A dusty breeze blew across the roughly constructed gallows, causing the noose to sway as if it were taunting the seven men who stood before it - Ishmael and the six who remained of those he had recruited to protect his village.
The leader of the renegades had lined them up to face the instrument of their fate. Now, Jean watched him stride in front of them, peering into each face to gauge their reaction.
Silent disdain from Christophe, inscrutability from Vincenzo and also from Josiah, restrained anger from Nathaniel and Will... Then Ishmael spat in his face.
The renegade merely laughed, as he wiped the moisture from his face. "Right, lad. You can be first."
Ishmael fought as he was dragged up to the gallows but he didn't plead, not once. Jean looked on in fearful horror, right up until the noose was fastened around Ishmael's neck. But the boy's eyes instinctively closed when the body dropped. He heard the screams of despair and outrage from the onlooking villagers and closed his eyelids even more tightly.
Then he heard the cruel laughter of the renegades. "One done. Six more to go!"
"No," Jean whispered, barely aware he'd spoken.
"It will be all right, lad." Will's voice whispering in his ear. "It will be over quickly."
Jean silently shook his head. He couldn't accept that this was where it would end. He'd travelled so far. No one had expected him to even reach the Holy Land but he had made it. He couldn't have come so far, for it to end like this.
He had always been called a dreamer. They had always told him the things he'd wanted were not possible. But he was here, wasn't he? I got this far, Mother. No one would have believed it possible; certainly not those back home in Avignon.
"My mother was a maidservant in Lord Folquet's household."
"Oh?" Will replied, as if such was a perfectly normal conversation to conduct in front of a gallows.
Jean nodded again, eyes still closed. For some reason, it was important to him that Will know his story before they both died. "I never knew who my father was but, when I was small, I used to believe that he was a knight who loved my mother and always meant to come back and marry her but was killed in battle before he could do so."
"Why not?" The accompanying shrug was audible in Will's voice, even if Jean hadn't been able to feel the movement from the man standing beside him.
The boy shook his head. This was a time for complete honesty; he would not allow the slightest indulgence of his childhood fantasy. "I know now that such things do not happen."
He took a deep breath before he continued on. "After Mother died, Lord Folquet offered to keep me on in the household, as a scullery servant. That wasn't what Mother had wanted."
"Or you had wanted?"
Another nod, accepting that truly the refusal to continue in Folquet's service had come from his own pride and not his mother's wishes.
"Not what I had wanted either. Mother and I had talked of how I might become a squire in Lord Folquet's service someday. I knew that she would often leave the servants' quarters at night. She was giving her favours to our master, to try to convince him to give me a better place in his service. She always sounded hopeful. I do think he did indeed make promises to her. But when she died, he pretended it had never happened. I did not feel obliged to remain in his service so I left and found a place with the baggage train of an army bound for the Holy Land. When we reached Antioch, some of us got separated from the main army. A fever struck. Soon there was only me and two soldiers. We set off to find the rest of the army but gradually they too sickened. The last one died two weeks ago."
"It's a hard life, son, but you're about to be released from it, if that's any comfort to you."
Jean finally opened his eyes and looked at the older man. "Not much."
Then he smiled. The prospect of release from this life was no comfort at all to him. But he found the company of Will and the others, in his last moments, to be a huge comfort indeed.
As he surveyed the village from a hidden vantage point, Ezra ben Saul could think of any number of reasons why he would be more prudent to simply leave it and the other six fools who had sworn to protect it to their fate.
Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Ezra ben Maude could think of said reasons. Ezra could only just remember his father and hence very little of his father's teachings. But his mother, Maude, had always taught him to never let foolish notions of chivalry override his common sense.
The village was a lost cause. What could he and one small child hope to achieve? They were hopelessly outnumbered.
"Mother," Daoud whispered.
Ezra instinctively clamped his hand over the child's mouth to quiet him, but also followed the direction of his terrified gaze. The child's mother was being shaken by one of the renegade knights who then threw her to the ground.
