LXIX
Daoud's dark brown Arabian stallion sidestepped a knot of fighting men.Daoud's heart beat slowly and heavily in his chest like a funeral bell.The field was still a chaos. The battle was still in doubt. But inindividual combats more of Manfred's men than Charles's were falling.Daoud had seen--and it had made him almost angry enough to want to breakout of his formation and pursue them--a group of Apulian crossbowmenrunning off the field. Bands of Charles's knights were getting togetherand overwhelming smaller bands of Manfred's.
It was the power of Christianity, Daoud thought. Charles's men had beentold by the pope himself that they were crusaders waging a holy war andwould be taken up into heaven if they died in battle. Manfred'sChristian warriors had been excommunicated, without the sacraments, forover a year, and many of them believed that if they were killed theywould go to hell. Daoud could not be sure how strongly the men on eitherside felt about these things, but it could be enough to tilt the battleslowly in Charles's favor.
On Manfred's side, the only ones who felt they were waging a holy warwere the Sons of the Falcon.
Daoud recalled Lorenzo's words to Manfred months before: _I have neverin my life doubted the_ power _of religion, Sire._
Manfred himself had disappeared into one of these whirlpools of combat.Daoud had searched everywhere for Erhard Barth, who should be pullingManfred's army together and giving orders, if Manfred would not do ithimself. He could find the marshal nowhere. There were no plans. Therewere no leaders.
The Arabian's broad back rolled easily under him. He had kept the Sonsof the Falcon in formation, ordering them to advance, hoping for achance to strike a decisive blow. Staying out of the fighting theypassed, moving around the groups of struggling men and reforming ranks,was frustrating for his men, but so far their discipline had held.
Staying together had protected them too. He estimated he had lost onlyabout twenty men so far.
Music, familiar martial music of the kind he had often heard in ElKahira, flared up behind him, sending a thrill up his spine. The littlemounted Muslim band had kept pace with the Sons of the Falcon.
He and the Sons of the Falcon had reached the midpoint of the valley.Benevento behind him and Charles's camp ahead were equally distant. Inboth directions the sights were the same--horsemen flailing at eachother with swords and axes and maces, crossbowmen and pikemen strugglingamong the horses' legs. Few arrows flew now, because an archer was aslikely as not to hit someone on his own side.
Daoud narrowed his eyes. He saw again at the north end of the valley thebrown hill, a bit higher than any near it, the cluster of men onhorseback.
Sunlight glittered on a helmet adorned with a crown.
He felt suddenly lifted up. He wanted to laugh aloud.
_Lord of the worlds! You have shown me the way!_
With one blow they could end the battle.
"Omar!"
His second in command rode to his side, white teeth shining in his thickblack beard.
Daoud pointed up the valley. "Do you see that red and black banner andthat group of knights under it? Do you see a gold crown shining on ahelmet? That is Charles d'Anjou, he who would steal our lord Manfred'sthrone."
"I see him, Emir Daoud. May God send him to the fire whose fuel is menand stones."
"May we be permitted to help God send Charles d'Anjou to that fire.There is nothing between him and us but men fighting one another and aline of foot soldiers we can sweep away with our arrows."
"I see, My Lord. I see."
"Pass the order to charge. Charge at the red and black banner."
"Gladly, My Lord. Death to Charles d'Anjou!"
The blue flags, signal for a charge, rose and waved over the Sons of theFalcon. Daoud felt the tension build in the men riding beside him. Heunslung his double-curved Turkish bow and held it high for all his mento see.
The naqeeb who carried the banner rode out before them, holding up thegreen silk with its verse from the Koran.
"Yah l'Allah!" Daoud shouted. He put all his strength, all his will,into the cry.
His men took it up.
"Yah l'Allah!"
"Allahu akbar!"
He brought the bow down to his side. The blue flags dipped. Thekettledrums rumbled and thundered to a crescendo. The trumpets blared.He drove his heels hard into the Arabian's flanks. The horse catapultedforward instantly, throwing Daoud back against his saddle.
He leaned into the cold wind, squinting his eyes against the rush ofair, feeling it blow through his beard. He looked to the right and tothe left. The Sons of the Falcon were racing beside him, these good men,these warriors to whom he had taught his Mameluke's skills, thesecomrades he had come to love.
_Now we are truly Sons of the Falcon. We dive to kill our prey._
His left hand held the reins lightly, giving the horse his head. At thisspeed he had to trust the horse to find the way. They were partners.They jumped over a dead crossbowman. They leapt a great fallen Frankishcharger. Daoud felt as if he had wings. He laughed aloud. They dodgedaround a melee. He rocked to the jolting as the horse's hooves hit theground.
There ahead, the red and black banner planted in the soil of the hillwas much closer. Daoud could clearly make out the black rampant lion. Hecould see the tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a blood-red cloak andthe helmet with the gilded crown. The man was staring this way, perhapsonly now becoming aware of his danger.
A crossbow bolt hummed viciously past Daoud's ear. To his right a mancried out and fell from the saddle. Hamid. He felt a moment's pain.
No time for fear or sorrow. He crested a small hill and saw lines ofcrossbowmen on a long rise of ground that ran across the valley. Theywere far away, still small figures, but growing larger as Daoud gallopedon. They were turning their backs, having just fired. Their first volleyhad hit only a few of Daoud's men, because the Sons of the Falcon werestill out of their crossbows' short range. Facing Daoud now were the bigrectangular shields they wore on their backs. The row of shields leanedaway from him as the men bent to draw their bows.
Charles d'Anjou and the men around him were gesturing and pointing. Didthey really expect these archers to save them?
Daoud pulled an arrow from his saddle quiver and nocked it.
"The instant they turn, shoot!" he shouted. He heard his order echoed asthe word was passed down the line. The red flags went up. He took aim atthe back of a man in the center of the crossbowmen's line.
The archers whirled, bringing their bows up. The red flags dipped. As hefelt his galloping horse's hooves leave the ground, Daoud released thestring. He saw the man he had targeted drop his bow and fall to theground.
