rom his left. "Three days out from Acre,
and the accursed Saracens still elude us."

Sir Robert de Bouain twisted again in his saddle to look at the knight
riding alongside him. Sir Gaeton de l'Arc-Tombe sat tall and straight in
his saddle, his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare of
the sun.

Sir Robert's lips formed a smile. "They are not far off, Sir Gaeton.
They have been following us. As we march parallel to the seacoast, so
they have been marching with us in those hills to the east."

"Like the jackals they are," said Sir Gaeton. "They assail us from the
rear, and they set up traps in our path ahead. Our spies tell us that
the Turks lie ahead of us in countless numbers. And yet, they fear to
face us in open battle."

"Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?"

"Both," said Sir Gaeton flatly. "They fear us, else they would not dally
to amass so fearsome a force. If, as our informers tell us, there are
uncounted Turks to the fore, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being
dogged by the Bedouin and the black horsemen of Egypt, it would seem
that Saladin has at hand more than enough to overcome us, were they all
truly Christian knights."

"Give them time. We must wait for their attack, sir knight. It were
foolhardy to attempt to seek them in their own hills, and yet they must
stop us. They will attack before we reach Jerusalem, fear not."

"We of Gascony fear no heathen Musselman," Sir Gaeton growled. "It's
this Hellish heat that is driving me mad." He pointed toward the eastern
hills. "The sun is yet low, and already the heat is unbearable."

Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo hollowly within his helmet. "Perhaps
'twere better to be mad when the assault comes. Madmen fight better than
men of cooler blood." He knew that the others were baking inside their
heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable.

Sir Gaeton looked at him with a smile that held both irony and respect.
"In truth, sir knight, it is apparent that you fear neither men nor
heat. Nor is your own blood too cool. True, I ride with your Normans and
your English and your King Richard of the Lion's Heart, but I am a
Gascon, and have sworn no fealty to him. But to side with the Duke of
Burgundy against King Richard--" He gave a short, barking laugh. "I
fear no man," he went on, "but if I had to fear one, it would be Richard
of England."

Sir Robert's voice came like a sword: steely, flat, cold, and sharp.