Ezra considered placing a hand over the child's eyes, as well, so that he would not be forced to witness what was about to happen. Ezra had seen the same happen to his own mother when he was not much older than Daoud. The same horrified fear that he had felt then now filled the young Moslem boy's eyes and he began to struggle in Ezra's grasp.
"No," Ezra whispered fiercely. "It won't help her."
The boy stared at him, still effectively gagged by Ezra's hand, anger now replacing fear in his gaze.
And it was then that Ezra realised that he was irretrievably committed, despite his better judgement.
"We will save her and all the others," he whispered to the boy. "But we must remain undiscovered." He sighed and, confident that Daoud now understood the need for quiet, removed his hand. "What we need is some form of diversion."
"Then it is lucky that we brought it along," Daoud whispered back, smiling with confidence.
Ezra rolled his eyes. It definitely would not be as easy as the boy seemed to think. But then again, there were very few other options.
"I will take care of things," he ordered quietly but firmly.
"But…" the child began to protest, forgetting the need to be quiet.
Ezra's hand was immediately clamped over his mouth again. "Quiet. No arguments. I will need you to remain here and keep watch while I arrange things."
The child nodded silently.
"Good lad," Ezra whispered approvingly. "Remember, stay here. If you see any man approaching my direction, whistle once and then hide. And do not enter the battle! Do you understand me?"
Daoud nodded again and Ezra clapped him on the shoulder once before heading off to where they had left the renegades' weapon.
Christophe de Lacey did not struggle as he was led up to the noose. If he was going to his death, he would face it with calm dignity. However, his heart was far from passive he watched intently for any weakness or lapse in concentration in the enemy, ready to take advantage of even the very slightest chance.
Hence, when a brief hail of rocks, up to the size of a man's head fell into the centre of the village, he exploded into action. The two men holding him were momentarily paralysed by shock and he broke free of their grasp.
His hands were still bound but he swiftly brought one foot up, in a vicious kick that ensured that one of those men would be now paralysed by pain. The other appeared still dazed and tripped over as he backed away from where one of the stones had fallen.
It was not until then that Christophe noticed the cries of fear and panic in the air, and he looked back toward his companions. They were also taking advantage of the momentary confusion. The boy, Jean, had worked his hands free and even now was cutting Will's bonds. Vincenzo had also lashed out with a vicious kick and injured one of those guarding them.
Unfortunately, it looked as if he was about to suffer for it. Two other men approached him, swords raised. Suddenly, one was downed by a sweeping kick from Josiah and the other turned sharply when he was hit on the shoulder by a thrown rock.
Christophe cast a sweeping glance over the village. Many of the villagers were throwing rocks. Some had even stolen weapons from the bandits. It still seemed not enough to overcome the enemy but at least they were fighting back.
Suddenly, Will was beside him and had begun cutting his bonds. Christophe remembered one of the vulnerabilities that had helped undo them in the first place.
"The children, Will!"
Will nodded. "Jean is already seeing to them and I will go too. Just as soon as you are freed."
Christophe felt his hands come free. "Then go now!" He rubbed his wrists briefly before stooping to pick up a stone to use as a weapon. Before he had straightened upright, Will was gone.
The nearest bandit had his skull broken from behind and Christophe took the sword that fell from his hand and used it to dispatch two more. The weight of a body fell against him and, as he shrugged it off, he saw the neck pierced by an arrow. Looking over into the middle distance, he saw that Vincenzo had found a bow. They exchanged a quick glance and slight nod before Christophe took the fallen bandit's battleaxe and, with a weapon in each hand and terrifying roar of fury, charged toward the main group of the enemy.
One fell to an axe blow to the neck, another to an arrow to the chest and then suddenly it was raining rocks again.
Panting with exertion, Ezra was considering whether another salvo from the catapult was worth it. He and Daoud had discovered it near the mouth of the cave, partially hidden by some scrub. There too, they had found the horse that they had used to drag the catapult this distance.