The Falcons' arrows swept the crossbowmen like a scythe. The powerfulTurkish bows could shoot farther and be reloaded faster than theEuropean weapons. The few archers not felled by their volleys ran to thesides of the valley to safety.
Charles was too far away for Daoud to read his expression, but his armswere waving frantically, as if he were trying to conjure up knights outof thin air. The men around him clutched at him, clearly telling himthey must ride for their lives. One of Charles's men had pulled the redand black banner out of the ground and looked ready to gallop away withit.
Daoud slung his bow across his back and drew his long, curving saif fromthe scabbard. The noonday sun flashed on it as he held it high. His menroared and brandished their own swords.
The band had caught up with them, and the trumpets and hautboys screameddeath to the enemy while the kettledrums rumbled.
There was nothing left to protect Charles d'Anjou now. There was noteven time for the French leader to run for it. He seemed to know it. Hehad his sword out and he held up a white shield with a red cross.
Urging the Arabian on, shouting the name of God, Daoud raced towardtriumph.
* * * * *
On hands and knees Simon stared horrified as the long line ofred-turbaned riders charged at Charles's position.
The Saracen riders sti
ll had half the length of the valley to crossbefore they reached Charles's position. The French foot archers--some ofthem must be the same men Simon had briefly commanded before the gatesof Rome--were lining up to protect their king. There was time, but verylittle.
"God have mercy!" exclaimed Antoine de la Durie.
Simon backed away from the hilltop, stood up, and turned. All down theside of the ridge hidden from the valley of Benevento, rows of knightssat on their great horses, hefted lances, thrust at the air with theirswords. Some were still struggling into their mail shirts with the helpof their equerries. Hundreds of faces looked up inquiringly at Simon.Trees hid the rest of his army, farther down the slope.
He took the polished helmet Valery held for him, its top adorned with anangry griffin spreading its wings, and set it down over the paddedarming cap that held it in place.
De la Durie, de Marion, de Puys, and ten more barons gathered aroundhim. They waited silently for him to speak.
He was shaking inwardly, and prayed that it would not show. He wasafraid of death and of defeat. But, thank God, he was no longer in doubtabout what to do. He knew.
"Over a hundred Saracens are about to fall upon King Charles. There isno one near to help him. We must go down there now and stop them.Straight over the side of this ridge. Mount your horses."
"But, mercy of God, Monseigneur!" cried de Puys. "That slope is long andsteep. There is a forest. The men will fall. The horses will break theirlegs. We must find a path."
"There is no time to explore, de Puys. There are many paths down. Wewill find them. The horses will find them. We must go now. In a momentKing Charles will be dead!"
The equerries holding the Gobignon and crusader banners rolled them upto take them through the forest.
Valery brought Simon's favorite war-horse, the pearl-gray destriercalled Brillant. Simon braced himself for the effort, in full armor, ofmounting the huge horse. He set his foot in the iron stirrup, hoistedhimself, swung his leg, heavy with mail, over the saddle, and settledhimself. He drew the Saracen blade Roland had given him.
_A Saracen blade to fight Saracens._
He put fear and doubt out of his mind, drew a deep breath and roared,"Suivez-moi!"
He spurred Brillant and slapped the charger's neck. "Good horse! Find away down."
Then he had plunged over the edge and into the forest on the other side.He crouched, hiding his face behind Brillant's gray neck, as thick as atree trunk. A branch struck his helmet with a clang, stunning himslightly, and he bent his head lower.
Twisted trees rushed at him and past him. All around him he heard menshouting, some yelling in wild abandon, some crying out in fear. Heheard a terrible crash and clatter and the mingled screams of a man anda horse. Behind him came a thundering like a landslide as more and moreof his knights plunged over the edge of the ridge.
He had time to think in jubilation that he had given a frightening,difficult order, and the men had obeyed. Hundreds of knights andmen-at-arms were plummeting down this perilous slope because he had toldthem to.
_If I die today, I die a leader._
But would they reach the valley in time to save Charles d'Anjou? Whilethey rushed and fell and fought their way through this forest, thatbattle line of Saracens was galloping over easy, rolling ground withonly Charles's archers to impede them. Just now Simon was crashingthrough woods so thick he could not see the battlefield.
Then there was light ahead and a meadow of brown grass. Brillant brokethrough the brush at the bottom of the slope.
The red-turbaned line was a little past the place where Simon had comeout. They were riding those light, fast Saracen horses.
Where were the lines of crossbowmen? Gone--and now Simon saw bodiesscattered on the ground where the foot archers had stood.
Charles's banner was still on the same hilltop. In moments the Saracenswould be upon him.
"Faster! Faster!" Simon shouted, slapping Brillant's neck as the hugewar-horse ran at top speed to overtake the Saracen line.
* * * * *
Daoud charged on, his eyes fixed on the crowned figure under the red andblack banner.
The pounding of hoofbeats in the air all around him was suddenly louderthan he thought possible. He had been hearing the ululating,high-pitched war cries of his men, but now heard screams of pain andshouts 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 andred banner along with it. The horse beside his was thrown against him bya blow that all but knocked him senseless. Caught between the twohorses' flanks, his right leg felt as if it were being crushed. As painshot up into his hip, he reeled dizzily in the saddle and clutched thereins till his left arm ached, his right holding his saif aloft so asnot to stab one of his own men.
His horse fell against the one on his other side. All around him horsesand riders were thrown to the ground. The Sons of the Falcon were flungabout wildly, their forward momentum broken by some unimaginable forcethat had hurled itself upon them.
At the sight, he felt a giant hand reach into his chest and tear hisheart out.
The Sons of the Falcon were buried under an avalanche of mail-cladFrankish 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 theground, screaming out his grief. In an instant he had been flung fromjoy to the very darkest pit of despair. In an instant he saw thateverything 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 ofthem, pouring down the forested slope and charging over the level groundof the valley. Broadswords, maces, battle axes, rose and fell. Their warshouts filled the air.
"Dieu et le Sepulcre!"
"L'Eglise et le Pape!"
"Le Roi Charles!"
