to survive the day should this horror show proceed.

As the two discussed their disdain, an English messenger came to the side of the tent. Sorry to interrupt, however, King Richard has asked for all generals and their Seconds in Command to join him up on the small hill, Ayyadieh.

The Frenchmen acknowledged the message. We will gather our men and make our presence there for your King, said Favre.

––––––––

BLOIS 1191

As a lifelong loyal servant, Limier knew it was not his place to question the Count’s actions, or in this case, the actions of one of the Count’s family, but with Theobald now a Crusader, and away from the estate for more than a year, his ward, Delano had become more insidious and uncontrollable. His reputation as a reviled young man had evolved into one of a much-feared mercenary and a sadistic killer. Delano’s pretentious and behemothic approach to those he considered subservient, had taken Limier beyond the limits of his tolerance.

Count Theobald had argued vehemently with Delano about his lack of commitment to the King when he refused to sign up and join the Crusade. Limier had sided with the Count but had never had the courage to argue with the young lad who had now grown into a giant of a man. Delano held the view that he didn’t need to travel across the Mediterranean, risk seasickness and scurvy, to kill people. He could do it right there in France and be paid well for the missions he fulfilled for the Crown and other influential individuals.

During one disagreement, the Count and Delano had come to blows. Limier had attempted to intervene but had been slashed by Delano’s wayward dagger for his efforts. The scar from his left eye to his chin was a regular reminder of that clash between the Count and his ward. Since the fracas, Delano had ceased carrying out raids and ransacking’s for Theobald. Instead, he had commenced to operate as a freelance mercenary. He had no problems gaining commissions from Noblemen, Gentry, and on occasions, the King, as he dealt with uncooperative tenants, tax evaders, adulterers and those who pursued a non-Christian faith, especially Jews. Delano had built up a sizeable army and had taken up residency in a castle not far from Blois; a castle which once belonged to a nobleman who had withheld taxes from the French treasury. Whenever Delano rode from the castle, clad in his black and gold armour, and on his black stallion, a band of mercenaries at his side, those who saw him would shudder and pray for the souls the Butcher of Blois was about to bring down.

So, with the Count and his ward no longer on amicable terms, Theobald had taken up a command on behalf of his King and departed Blois to engage in the Third Crusade. Limier had been left in charge of the estate in the Count’s absence. With the Count’s wife now sharing a bed with the elderly gent who owned the neighbouring estate, life at the Theobald mansion was sedentary, except for the occasions when Delano returned.

This was one of these occasions. Delano had stormed in and demanded to see a newly appointed maid called Bella. To Limier, Bella seemed a mature and reliable employee. She had been tentative at first, but while still shy and timid, she undertook all tasks with confidence and little need for supervision. Delano had not indicated why he wished to see Bella, but he and several of his mercenaries had barged into the cooking station, snatched up the woman and dragged her into the Grand Dining Hall.

They were in there now. As Limier stood outside large doors he heard Delano laugh. He heard Bella cry. Material ripped. Bella cried again. There was a loud slap of a hand on skin. Bella cried even louder.

Limier seethed. Since the Count’s departure for the Holy Lands, there had been an unwritten rule. Delano was never to bring his violence and ribaldry to the estate. From what the elderly servant could hear through the closed doors, the young man he had seen grow to become the Butcher of Blois had broken that rule.

He stood at the doors and shouted, Do what you like, Delano, but don’t do it here!

Bella cried out. A plea. Another hand-slap. Another scream of pain. Laughter from the men.

Limier pushed open the doors. Delano stood at the Count’s end of the banquet table, naked from the waist down. The servant was surprised by how hairy Delano’s legs were. Dark curls ran up the muscles of his thighs and onto the white skin of his back.

Either side of the table, two mercenaries had a firm hold of Bella, an arm each. The woman’s legs flopped over the end of the table. Delano’s massive frame stood between them.

Limier heard Bella say, Please, I do not know what you are talking about.

Delano swung his hand down hard. Bella’s head bounced from side to side. Delano said, Admit it, you are the girl who escaped with that weasel Resolu on the night we incinerated your family! It has taken me twenty years to track you and your Jewish friends down. I want to find out exactly what it was that made Bertrand so interested in fraternizing with Jews. Perhaps it was purely physical. I look forward to telling him my findings should he return from his crusade.