Ezra was beginning to wonder if it had been worth their trouble. Priming the weapon was laborious enough but he was also running out of decent sized rocks to use as ammunition. Maybe he would do better to return to the village and lend them the use of his sword.
After he got his breath back, of course. A catapult such as this was never meant to be operated by one man and the arduous task of doing so had quite exhausted him. Just a moment or two of rest.
Then a shrill whistle reached his ears and he turned to see three men approaching. Their swords were drawn and they appeared to be covering the distance with a speed fuelled by anger. One, taller but more lightly built, clearly outpaced the others.
Ezra drew his sword but saw no reason to weary himself further by moving to meet them.
The first was soon upon him, anyway. Charging with a furious roar and swinging savagely with his sword at Ezra's head. Ezra ducked away and brought his own weapon up, using the man's own momentum to impale his chest on the blade. It worked but he found that he could not withdraw the weapon from the body and the other two had almost reached him.
There was no time for anything but to retreat around the catapult. The horse still tied to it whinnied its fear and pulled at the ropes tethering it to the weapon.
Ezra drew his dagger. Against two fully armed men, it was a pitiful defence. His only hope was to evade them, until he could get his hands on a better weapon.
He was trying to ascertain if he could get back around the catapult to take the weapon from the fallen body when he heard them approaching from both directions, evidently hoping to cut off just such a manoeuvre. All in all, his was not a promising situation.
There was always the option of simply fleeing altogether but his body already ached from exhaustion. He doubted that he would get very far before they overtook him and hacked him to pieces. So he backed away from the catapult slowly, so that he at least would have no enemy at his back.
He gripped the dagger tightly, determined to fight to the last but still desperately trying to think of any strategy that might give him some hope of survival. None was forthcoming.
The first of the bandits came around into view, advancing slowly, taking his time. His companion appeared but a moment later, from the other direction, approaching with the same slow menacing gait. They knew the huge advantage they had and seemed willing to draw out the kill as long as possible.
Ezra wondered if rushing them would do any good. Probably not. They were probably expecting some panicked attack of that kind. But he couldn't just wait for both to reach him. He needed to find a way to separate them, just a few moments to deal with one before facing the other.
But there was no more time. They were only a few feet away now and he could hear one of them laughing.
Then the laughter died suddenly and the man fell forward, an axe blade between his shoulders. Both Ezra and the remaining bandit looked up to see Daoud perched on the side of the catapult. He had evidently taken the axe from the body on the other side but Ezra had no idea how the small boy had managed to carry it while climbing or how he had found the strength to wield it in such a deadly fashion. Perhaps miracles truly did exist, after all.
The remaining renegade lunged at the boy, roaring his hatred. Ezra lunged after him and managed to embed his dagger in the man's lower back. Another roar, this time mixing pain with fury and the wounded man swung back toward Ezra, suddenly caught between two enemies, in just the same way he and his companion had intended to take Ezra.
The bandit swung his sword and Ezra ducked, but lost his footing as he did so. He landed heavily and had the breath knocked out of him again. Looking up, he saw his last attacker again walking slowly toward him. Ezra could only hope that the man's halting gait was now due to failing strength from his wound.
The man raised his sword to bring it down, point first, into Ezra's belly. With a last frantic surge of strength, Ezra rolled. He felt the blade graze his back through the clothing, but no damage was done. The blade embedded itself into the earth and the man seemed unable to let go of the hilt.
Ezra scrambled to his feet and savagely kicked his opponent in the stomach. The bandit fell away from his sword and Ezra desperately heaved the weapon from the ground. A swift downward stroke and blood spurted once from the man's neck; he did not move again.
Ezra contemplated just dropping to the ground where he stood and giving in to his exhaustion but he knew that he couldn't afford to. Firstly, he needed to find out what had happen to Daoud. He hadn't heard a sound from the boy since he'd felled that man with the axe. And secondly, the others would need every available man to help defend the village. It was impossible to predict what the exact effect of those two volleys of rocks would be, but undoubtedly they would be able to use his help in making use of whatever advantage might have been gained.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he looked up to where the boy was still perched on the catapult.