He saw the green and white Falcon banner go down. He heard the bandinstruments give out their last ugly sounds as they and the men whoplayed them perished under maces and axes. He saw with agony the deathsof men he had trained and ridden with--Husain, Said, Farraj, Omar--headssmashed, bodies cloven. He felt in his own body the blows that killedthem.
Daoud recognized the purple banner now. Three gold crowns. He had seenit before in Orvieto. Simon de Gobignon had come at last to this battle.
He should feel hatred for de Gobignon, but all he felt was a numbdespair.
His few remaining men crowded against him, forcing him to fall back. Herode back toward Benevento, away from the triumphant army of Gobignon,crushed with sorrow. The Sons of the Falcon, the force he had taken ayear to build, had been destroyed in a flicker of time, as if the earthhad opened and swallowed them.
* * * * *
Lorenzo wept and cursed himself for being too late to warn Daoud beforethe French attacked. He stood on the edge of the field, holding hishorse's reins in one hand and his crossbow in the other, watching theFrench knights sweep across the valley from east to west, tramplingeveryone in their path. Through his tears he saw the purple and goldbanner of Gobignon fluttering against the cold blue-and-white sky.
_Simon de Gobignon. If only we had killed him in Orvieto._
All about him, men rode and ran and fought. Singly and in twos andthrees, horses without riders ran wildly this way and that. He wonderedif Daoud was still alive. What had happened to King Manfred and theother Hohenstaufen leaders? Charles d'Anjou still occupied his hill atthe north end of the valley. Almost overwhelmed at the moment helparrived, he had never moved.
There were fewer and fewer of Manfred's men in sight, and more ofCharles's with their accursed red crosses.
A line of about a dozen horsemen was coming toward him at a walk. Mostof them wore crosses, but they looked like neither French knights nort
heir Guelfo allies. Lorenzo rubbed his eyes to clear his vision oftears and took a harder look. Two men rode in the center wearingbowl-shaped steel helmets and gleaming gray mail shirts withoutsurcoats. They held short, heavy bows in their hands. The brims of theirhelmets shaded their faces, but Lorenzo could tell that their skin wasbrowner than any Frank's or Italian's.
The men flanking them on either side wore conical helmets and whatseemed to be leather breastplates and carried long, curving sabers. Bowswere slung over their shoulders. One man on the right end of the linewas dressed in a steel cuirass.
Lorenzo realized that he was seeing the Tartars and their Armenianbodyguards. And the man with the steel breastplate was Sordello. At thesight of the old bravo, Lorenzo felt fury boiling in him. Back inOrvieto, that man had deserted Daoud and him. Despite that, Daoud hadsent him money through Ugolini in Perugia and Viterbo, and Sordello hadsent them snippets of information. But Lorenzo had privately vowed thatthe next time he saw Sordello he would squash him like a bedbug. And nowhe appeared again, just after Simon de Gobignon smashed Daoud's finalhope of victory.
The Tartars talked and gestured to each other, surveying thebattlefield. Their attention and that of their guards was on a meleethat was rolling rapidly toward them. A boiling mass of horsemen, thesurvivors of Daoud's Sons of the Falcon battling with the vanguard ofthe Frankish knights, was struggling its way to the western side of thevalley.
Partly hidden from the approaching Tartars by his horse, Lorenzo readiedhis crossbow. He hooked the bowstring to his belt and put his right footin the stirrup in front of the bow. He kicked out sharply, straighteninghis right leg, and the bowstring snapped into place behind the catch. Itwould be a pleasure to kill Sordello, but his first duty was to kill theTartars. And thus he would pay the French back for Daoud's defeat. Thiswould be much more satisfying than leaving poisoned wine in their tent.He raised the bow, loaded a bolt, and stepped out into the Tartars'path.
"You little monsters!" he shouted. The younger Tartar, Philip, broughthis head up, giving Lorenzo an even better shot. Lorenzo depressed thecatch, and the bolt smashed into the center of Philip's chest, rightthrough the mail shirt. His eyes huge, Philip fell out of the saddle.His frightened horse galloped away.
Lorenzo ducked back and bent to draw his bow. A moment later somethinghit the side of his horse and the animal gave an agonized whinny andfell to its knees. By that time Lorenzo had his bow cocked and loadedagain. He rose up from behind his dying horse.
John was just drawing his bow for a second shot.
"For Rachel!" Lorenzo called, and shot John in the same place he had hitPhilip, the center of the chest. The force of the bolt knocked Johnbackward.
John toppled from his horse and slid to the ground. He cried out somewords in his Tartar language, shivered, and lay still.
Lorenzo stood a moment, breathing heavily. He felt the satisfaction of aman who has done a hard job that he had long wanted to complete. Therewas no satisfied blood-lust, no gloating over vengeance achieved. It wasjust the good feeling of an archer whose arrows had gone true.
"Kill him!" Sordello shouted.
The Armenians and Sordello thundered down upon him. Lorenzo set thecrossbow stirrup on the ground and put his foot into it, but he knew hewould not have time for another shot. He tensed himself for the bite ofthose saber blades into his unarmored body.
Then, like a curtain, the fleeing remnant of the Sons of the Falcon andthe French knights in pursuit on their gigantic horses swept betweenLorenzo and the Tartars' guards. Still clutching the crossbow, he ran.
A bay Arabian horse, riderless, its eyes rolling in frenzy, gallopedtoward him. Lorenzo threw down the crossbow and sprang into the animal'spath, spreading his arms wide. The horse tried to dodge around him, butLorenzo grabbed the reins, dug his heels in and jerked the horse to astop. He spoke soothingly and rubbed its head, and when it was calmenough, he scooped up his weapon and heaved himself into the saddle.
He felt a grim satisfaction at having killed the Tartars. But it was toolate, and not enough. Daoud's brave attempt to finish Charles had beensmashed, and the battle was all but lost.
He must get back to Rachel and Friar Mathieu. If, out of this tragedy,he could rescue Rachel, that at least would be something.
