Published by Understated Productions at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Bart Cline
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The virgin English countryside was undefiled by the work of man, except the well worn bridleway. The rolling hills, the green grass, the clouds threatening to pour rain upon us, the mud our horses laboured through, all combined to wish us a happy homecoming after our time spent on the continent. The French, of course, had not been friendly to us, and Spain had been little better with its Moorish population raising swords against any who come from “Christian” nations, whatever their intentions.
My horse, laden with supplies and clanking armour, cantered jauntily obeying my familiar touch. This animal had become one of my most trusted friends, despite having been stolen from his Moorish master near the Straits of Gibraltar. I think the moor must have been cruel to him, because the beast took to me from the moment I killed his former rider. My sword had tasted more blood on this quest than was expected with someone of my station, but my master always encouraged me to hone my martial skills.