"Daoud?"
The child didn't move but instead sat staring at the axe embedded in the body on the ground before him.
Ezra went to him and placed a hand on the boy's knee. "Daoud, can you hear me?"
Daoud turned to look at him but still said nothing and Ezra tried again.
"It's all right, lad. You did well. Here, let me lift you down from there."
As he did, Daoud finally spoke. "He is dead."
"Very."
"They are all dead."
"All of these three but your village still needs help."
Daoud turned fearful eyes toward him. "Mother!"
"Yes, we will go save her. But you must swear to do exactly as I say, to stay hidden until I call for you."
"I swear it."
Ezra conjured up a smile for the serious young face before him.
"Very well, young warrior. There is one more battle to fight."
Will and Jean had ushered the last of the village children into the house behind them. The older man was torn between staying close to the youngsters to protect them and getting back to the thick of the battle to assist his comrades in arms.
Jean's impetuosity took the decision out of his hands.
With a blood-curdling battle cry, the leader of the renegades was charging toward the centre of the village, where Christophe and Vincenzo stood back to back. Jean gave his own, much less fearsome, battle cry and lunged out to face the oncoming bandit.
Will had no idea what the boy intended, but it was obvious that he would be cut down without mercy. Acting on pure instinct, Will dashed after the lad and managed to drag him out of harm's way, just in time.
But Will himself was not so fortunate. The bandit's longsword sliced across his chest, cutting through his leather tunic. For a second, Will stared at the blood that flowed freely across his chest. Then his eyes rolled up and he fell senseless to the ground.
Jean looked up from where he had fallen to the ground, he'd barely caught his breath when he heard Will cry out in pain and looked up to see the older man drop like a stone.
"No!" he cried. It couldn't be happening this way.
He'd been trying to help, trying to kill one of the enemy.
He couldn't have caused the death of a friend instead.
Suddenly, Nathaniel was at his side. "Are you wounded, Jean?"
Jean shook his head and both his voice and hand also shook as he pointed. "Will."
Nathaniel nodded and quickly crossed to the fallen man. Jean watched as the Ethiopian shook his head sorrowfully, and the boy felt despair swallow him up.
It couldn't be happening like this.
Christophe looked up as the bandit leader's battle cry reached his ears. He saw Will fall to the enemy's blade. The renegade roared victoriously and turned his horse toward Christophe.
Suddenly, there was an arrow lodged in the bandit's chest but he still kept charging and raised his sword. Christophe heard Vincenzo swear behind him.
To his overwhelming surprise, Christophe saw another warrior on horseback race toward the renegade and raise his sword. It was Enrique de la Salle. Where had he come from?
Christophe saw blood spurt from the wound that Enrique inflicted but still the bandit rode on. It appeared that he must have caught Enrique a glancing blow. He was thrown from his horse and, like Will, tumbled to the earth but, unlike Will, Christophe watched him gamely struggle halfway to his feet.
And still the renegade charged toward them. Vincenzo loosed another arrow and this too took the man in the centre of his chest.
Christophe wondered if the man was dead in the saddle and it was merely the horse that kept charging. But again the bandit roared, this time more weakly, and raised his sword to bring it down on Christophe's head.
The former Templar knight ducked under where the blade would pass and lifted his own weapon.
It was ripped from his grasp.
Horse and rider carried through with their momentum for a few more paces. Then the rider toppled to the ground lifelessly, Christophe de Lacey's sword lodged under his ribcage and up through his heart.
Christophe felt a hand upon his shoulder and looked up from the body on the ground.
Vincenzo held his gaze for a brief moment and then gazed around the village, a gesture that invited Christophe to also take in the sights. The remaining bandits were fleeing, the villagers seeing them off with hurled stones and the occasional arrow fired.
A cheer went up. It seemed that victory was theirs once more.