* * * * *
Striking right and left with his saif, Daoud hammered on lifted shields,on mailed arms, on helmets, on longswords. Few of his blows did damage,but they forced a way for himself and his horse through the ring ofFrenchmen surrounding Manfred's defenders. Mustached faces, blind withfury, thrust themselves at him, and he struck at them with fist andshield and sword. He drove his horse into a narrow space between therumps of two huge destriers, pushed them apart like Samson bringing downthe temple of the Philistines, and was facing one of his own Sons of theFalcon, a dark-skinned man with blood and dirt smeared over his blackbeard.
"Ahmad! Make way for me."
"My Lord. I thought you were dead." Ahmad nudged his horse to one side,enough to let Daoud through, and then with his lance drove back theFrench knight who tried to follow him.
Past Ahmad, Daoud looked about and saw that Manfred's surviving warriorshad formed a large, irregular ring, facing an ever-increasing press ofcrusaders. More of Manfred's followers were crowded inside the circle.He saw some men move out and join those fighting the French while othersfell back and took a brief respite. Many dead men lay on the ground, andmany wounded who were too badly hurt to stand. The wounded who remainedon their feet were still fighting.
Daoud saw with a pang of sorrow that there among the dead lay ErhardBarth, the landgrave. At least Manfred's marshal had died fighting forhis master and would not have to live with the memory of defeat.
The trampled brown earth within this ring was all that was left of theHohenstaufen kingdom. Daoud's anger was deep and weary, at himself forfailing and at the fate that had destroyed his hopes today. Thismorning, he thought, he had imagined himself feeling like Baibars at theWell of Goliath. Now he knew how Ket Bogha must have felt.
_Why does God test us so heavily?_
He looked for the green-plumed helmet he had seen from a distance,telling him Manfred was here. There it was, in the midst of a ring ofknights with tattered cloaks and surcoats--Manfred's young poets andmusicians. It made Daoud's heavy heart feel a little lighter to see thatthey had stuck by their king. He steered his horse over to Manfred.
"Emir Daoud! And still on your horse." The face under the bronzed helmetwas red and shiny with sweat. Manfred's expression and voice werecheerful, but Daoud saw a deep, haunting anguish in his eyes.
"This is my fourth horse of the day, Sire." Daoud climbed down and benthis knee to press Manfred's mail-gloved hand against his forehead.
"I had heard you were killed."
"That new French army that came at noon overran us." No need to tellManfred, if he did not know, how close they had come to winning. "Sire,we have enough horses and men to break out of here."
Manfred shook his head. "Nothing is left for me except to decide how theminnesingers will remember me after this day. To fall in battle will befar better, surely, than whatever shameful end Charles d'Anjou might beplanning for me."
"But you need not fall into Anjou's hands," Daoud insisted.
"There is nowhere for me to escape to," said Manfred. "I have lost allmy fighting men. All my kingdom lies open to Charles."
"Sultan Baibars would receive you as a revered guest. Or the Emperor ofConstantinople."
_And we could take Sophia there with us._
Manfred shook his head with a rueful smile. "I would be honored to eatyour sultan's bread and salt. Or to visit that wonderful city,Constantinople. But I do not want to see the shambles Anjou makes ofthis land my father and I labored so many years to make beautiful.And--I have been a king, and I do not want to end my life as an exile."
_But we are all exiles_, Daoud thought.
Manfred continued. "I thank you for all your help, Daoud. You mu
st getaway while you still have a chance."
Tears burning his eyes, Daoud saw that the little space Manfred's mendefended had shrunk even as they spoke. He thought of Sophia, waitingfor him in Benevento. He thought of El Kahira, of Blossoming Reed, ofgoing before Baibars and telling him he had failed to stop the allianceof Tartars and Christians.
He would never see any of them again.
He closed his eyes, and for a moment he sat in the Gray Mosque and heardthe voice of Sheikh Saadi.
_The Warrior of God is known, not by his willingness to kill, but by hiswillingness to die. He is a man who would give his life for hisfriends._
He looked again at the short, smiling man before him and said, "I willstay with you."
Manfred put out a hand. "Daoud, you owe me no blood loyalty. I do notask you to die in my company."
"And yet, but for my advice, you might not be here today," Daoud said."I owe you that. I cannot leave you."
"Many of my own men already have."
"Then I must stay."
Manfred looked deep into Daoud's eyes. "What about Sophia?"
Daoud sighed. "God knows how much I wish I were with Sophia right now.But she is the most resourceful woman I have ever known, and she hasfriends with her in Benevento. And I have always known I could nevertake her back to El Kahira. If I live, there is no other place I can gobut El Kahira. It is torment for me to think I will never see her again,but whatever happens to me, Sophia and I would have to part. Perhaps itis best that we be parted this way."
Manfred gripped Daoud's arms hard. "Stay, then, and be welcome among mycompanions."
_I have brought destruction and death to so many_, Daoud thought. _Nowis the time to atone._
The company and the ground they defended grew steadily smaller as thesun sank toward the west side of the valley. Even knowing that everymoment he fought was another infinitely precious moment of life, Daoudfelt a leaden weariness that made him wish the battle might soon end.
He struck out with his nicked and blunted saif against yet anotherFrench knight, who seemed fresh and full of vigor while pain screamed inhis own shoulders and his legs felt ready to give way under him. Butthere were no respites now. All Manfred's men still on their feet werefighting. All their horses were fled from the field or dead.
Daoud reminded himself that when this battle ended he would be dead, andhe thrust upward with his saif to parry a longsword whose arc would haveended in his skull.
Manfred was swinging his sword beside him. By fighting, Daoud thought,they held off, not only their enemies, but the despair that he felt likea dark tide within him, and that he knew Manfred must feel too.
He wondered whether Lorenzo had gotten through to the Tartars and killedthem. And if he had, would it make a difference?
A French knight with huge mustaches that disappeared under the sides ofhis helmet swung a battle axe, and the Muslim warrior standing next toDaoud was suddenly headless. A spray of blood splashed on Daoud.
He saw mounted knights pushing through the close-packed mass of shoutingFrenchmen. One on his right wore a red-painted helmet and brandished amace. On his left rode a knight whose helmet was adorned with somefantastic winged animal.
"Surrender!" the knight with the beast on his helmet shouted. "You havefought bravely. The battle is over. You will have good terms."