Bella squirmed under the powerful mercenary, but the more she struggled the more pressure he applied. At one stage she broke out of the grip of the man to her right. She lashed out and tried to claw at Delano’s face, but he caught her arm. He glared at the mercenary who tried to restrain the flailing arm. Delano scorned. Don’t let go again!

Stop now! It was Limier.

Delano stood up and turned. He said to the servant, Why should I stop? Do you want a turn?

The servant stomped his feet. Let the young lady go! Get out of here. Take your crude and disgusting lackies with you!

Delano grinned. Lady? This piece of trash is not a lady. She is a Jew, and is likely here to murder my uncle, your master, whenever he should get back from the Holy Land. She should have been burned in the massacre along with the others all those years ago. Besides, I am not finished. Delano swivelled and leant back in over the woman on the table. Bella squealed as she felt his force.

Limier ran at Delano, but he was intercepted by a third mercenary. The slice of a knife blade opened the servant’s throat and he fell to the tiles, groping at his neck, gasping, bleeding, dying.

Bella screamed louder as she watched Limier fall. The men either side held on tightly as Bella used all her strength to attempt to break free.

Woo hoo! Delano shouted. He slapped at Bella’s thigh. This is like riding an unbroken colt!

Bella screamed again. Bella writhed.

Delano said to Limier’s assailant, Get ready.

The mercenary came in beside the prostrate woman.

Not yet! Delano shouted.

"Not yet!

Not yet.

Now!"

Delano pushed with his hips and let out a lung clearing gasp at the same time as the mercenary’s dagger swiped across Bella’s throat.

The maid’s body jerked. Then it went limp.

Delano adjusted his clothing as he walked from the room, his accomplices in step either side. The men left Bella and Limier where they lay.

Ayyadieh 1191

The pleas for mercy, wails of dread, and death fearing screams had already begun. Two rows of Muslims, shackled in pairs, formed what seemed to be a never-ending line, down the hill and across the adjacent plain. At the summit, four executioners, two for each of the lines, stood, axes raised. The lead prisoner pairs were pushed to their knees. Before any could react, silver flashes arced down from above. Neck bones crunched. Air surged out of exposed windpipes. In unison, four heads dropped like rocks into the pools of mud, blood, and bowel excrement, directly in front of lifeless knees.

Three bodies slumped. One remained in the kneeling position as if still clinging to the desperation of pre-mortem prayer. With this round of executions completed, lower ranked milites kicked heads away, dragged the dismembered bodies to the sides and added them to the growing piles of carnage. The prisoners were shuffled forward. Axes were raised. Within seconds four more men had lost their lives.

The executions continued throughout the day. From time-to-time axemen were replaced. Occasionally there was a pause as buckets of water flushed away the gore of blood and the stench of dying men’s faeces.

Most of the slain accepted their fate as they reaffirmed their allegiances to their god. Some protested but were overpowered by the assisting milites. Occasionally a shackled man managed to throw himself to the ground, only to be beheaded where he lay.

Sections of the Ayyubid Army had watched on from the lowlands. Many were overcome by the emotion of seeing their countrymen beheaded. Some broke ranks and attacked the Crusade forces. But they were pushed back again and again. King Richard the Lionheart was relentless. Throughout the proceedings he remained expressionless. He ordered row after row of prisoners to be brought forward. He had the generals under his command direct the executions of the prisoners.

At one point, late in the morning, he shouted, I do not see Saladin offering any of our countrymen in exchange for these wretched prisoners, as was agreed! Instead, he sends skirmishes to try and break our ranks. Until I see our countrymen coming across the battlefield, these executions will continue! Bring forward the next four!

French, English and Italian Crusaders who witnessed the massacre were appalled. To them, death and dying were part of combat. But to witness so many defenceless men lose their lives in this murderous manner was an affront to their standing as warriors.

The day became more sombre as the hours went by, and more and more Muslims died. Despite the hundreds who had lost their lives, and the mass carnage which cluttered the hill, there were still many prisoners left to be executed before the sun disappeared beyond the distant hilltops. So, King Richard commanded the French contingent to move several groups of chained prisoners to the nearby gallows as an additional execution point, to speed up proceedings.