But Christophe de Lacey did not believe in victory. He gazed up at the gallows to see Ishmael's body still hanging there. Another sign of the futility of this world.
Angrily he indicated that to Vin. "Cut him down," he stated tersely.
The Italian archer merely nodded and walked toward the gallows. Several of the villagers were already there, about to embark on the task. The wailing lament of a woman mixed with the shouts of victory.
Victory and loss.
Enrique de la Salle remained on his knees. The point of his sword was embedded in the dirt before him and he leaned his head against the hilt with his eyes closed. The attitude seemed almost like one of prayer but knowing the man involved, Christophe suspected that it was more likely simple exhaustion.
All the better. If he was too tired to move, at least, then Christophe could be reasonably sure that the slippery rogue could not disappear again.
The former Templar knight was far from silent as he approached the other man, but there was no movement or other response to acknowledge his presence. Christophe stood staring at him for a moment and then kicked away the sword that the other man leaned upon.
Startled, Enrique struggled to stop himself from falling forwards, putting a hand to the ground in an attempt to keep his balance. He looked up at Christophe's face and it appeared as if he were about to speak. But then he evidently decided against it and merely stared up at the other man.
Christophe was surprised that the man on the ground said nothing. He had expected an anxious explanation or excuse of some kind. But instead Enrique just knelt there, as if waiting for Christophe to speak first.
"So you have returned."
Enrique nodded slightly. "Although I did consider not doing so."
"That I do not doubt."
The conversation faded into silence again which Christophe found most surprising. Enrique did not seem at all anxious to defend his actions but Christophe wanted an explanation so he prodded again.
"They knew exactly where our defences were weakest and exactly where the children were hidden so that they could be taken hostage."
For the first time in the conversation, Enrique's expression became guarded. "Did they?"
Christophe lost his patience and grasped the other man by his collar, hauling him to his feet.
"They did." He spoke with quiet menace, staring deeply into the other's eyes. "And you were nowhere to be found. Where were you?"
A child's voice cried out behind him. "I told them!"
Christophe turned to face the owner of the voice, still not letting go of Enrique's collar.
The small Moslem boy detached himself from his mother's embrace and came to stand before de Lacey, clearly frightened by the tall imposing crusader but firmly holding his ground.
"I told them," he said, more quietly this time. "They beat me and asked me questions and I told them all that I knew. It wasn't him."
Christophe looked back at Enrique. "You knew of this?"
Silence. De Lacey tried again. "Were you going to say anything?"
The other merely smiled slightly, still not speaking, and Christophe pushed him away angrily. "It still doesn't explain where you were. By God, you will never desert us in battle again!"
Enrique bent to retrieve his sword and then raised it in salute to the knight before him. No words were spoken but Christophe recognised the oath of fealty that was being sworn. He acknowledged it with the slightest of nods and then strode away.
The other man sank to his knees again with a sigh. Daoud raced over to him, full of concern.
"Are you wounded?"
The man who was still known to most present as Enrique de la Salle shook his head. "Just weary."
"Not yet ready for eternal rest, I hope." Josiah had found that his own wounds hindered him hardly at all, if he moved carefully, and had made his way across to them. Reaching down, he extended a hand to the younger man, who looked up warily.
"Come join us, brother."
"I fear that I may not be ready to be accepted among the brethren."
"All you need do is accept yourself and all will welcome you."
Enrique snorted but accepted the hand that Josiah offered. He found that Daoud was instantly under his shoulder, also levering him to his feet. The hint was not subtle and provoked a rueful laugh.
"All right!" he told the boy. "I will come with you!"
The three of them made their way to where Nathaniel tended to William of Bucklin. Jean was there too, looking most anxious.
"Will he live?" Jean's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"There is a good chance that he will," Nathaniel replied. Will's wound was not as deep as he had initially feared and the bleeding had almost stopped. "If he rests and tends to himself properly." He looked up disapprovingly at Josiah, as the monk approached. "Unlike you."