Daoud had just time to recognize the face under the helmet with astrange feeling of gladness, as if meeting an old friend.
Simon de Gobignon.
"Not till I have crushed the viper!" And that, coming from the redhelmet that covered his face, was the deep voice of Cardinal Paulus deVerceuil. All in red, he loomed over the struggle like a tower of fire.So hard did he drive his charger through his own French knights thatsome of them were knocked to the ground. Daoud even saw one fall underthe hooves of the cardinal's horse. Others scrambled out of the way.
The cardinal's war-horse reared up over Manfred, hooves flailing.Manfred dodged back. The hooves came down, and the charger leaptforward. Leaning out of the saddle, holding the mace in both hands, deVerceuil brought it down on Manfred's helmet.
"No!" Daoud screamed.
He heard a metallic crash. Manfred collapsed to the ground with a jangleof mail and lay still. Blood streaked his yellow and black surcoat andsoaked the crushed green plume.
With a cry of rage Daoud threw himself at de Verceuil to drag him offhis horse.
He was knocked aside by a great gray charger that forced its waybetween himself and the cardinal. Staggering back, he looked up into theface of Simon de Gobignon.
"No, Cardinal!" de Gobignon shouted. "You will not kill this man, too,before he has had the chance of honorable surrender."
Amazed, Daoud let his saif drop a bit. De Gobignon had ridden in, not toattack him, but to save him from de Verceuil.
_But all he accomplished was to save de Verceuil from me._
De Gobignon, leaning down from his gray charger, pointed his curvingsword at Daoud, but not in a threatening way. Daoud took a stepbackward, his saif lifted.
The struggle around them had stopped. The fighting men had fallensilent. The handful of Manfred's followers remaining were quietly layingdown their arms. A German knight and a Saracen crouched weeping overManfred's body.
Daoud's arms and legs felt as if he were pushing them through water, buthe knew that if he began to fight again he would forget this weariness.The worst of what he felt was the terrible ache of grief in his chest,grief for Manfred, for threatened Islam, for Sophia.
"Look at him, look at his garb," said de Verceuil. "A Saracen with theface of a Frank. If he surrenders, he should be burned as an apostate."
"You must be blind indeed, Cardinal," said de Gobignon, "if you do notsee who this is." He turned to Daoud with a grave face. "You are Davidof Trebizond."
"I am," said Daoud.
"And are you truly a Saracen? I have long thought that you were an agentof Manfred, but I never would have guessed, to look at you, that youwere a follower of Mohammed."
"You were meant not to think that."
"This battle--this war--is over now. I give you my word that if yousurrender you will be treated honorably. There will be no burning."
De Verceuil boomed, "Count, you cannot promise that!"
"I do promise it."
The two Christian warriors on horseback faced each other, the count inpurple and the cardinal in red, looking almost as if they might fall tofighting.
"You need not argue," Daoud said. "I will not surrender."
De Gobignon stared at him. "You will be throwing your life away."
"No," said Daoud. "I am giving my life to God."
He could not help anyone now. Not Manfred, not Baibars, not Sophia.Like Manfred, he had only one choice left to him. The manner of hisdeath.
"Very well, Messer David," said the young count. He swung himself downfrom his charger. At his gesture one of his men pulled the horse away.
"Monseigneur!" a young man called from the circle of Frenchmen thatsurrounded them. "Victory is already ours. Don't risk your life to fightone God-accursed Saracen."
"I am the Count de Gobignon," said Simon quietly, "because I uphold thehonor of my house."
De Gobignon turned to de Verceuil, who still sat on his horse holdinghis bloody mace in his hand. "Kindly clear the field, Cardinal."
"I shall see that you have the last sacraments if the infidel killsyou," said de Verceuil with a curl of his lip. He yanked his charger'shead around, drove his spurs deep, and rode off, the circle of men onfoot parting for him.
Daoud gazed at the young man before him with a feeling that was verylike love. He had once hated Simon de Gobignon. Now he felt him almost ason, or a younger brother, or another self. If he had ever wanted to besomeone like Simon, he did not now. He had penetrated such mysteries andknown such ecstasies as de Gobignon never would. He had heard and heededthe words of the Prophet, may God commend and salute him. He had servedBaibars al-Bunduqdari and been taught by Sheikh Saadi an
d Imam Fayumal-Burz. He had fought for Manfred von Hohenstaufen and had loved SophiaKaraiannides. And soon he would stand face-to-face with God in paradise.
"I do not challenge your honor," he said.
The Frenchman was already moving into a combat stance, a slight crouch,an exploratory circling of the tip of his sword.
"But even so I fight for my honor," Simon said.
"It is right that you should know whom you are fighting," Daoud said,raising his saif. "I am Emir Daoud ibn Abdallah of the Bhari Mamelukes."
"Mameluke," said de Gobignon softly. "I have heard that word."
"You shall learn what it means," said Daoud. He did not want to kill deGobignon, but he would if he had to, because the young man deservednothing less than the best fight of which he was capable.
They moved slowly around each other. Under that purple and gold surcoatthe Frenchman was wearing mail armor from his toes to his fingertips. Atight-laced hood of mail left only his face bare, and his helmet withits nasal bar covered part of his face.
In this kind of toe-to-toe fight the greater speed of a lightly armoredfighter was not much advantage. The weight of the mail might slow deGobignon down a bit, but fatigue would do the same for Daoud.
The scimitar de Gobignon wielded, that souvenir stolen from some Islamicwarrior, looked to be at least as good a blade as the one Daoud wasusing.
The count sprang and slashed at Daoud's arm. Daoud stepped back easilyand parried the blow.
_He can cut my hand off and that would end the fight. And I might evensurvive the loss of a hand to be taken prisoner into the bargain. I mustnot let that happen._
With a shout Daoud drove the point of his saif straight at de Gobignon'sface. Christians used swords for chopping, not stabbing. With abackhanded slash de Gobignon knocked the point aside. He punched withhis mailed free hand at Daoud's chest armor.
Daoud felt the force of the blow, but he saw de Gobignon wince. A mailedfist could hurt flesh, but when it struck metal the fist would suffer.