Colonel Bertrand Resolu was angered by the order, What is this in aide of? What does the English King hope to achieve by doing this? Is he saving us supplies because the prisoners eat too much, or does he believe one of these prisoners holds the secret to a hidden tunnel into Jerusalem?

General Pierre Favre shook his head. I do not know but should we show signs of dissent then we too will face the fate of these poor souls. To his executioners Favre yelled, Send the next four across to the hangman’s noose! There can’t be too many Saracens left. May God have mercy on our souls!

As the Colonel turned and gave the order to a nearby milite to bring the next four prisoners forward, he murmured to his General, Surely God has turned his back on us today!

Favre grunted. According to our English monarch, we are doing this in the name of God. Why is it always so convenient to use God’s name when it is we humans who conduct such heinous deeds?

Minutes before sundown, a young knight, Peter Les Fidèles, brought a line of prisoners to the gallows. Like so many before them that day, Favre and Resolu could see the pale in their faces, the fear in their eyes, and the dread in their shaking limbs. The closer the condemned men moved to the front of the line late that afternoon, the more fearful they became. They imagined the pain as they listened to the crunch of neck bones and watched as men who they knew swung lifeless ahead of them. They rehearsed their prayers each time the executioner slipped the rope down over a victim’s head. The prisoners could smell the filth as fresh excrement landed on the mess that had been left before it. They cringed at the humiliation should their limp bodies suffer the same fate.

Les Fidèles said to his General, Sir, this is it, there are no more left after this group. Even the English have stopped. They are on their way down the hill. Their milites are flanking them, to repel any more attacks should the Saracens try.

Thank you, young man, said Favre. Let’s get this nightmare over. I’ll have you take the rest of our men down to join the English forces. Leave fifteen here and we will finish the executions. Oh, and take one of our executioners. We will get by with a single gallows man for the last few terrible deeds. Leave the larger bald man. The one who grunts."

With that order, Peter Les Fidèles rounded up those who had been there as spectators and marched them down to the English camp. He left Resolu and Favre with fifteen French knights.

Those knights brought the remaining Muslims over, prisoner by prisoner. Each was hanged, the same as those before him. Eventually, there were two left, an older man and another, some thirty years the older man’s junior. By their physical appearance it was likely they were father and son. And they argued with each other. The knights restrained the older prisoner and brought him over to the gallows. As the older man struggled with the knights, he spoke to the younger prisoner, in Arabic. To the men restraining him, it sounded like he was warning the young prisoner to remain quiet, but his words were falling on deaf ears. The younger prisoner had started shouting, stuttering. Some of the knights started to laugh at him. Even though he was still heavily chained, he threw his arms about as he tried to gain attention and stop the executions from going ahead. Colonel Resolu had taken notice. He became curious about what the young prisoner was trying to say. The Saracen attempted to speak French.

The two prisoners stood directly behind the ropes. As the executioner went to lower nooses over heads, the younger man spoke even louder. It was obvious he was not pleading for mercy. He was trying to communicate with the French knights. Just at the point where the lever was to be pulled so the board beneath the prisoners would drop away, Resolu raised his hand.

General Favre looked at his second in command. He said, What? Curious. Annoyed. With these two being the last for the day, a refreshing wash down, copious wine, and the soft embrace of a young woman awaited him. After such an horrendous day, he believed he deserved all three this evening. He asked Resolu, Why the pause to proceedings?

The Colonel ignored his General, for the moment. He pointed at the younger prisoner and with a hand gesture, directed him to try to calm down. He encouraged the young man to speak slowly and convey what he was attempting to say. The older prisoner shouted at the younger man again.

Resolu turned to his General and said, Look at his upper arm, among the tattered clothing, the ink image embedded in his skin!

Favre could see it. Yes, so?

Resolu pointed at the older prisoner, the rope still loose around his neck. See, the old man has the same markings. An eagle clutching a scroll. That my friend is a Brotherhood emblem. I have never seen it before, yet I have heard about it. It is only told as a legend among old scholars. We must hear what this young Saracen is trying to tell us.