Josiah just smiled at his old friend but the man he was leading toward the group drew back slightly. He and Nathaniel had never been on particularly good terms. Josiah would not let him back away.
"Come along, Brother Ezra."
"Brother Ezra?" The questioning voice was Vincenzo's, as he approached from the other direction. He came to stand beside where Nathaniel knelt. The Italian's arms were folded and his head cocked to one side.
Nathaniel and Jean also looked up questioningly and Josiah smiled.
The object of their scrutiny drew himself up slightly, pulling himself away from Josiah and Daoud and stared directly into Vincenzo's eyes, since he had been the one to actually voice the question.
"Ezra ben Saul." There was a touch of defiance in the tone.
Jean looked puzzled for a moment and then his eyes widened. "A Jew?"
"A half-Jew," Ezra corrected. "Would that cause a problem?"
A faint and pained laugh came from the man lying on the ground. "None at all... Brother Ezra..."
"Will!" Jean exclaimed delightedly,
Pleased as he was at Will's recovery, Nathaniel couldn't help snorting derisively at the suggestion that the man standing before him had any ecclesiastical connection.
"Do not mock, my friend," Josiah chided gently. "This is indeed a former novice of the monastery in Shrewsbury."
"You jest!" Nathaniel gaped. Jean was speechless and Vincenzo laughed aloud.
Ezra scowled. "Remind me never to confide in you again, monk!"
"Needed to confess yourself to a priest before death?" Vin asked him wryly.
There was another chuckle from Will on the ground, followed by a slight gasp as the laughter caused him pain.
"You just lie still," Nathaniel admonished him.
"Yes," agreed Jean. "The trouble with you is that you don't know how to take good advice."
Will laughed a little, then choked a little and begged, "Don't make me laugh, lad."
Christophe de Lacey stood some distance away from the group, watching them silently. He was grateful that it appeared Will would live. And he found that he was equally gratified to recognise the friendship building between his old comrade in arms and the young lad, Jean D'Avignon.
Nathaniel tended over the wounded man with an almost proprietorial air, as if he had assumed the care of Will's wounds as his personal responsibility. Then Christophe noted the Ethiopian place a gentle hand on Jean's shoulder and flicker an inquiring glance at Josiah. Evidently, the duty of care he felt extended to the boy. Hell, de Lacey realised; it probably extended to all of them.
Josiah seemed to watch the whole scene with a vaguely satisfied air about him. He nodded to Nathaniel and then looked up at Enrique de la Salle, or rather Ezra ben Saul. Christophe noted that the recently revealed half-Jew did not look entirely comfortable under the ex-monk's gaze. But then a flicker of defiance sparked in Ezra's eyes and he lifted his head proudly, as if proclaiming his right to be there, to stand as part of their company. And it caused Josiah to smile openly.
Then Christophe's eyes sought out Vincenzo di Taranto and was surprised to find the Italian's blue gaze simultaneously come up to meet his. The archer gave the Norman knight an almost imperceptible nod and there was a satisfaction in the calm young face to almost rival Josiah's.
Chris did not entirely understand it but, strangely, he could feel it too. Somehow, despite all the death and destruction, his sense of futility had faded to be replaced by a feeling that events were falling out as they were meant to.
He nodded back.
Christophe de Lacey had favoured the idea of riding out silently under the cover of darkness without biding farewell to the villagers. However, several factors, including Will's injury worked against him.
The display of gratitude unnerved him. These villagers had fought for their own people and many had paid the ultimate price. He and the other six had merely offered their advice and expertise in exchange for a small payment.
Nonetheless, the villagers were determined to be generous and the cart that they had given the seven men, along with various provisions, would be invaluable in making travel more comfortable for the wounded Will.
Christophe glanced over to where Nathaniel was harnessing a horse to the cart, the horse that Ezra had stolen from one of the renegades. And even as he watched, that very horse-thief approached with what appeared to be a deliberately nonchalant gait.