Daoud slashed at de Gobignon's sword arm just above the elbow.
_Let us see if that mail can withstand my sword._
De Gobignon winced again, but the saif rebounded without cutting throughthe chain links, and Daoud felt a jolt in his gauntleted hand.
_The sword is good, but so is the mail. I cannot cut it or stab throughit._
De Gobignon rushed him suddenly, swinging wildly, lips drawn back fromclenched teeth. Daoud danced away, a part of his mind pleased that hecould move so quickly when he had to, tired as he was. De Gobignon'swild swings from side to side left his chest exposed. He was relyingentirely on his armor, Daoud saw, to protect him.
Daoud jabbed de Gobignon under the armpit, so hard that he felt theflexible metal of his saif bend. Again the blade failed to penetrate thetightly woven chain mail, but de Gobignon gave a gasp of pain and cuthis attack short. Daoud was gratified.
He glimpsed a familiar face in the circle of onlookers, a meaty,weather-beaten face with a broken nose. Sordello. Had he been guardingthe Tartars on the field today?
De Gobignon attacked again, swinging his scimitar furiously at Daoud'shead. He ended the motion with his arm across his face. Daoud grippedhis own sword with both hands, and on de Gobignon's backswing raised itover his head and brought it down with all his strength on theFrenchman's wrist. The count's arm was moving into the blow, which gaveit even more force.
The scimitar flew from de Gobignon's hand. Daoud threw his body againstde Gobignon's and locked his foot behind his opponent's ankle. His long,thin frame top-heavy in his mail, de Gobignon fell over backward. Daoudstepped forward instantly. Groans and cries of horror were already goingup from the Frenchmen in the ring around them.
Daoud planted his leather-booted foot on de Gobignon's chest hard enoughto knock the wind out of him. He jabbed his saif straight at one of deGobignon's few vulnerable places, his right eye, stopping the point afinger's breadth from the pupil.
Daoud and de Gobignon remained frozen that way.
_And now, O God, tell me: What will I do with him?_
A year ago he would have joyfully driven the point of the saif intoSimon de Gobignon's brain. Even now, he reminded himself that to kill deGobignon would relieve Islam of a most dangerous enemy. Daoud would havewon the battle for Manfred today, and Manfred would still be alive wereit not for de Gobignon's unexpected charge. For that alone, the youngcount deserved to die.
De Gobignon lay motionless, his face full of anger and defiance.
_But what a waste. I will kill him, the other Franks will kill me, andboth of us will be dead. All loss. No gain._
The sun hurt his eyes. It was low in the west, almost touching the hillsthat bounded the valley of Benevento.
_Even if I spare him, the Franks will not let me live. For what I havebeen, for what I have done to them, they will burn me, as de Verceuilsaid, or worse. Could I trade Simon's life for a decent death formyself?_
He opened his mouth to speak.
A crushing blow to his chest jolted his body, throwing him back. Heheard the clang of metal punching through his chest armor. An instantlater a thunderbolt of pain struck just beneath his ribs and spreadthrough his body. He cried out in agony.
Somewhere nearby a woman's voice screamed.
He sank to his knees, dazed.
_What happened to me?_
He still had his sword in his hand. In his blurred vision he saw deGobignon, his mouth open in surprise, sitting up, crawling toward him.Warningly, he raised his saif, but the terrible pain in the middle ofhis body drained the strength from his hand, and the sword fell from hisfingers to the ground.
_God help me. I have been arrow-shot. I am going to die._
Fear worse than he had ever felt turned his body to ice. So total wasits power over him that the fear became a greater enemy than deathitself, and he gathered his forces to put it down. After a moment ofstruggle, though he still quaked inwardly, he began to take command ofhimself.
De Gobignon was looking down at him, and his face was full of shock andgrief.
Someone else was standing over him. He saw a pair of leather leggingstucked into heavy boots, archer's dress. His head fell back, and he waslooking up at Sordello. The bravo squatted down, bringing his face closeto Daoud's.
"I am glad to see you still alive, Messer David," he said in a soft,grating voice. "So I can tell you that this repays you for teaching meabout paradise."
The pain felt as if rats had burrowed into his chest and were eatingtheir way out. He wanted to scream, but he managed to smile.
"Thank you, Sordello. You are sending me to the true paradise."
There was justice in it. He had forced Sordello to undergo theHashishiyya initiation. He had always felt that an evil thing to do. Nowhe was repaid. Just as Sordello said.
_But when I die, God will welcome me._
A hand clamped on Sordello's shoulder and jerked him away.
"You filthy, stinking, cowardly bastard! You killed the best man on thisfield."
Daoud could not see Sordello, but he could picture the expression thatwent with the injured tone.
"Your Signory! I save your life and you call me a bastard? The point ofhis sword right at your eyeball?"
"He was not going to kill me. I could see it in his face."
There was a wild, almost frightened note in Sordello's laughter. "CanYour Signory read men's thoughts? I warrant you, if you had till the Dayof Judgment, you could not guess what this archfiend is thinking. Youhave no idea what he has done."
Daoud almost managed to laugh. The fool Sordello, as usual speaking andacting before he thought. One word more, and he would indeed hanghimself.
"Tell the count, Sordello. Tell him what I have done."
_God, I will forgive You for making me suffer so, if You will let me seeSordello's face just now._
And God granted Daoud's wish. Sordello crouched again over Daoud, hiscolor maroon, his bloodshot eyes popping. It was wonderful, and Daoudbreathed a
prayer of thanks.
After a moment Sordello got control of himself enough to speak. "Youknow what you have done. You killed the Tartars."
He straightened up. "Your Signory, do you not know that John and Philipare dead? And it was this man's servant, Giancarlo, who shot them fromambush with a crossbow on the battlefield. I shot this David ofTrebizond not only to save your life, but to avenge the Tartars."
"Killed?" De Gobignon turned away, beating his mailed fist against hisleg. "God, God, God! Two years I've kept them alive and Anjou _loses_them!"
The count was silent for a long moment. His back remained turned, buthis shoulders heaved. He seemed to be sobbing. Daoud glanced atSordello, whose eyes glowed with triumphant hatred.