Favre thought for a moment. He nodded to the executioner. The man frowned. He was confused but he stepped back from the platform. The General gestured to the young Saracen. He encouraged him to speak. The young man took several minutes but calmed and spoke clearly enough for those around him to hear what he had to say.

At first, he had mumbled, and no one had understood. He repeated the words. This time they were clear. Or, Trésor et Alexandre!

Colonel Resolu raised an eyebrow and kept his hand held high to let the executioner know to remain at ease.

The older prisoner yelled at the prisoner beside him, but the younger man said more. Alexander the Great! Treasures! Location! My Father! He pointed at the older prisoner. My Father. I am Yasheed. We know where! Please! Stop!

The young prisoner was exhausted. His legs gave way under the weight of the chains. The pressure of the rope on his neck began to choke him. The father was hysterical. He shook his head. Even under the burden of the shackles, he clasped his hands in front of him. He prayed aloud.

Favre stepped in beside the young man.

Yasheed, is it? the General asked.

The young man struggled to stand and nodded. He tapped his chest with the backs of his hands. Oui, Yasheed.

What do you know about the lost treasures of Alexander the Great?

Yasheed understood what the Colonel had asked. He nodded again, We Brothers of Order, guards of the treasure!

A knight standing nearby scoffed at the statement. General, this low life is just trying to save his skin and that of his kin. These types will do anything to remain alive. We have heard it all today, but this takes the prize!

Favre looked into the knight’s eyes. He was scornful. Do not be so dismissive, good Knight. We have all wondered why the pompous and brazen English King ordered and carried out this atrocious massacre; why he so willingly sacrificed so many lives. Perhaps, such an admission from one of these prisoners was exactly what he sought. Maybe he hoped this procession of death may reveal some who may belong to a brotherhood and would divulge the knowledge of vast treasures in exchange for their lives.

There was a grunt from the knight. Behind him, glances were exchanged among his peers. It was possible all this bloodshed may make sense.

Resolu asked Favre, What now? Do we spare this pair and present them to Richard the Lionheart? Or do we interrogate them ourselves?

Favre said to those with him, Our own King has deserted us and returned home to France. This eccentric English King always seeks glory for himself, regardless of the consequences. I say we have seen enough bloodshed to last us a thousand years. I hereby declare we interrogate these two to determine the credibility of the young man’s claims. If they are lying, they will be dealt with without remorse. If what this Yasheed claims is true, then I and the men who have served so loyally alongside me, will reward ourselves with long lost treasures. Do I have your support?

In a whisper even though there was no one listening in, Resolu and the Knights said as one, Oui.

Favre acknowledged the response. He added, By agreeing to my proposal you have accepted an allegiance to secrecy, punishable by death should you break it. Do I still have your support?

Oui! This time it was confident, assertive.

Favre ordered the two Saracens be gagged, unchained, hooded, and smuggled down to his personal tent. Favre would interrogate the men one at a time. He instilled an understanding that it was imperative no-one, regardless of rank or nationality, was to enter his tent while the interrogations took place.

Before these last two Saracens were prepared for the transfer down the hill, Favre dismissed the last executioner. The man stepped away from the gallows and took up an axe. He bowed subserviently, stepped back, and bowed again.

Favre gestured and said, Thank you. May God be with you!

Expressionless, the executioner bowed again. He turned and walked away in the direction of the English camp.

Favre shook his head. He pitied the executioner. He could not live with the guilt, if it were him who had killed so many helpless souls.

Watching as the slaughterer shuffled down the hill, a knight spoke up, What about that executioner? Sir, you have sent him away. What if he tells his English colleagues he did not actually hang the last two prisoners?

The Colonel answered on behalf of his General. He laughed before he spoke, "That executioner is deaf and has no tongue. He was caught sharing secrets once before. The delightful King Richard the Lionheart ordered he be punished. So, some of the King’s men beat him to within a sliver of his life. It is thought that the many blows to his head led to his loss of hearing. To top it off the English King ordered his tongue be cut out. So, the man now carries out the lowest of tasks in the English army and will live out the rest of his life in punishment for his initial deceit. That is why we used hand gestures with him today. He is of no concern to