oward the troop. He did
not hug his horse this time. Laughing, he rode up beside Nicetas, threw
his arms around him, and pulled the skinny body against his larger
frame. Nicetas's eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked into his when
Daoud let him go.

It turned out to be another perfect round, and Mahmoud declared they
could stop to pray and eat.

_Thank God!_ Daoud said fervently to himself.

The sun had crossed from the zenith to the western part of the sky.
Mahmoud led them in reciting the prayers, facing south toward Mecca.
Then each julban took a portion of stale bread and dry goat cheese from
a pouch hanging from his saddle, and a single draft from his water skin.
The swallow of warm water Daoud took tasted foul, but he had to fight
down the impulse to drink more. He sat down before his small tent to
eat.

"May I sit with you?" Daoud squinted up into the sun to see the Greek
boy standing over him.

"Please," said Daoud, gesturing to the sand beside him.

They ate in silence for a time. Daoud looked up from the hard bread he
was relentlessly chewing and saw Nicetas smiling at him. He smiled back.

"You were eating by yourself," Nicetas said. "Do you sleep alone, too?"
Daoud nodded.

"Would you like to have a tent mate?"

Before Daoud could answer, a shadow fell over them. Daoud looked up.
Kassar stood between them and the sun, half a dozen of his friends
around him. He glowered down at Nicetas.

"You think you are good?"

Nicetas's smile was friendly. "It is in the blood. Greeks are good at
games."

"You throw like a girl," Kassar said to Nicetas. The Kipchaq's followers
laughed dutifully.

Daoud felt his face burn with anger. He wanted to say something on
Nicetas's behalf, even though it was the rule that each boy must defend
himself.

Nicetas, still smiling pleasantly and looking quite unafraid, stood up
with lithe grace to face Kassar.

"My rumh pierces the target," he said, making a circle with thumb and
forefinger and pushing his other forefinger into it. "You have to be a
man to do that."

This time the laughter was spontaneous, but Kassar did not smile.

"I will bet with you that I can throw the rumh better than you can,"
said Kassar grimly. "I will make you a handsome bet. I will put up the
mail shirt that I took from a Frankish knight at Mansura."

Daoud felt the sting of envy. If he had only been a year or two older,
he, too, might have souvenirs of that battle.

"I possess nothi