_So, Lorenzo finished the Tartars. At last. I pray only that it is nottoo late._
He felt, not elation, but a quiet satisfaction. He thanked God forletting him hear this news before he died.
"Did you get Giancarlo?" de Gobignon asked in a quiet, choked voice.
"No, Your Signory. The battle came between us."
Daoud thought, _Thank you, O God, for that_.
"Go away, Sordello," said de Gobignon in that same subdued tone. "Gowhere I cannot see you. I will deal with you later."
"Your Signory, this man is capable of the most unbelievable treachery.He will tell you monstrous lies. In the moments of life he has left tohim, God alone knows what evil he may do. I urge you, kill him at once.It is the wisest thing. Here, here is my dagger. Cut his throat. AvengeJohn and Philip--and yourself. Or, let me do it for you. Do not soilyour hands."
_He is terrified of what I might say about him._
In his dimming vision Daoud saw Sordello lunge at him, holding a longdagger. Suddenly he vanished. A moment later Daoud heard a crash.
"I told you," de Gobignon said. "Get out of my sight."
For a short time Daoud could see no one. He heard movements andmurmurings around him. Then he felt a hand slide under his head and liftit up. A fresh wave of pain swept through his body, shocking him withits force. He thought he had already felt the worst. He cried aloud.
_Soma. In the hour when I need it most, I had almost forgotten it._
He pictured the mind-created drug collecting in his head and coursing ina stream of glowing silver down his throat and branching out to allparts of his body. Cooling, soothing. Building a wall around the placedown low on the right side of his chest where the crossbow bolt haddriven into him. A silver globe formed around the pain, and he was ableto think and speak. He felt that his head was lying on something soft.
Kneeling on his left side, de Gobignon said, "I am sorry I hurt you. Ifolded my cloak and put it under you to try to make you morecomfortable."
"Thank you. I feel better now."
"Are you really a--Muslim? Can you talk, or is it too painful?"
"I can talk."
"I would be glad to know who and what you really are."
"And I will gladly tell you." Daoud began to feel death creeping throughhis limbs. The pain was sealed off, but he sensed the lower cavities ofhis body filling up with blood. The crossbow bolt should have gone rightthrough him, but the rear half of his breastplate must have stopped it.
Fear began to rise in him again. Fear, and a desolating sorrow. Never tosee Sophia again. Never to do even the simplest things, get up and walk,see, breathe. It was more than he could bear.
He fought to find his balance.
_I cannot save myself from dying. But I can decide how I will use theselast moments of life._
He wanted to tell this man, who had been his greatest enemy all along,how he had tricked him and how close he had come to thwarting theirgrand design of an alliance of Christians and Tartars to destroy Islam.It would make up, in a small way, for all today's defeats. For himself,that was all he wanted now. Very soon now, he would go up to paradise.
But Sophia and Lorenzo, Ugolini and Tilia, would have to struggle on inthis world after he was gone. He must protect them.
"Tell me," Simon prompted.
"My father was the Sire Geoffrey Langmuir of Ascalon," he began. "Mymother was Lady Evelyn." He told de Gobignon of his capture by the armyof Egypt, his rearing as a Mameluke in a barracks on the Nile. He triedto explain what a Mameluke was, and what code he lived by. He told ofhis acceptance of Islam, his first battles.
As he spoke, his eyes wandered, and he saw the red sun half hidden bythe wooded western hills. He felt the air growing colder, and heshivered. The chill was not in the air alone. His arms and legs werenumb, as if they were freezing.
"Give me your cloak, Valery," de Gobignon said, and in a moment a redcloak was being spread over him.
"You were at Mansura, where my father fought," de Gobignon said.
"It was a great victory for Islam," said Daoud. "I saw only a littlefighting. I was very young." He told how Baibars had entrusted him withmore and more important tasks, even with the killing of Qutuz. And howat last, having trained and shaped him over the years, Baibars sent himagainst the powers of Europe.
"Cardinal Ugolini took a Muslim agent into his house? Introduced you tothe Holy Father? _The pope himself?_ By God's breath--"
He must be careful, and protect his onetime protector. And others. "Itwas King Manfred who sent me to Ugolini." Daoud managed to laugh. "Doyou think poor Cardinal Ugolini would be mad enough to present me to thepope if he had known that I was a Muslim--a Mameluke?"
"I suppose not," said the count. Daoud focused his wandering eyes on thepale face with its sharp features that hovered over him. De Gobignon'smouth was open, working. He was afraid of what Daoud might answer.
"And Sophia? How much did she know about you?"
"She knew nothing. She knows nothing even now. She was more useful to usthat way."
Sophia was probably still in Benevento, waiting for him. Charles's armymust be moving on Benevento to occupy it. There would be murder and rapeand looting there this night. If de Gobignon still believed in Sophiaand loved her, he would try to protect her.
There was pain in de Gobignon's eyes. "Useful to you?"
"Yes. We let her encourage you. We let her fall in love with you." Hewatched de Gobignon's color grow warmer, pinker, as he absorbed whatDaoud was saying. "Each time she saw you, Ugolini would question herafterward, as if worried about her virtue. You told her more than yourealized. She told Ugolini more than she realized."
"Did _you_ question her?" De Gobignon fixed his eyes on Daoud's.
"I spoke very little with her. I did not want her to suspect me."
_Forgive me, Sophia, for denying our love. I do it to save your life._
"Where can I find Sophia?"
"Perhaps you can help her. She is in Benevento. She came with heruncle." Daoud managed a smile. "He thought Manfred was going to forcethe pope to reinstate him."
"Where in Benevento?"
"On a narrow street that runs south from the Roman arch. A house thathas a statue of an angel conquering a dragon over the door. The onlythree-story building on the street. She is on the top floor. Get therebefore Charles's men do."
"You do care about Sophia."
"She is an innocent woman. I do not want her to be hurt on my account."
"What about the others--your servant Giancarlo, Tilia Caballo?"
"They thought I was a merchant from Trebizond serving Manfred as anagent."
"And Sordello? He seems to know more about you than he ever told me. Itis he who killed you. If he deserves to be punished, tell me."
