d-turbaned line was a little past the place where Simon had come
out. They were riding those light, fast Saracen horses.

Where were the lines of crossbowmen? Gone--and now Simon saw bodies
scattered on the ground where the foot archers had stood.

Charles's banner was still on the same hilltop. In moments the Saracens
would be upon him.

"Faster! Faster!" Simon shouted, slapping Brillant's neck as the huge
war-horse ran at top speed to overtake the Saracen line.

* * * * *

Daoud charged on, his eyes fixed on the crowned figure under the red and
black banner.

The pounding of hoofbeats in the air all around him was suddenly louder
than he thought possible. He had been hearing the ululating,
high-pitched war cries of his men, but now heard screams of pain and
shouts of battle and deeper war cries, voices shouting in French.

Coming from the right flank.

He turned. He glimpsed a purple banner rushing toward him. A white and
red banner along with it. The horse beside his was thrown against him by
a blow that all but knocked him senseless. Caught between the two
horses' flanks, his right leg felt as if it were being crushed. As pain
shot up into his hip, he reeled dizzily in the saddle and clutched the
reins till his left arm ached, his right holding his saif aloft so as
not to stab one of his own men.

His horse fell against the one on his other side. All around him horses
and riders were thrown to the ground. The Sons of the Falcon were flung
about wildly, their forward momentum broken by some unimaginable force
that had hurled itself upon them.

At the sight, he felt a giant hand reach into his chest and tear his
heart out.

The Sons of the Falcon were buried under an avalanche of mail-clad
Frankish warriors riding huge armored war-horses.

_My God, my God! Why are you doing this to us?_

He wanted to fling himself down from his horse and smash himself on the
ground, screaming out his grief. In an instant he had been flung from
joy to the very darkest pit of despair. In an instant he saw that
everything was lost. His staring eyes were dry. This was all too sudden,
too shocking, even for tears.

Where had these devils of Franks come from?

Down out of the hills to the east. They were still coming, hundreds of
them, pouring down the forested slope and charging over the level ground
of the valley. Broadswords, maces, battle axes, rose and fell. Their war
shouts filled the