The sky had deepened from blue to indigo. Somewhere nearby a girl wassobbing. Daoud wondered if it was she who had screamed earlier, when thebolt from the crossbow first hit him. What was a girl doing on thisbattlefield?
_Does Sordello deserve to be punished? De Gobignon tried to use himagainst me, and I had more powerful means to turn Sordello against deGobignon. But then the sword turned in my hand. That is not Sordello'sfault. Let de Gobignon think him innocent._
"We let him think he was spying on us. Actua
lly, he told you only whatwe wanted him to tell you. You saw his rage when he realized how Itricked him."
With sudden anxiety, he remembered the locket. He reached out with ahand that had no strength and put it on de Gobignon's arm.
"I must tell you one thing. When you go looking for Sophia, do not takeSordello with you."
A man's soft voice overhead said, "Simon. We have been waiting till mostof the men moved away. Tell Rachel no one will hurt her if she speaks toDavid. She wants to say good-bye to him."
Daoud looked up and saw the Franciscan who interpreted for the Tartars.He let his head fall to the side, to see where de Gobignon was looking.Rachel. Older, more woman than girl now. It had been well over a yearsince he last saw her.
"It is safe to come forward, Rachel," de Gobignon said. "We understandthat whatever happened, you could not help it."
Rachel rushed across the intervening space and threw herself on herknees at Daoud's right side, reaching out with tentative hands to touchhim. Daoud saw that she was afraid that even laying a hand on him wouldcause him pain.
"You cannot hurt me, Rachel."
She stroked his face, running her hand over his beard. "Oh, MesserDavid!" Her voice was husky with grief.
"My name is Daoud, Rachel. I am a Muslim. I have wronged you greatly. Ibeg your forgiveness. Perhaps this is how God punished me for the sin Icommitted against you."
"You wanted to help me. I know you did." She sobbed, and he felt theweight of her head on the chest armor that had failed him.
"Your servant Giancarlo--Rachel calls him Lorenzo--helped Rachel escapefrom Anjou's camp," Friar Mathieu said. "He left us. He saw Simon's armycoming and wanted to warn you. We left the cart and wandered around theedge of the battle looking for refuge. We saw your banner here, Simon.You must protect this girl."
Daoud reached out to de Gobignon. "Find Sophia."
Friar Mathieu knelt next to Rachel, who moved aside to make room forhim.
Daoud said, "Father, when I am too weak to talk, put your fingers underthe collar of my tunic. You will find a small leather packet tied aroundmy neck. Take it off and give it to Rachel." He moved his head slightlyto see Rachel better. "It is a talisman made by the Sufis, Rachel. It iscalled a tawidh. If it would not offend your faith, I would like you tohave it as a remembrance of me."
Rachel laid her hand on Daoud's and repeated the unfamiliar word."Tawidh. I will treasure it always, and give it to my children."
Friar Mathieu said, "I heard what you told Simon about your past. Youwere baptized a Christian, Daoud. In God's eyes you are still aChristian. You must confess that you have sinned, and you must renounceIslam before you die, or you will not be saved. Your Christian motherand father are waiting for you in heaven. Come, I can give youabsolution."
Daoud shook his head, smiling. How kind this man was, but how sadlymisguided.
"Saved? Of course I am saved. When a warrior dies fighting in defense ofthe faith, God welcomes him with open arms into paradise. I do ask yourblessing. You are a holy man. And I ask your forgiveness for throwingyou down those stairs."
"That was you!" De Gobignon's eyes widened.
"Of course. I wish I could tell you all the things I have done, good andbad. I have had a life of many miracles."
De Gobignon's face hardened. "You killed Alain."
Daoud hoped the realization would not turn de Gobignon against him.Sophia's life might depend on the count's forgiving him.
"Have I not admitted that I waged secret war on you in Orvieto? Yes, Ikilled your friend. I later was sorry I had done it, but he could haveexposed me. I hurt Friar Mathieu. But I could not kill--a priest. Allthe things that thwarted you in Orvieto--they were my doing."
"I hate you for those things. For Alain especially."
"The princes of Europe and the Tartars would put countless men, women,and children to the sword. They still may do it. That is what I camehere to fight against. To save my people."
De Gobignon shook his head. "How can you feel they are your people? Youwere not born a Muslim."
"Nor was Muhammad. May God commend and salute him. My faith is the faithof the homeless, the uprooted, the exiled. The Prophet said, _Islambegan in exile and it will end in exile_."
Friar Mathieu's bearded face and anxious blue eyes seemed to float overDaoud. "You lie there, defeated, dying. Charles has conquered Manfred.Does this not mean that your faith has failed you?"
"Whatever God's purpose has been for me, I have accomplished it. God maydestroy unworthy bearers of the truth, but the truth He will notdestroy."
"Do you think yourself unworthy?"
"I hope I have not been. I have tried to be a good slave to God. That iswhat the word Mameluke means--slave."
_I have wandered in the desert and now I am going to the wateringplace._
He wanted to say more, but there was no strength in his breath. Thesilver globe was cracking like an egg, and a black, irresistible tide ofpain was pouring out.
"Take the tawidh from around my neck, Father," he whispered.
He felt fingers at his collar, and after a moment the thong slid free.
_Make me to die submissive unto Thee and join me to the righteous. Ibear witness that there is no god but God and I bear witness thatMuhammad is His servant and Messenger. Amin!_
He could not hold the pain back. He could escape it only in sleep. Hecould not see Friar Mathieu or Simon de Gobignon or Rachel. His eyeswere closing. He would dream of Sophia.
* * * * *
Rachel clutched the leather capsule desperately, as if by holding ittightly enough she could keep Daoud alive. She felt her sorrow crushingher as if it were a great stone pillar pressing down from the sky. Shetouched his cheek with her fingertips, and his face felt still as stone,and she knew the life had gone out of him.
She sat back and tied the Muslim amulet around her neck, as she had seenit tied around his. Then she dug the fingers of both hands into the silkof her gown, near the collar, and pulled at it until it tore.
She put her hands over her face and let darkness sweep over her mind assobs shook her and her tears fell.