Ezra stood silently for a moment or two by the Ethiopian healer's side, looking not at him but at the horse instead and patting the animal's neck. Nathaniel continued on with his task without acknowledging the other's arrival, although Christophe knew that it had not gone unnoticed. There had always been a tension between these two. He wondered which would be the first to speak.
But they were interrupted by the young Moslem boy, Daoud, who came running toward them calling Ezra's name. Christophe watched Nathaniel glance appraisingly at the other man, as if he knew what the child's intentions were and was prepared to pass judgement on how Ezra handled the situation.
Ezra knelt to greet the child at his own eye-level. "What is it, Daoud?"
"I want to come with you."
"What about your mother and the rest of the village? They are going to need a strong warrior like you to protect them."
"Then why aren't you staying?"
"I don't belong here. You do. This is your home and your mother needs you."
"Is that what you said to her last night when the two of you were alone together?"
Christophe saw Nathaniel's head come up sharply at that and was not surprised by the reaction. Daoud's mother was a young and comely widow, and Ezra had managed to keep his nocturnal rendezvous with her quite secret until now.
"That amongst other things." Ezra's gaze briefly flickered sideways towards Nathaniel but then returned to Daoud's face. "Including how proud she must be to have raised a brave lad like yourself and how lucky she was that you would always stand by her to protect her. You would not make a liar of me and disappoint her, would you?"
Daoud hung his head. "No." But then the child's face lifted again and he smiled. "But you will come back here again, some day, won't you? You must come and visit us, to see that I have not disappointed Mother - or you."
Ezra grinned. "Perhaps. Until then, I'll pray that Allah watches over you both." He looked up to see the widow looking for her son. Gently, he turned Daoud around to face her. "Go to her now. She needs you."
The boy turned back to briefly embrace Ezra around the neck and then ran to his mother. She smiled and nodded to Ezra, then carried her child away.
Ezra also smiled as he watched them go but then the good humour slipped away from his face. He glanced at Nathaniel briefly and with visible discomfort. The Ethiopian healer was gazing at him steadily. Ezra did not speak and turned his attention to the horse again. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat.
"So Nathaniel, would you be willing to carry arms with a bastard half-Jew and a heretic?" The words were self-deprecating but the tone was not and he looked up again to meet Nathaniel's gaze. Again the unmistakable air of defiance. This man was not ashamed of what he was.
The Ethiopian was silent in his turn, as if carefully considering his answer. Then suddenly he grinned. "If you would be willing to carry arms with a black heathen devil."
Ezra looked momentarily startled but then his face also broke into a grin. "I would consider it to be an honour."
"As well you might," Christophe muttered under his breath but without rancour. Well, well, some sense of accord between those two. He had doubted that he (or anyone else) would have lived to see the day.
The conversation was interrupted by Josiah and Jean, as they arrived and assisted Will into the cart. Christophe's old friend was protesting that he would be fine to ride in a few more days and claiming that more than one of the village women had offered to nurse him in the meantime.
"I'm sure that you would not compromise the honour of any of the ladies here by accepting such an offer," Josiah told him with a smile.
Will looked a little nonplussed. "Well, I..."
"And I'm sure that you wouldn't set a bad example for the boy," added Nathaniel, as he came over to help Will into the cart.
"What's bad about the example?" Will protested.
Christophe decided that he could no longer remain a silent observer to this conversation. "I'm sure Josiah here has many tales to tell about the perils of such impious behaviour."
William of Bucklin shook his head emphatically. "I can handle 'peril'."
"You would lead a fine young man like this into danger? I am aghast!" Ezra ben Saul actually sounded like he was anything but aghast. A broad grin creased his face.
"Not to mention the ladies," added Vincenzo, approaching them from behind Christophe. "I think we're ready to go, my lord," he added as he came alongside the ex-Templar knight.
Christophe all but blinked. My lord? His mind rejected any servitude from Vincenzo, or any of the others here for that matter.
But as he looked again into the Italian's eyes, he realised that there was no servitude there, only respect. That he was glad to accept. He nodded in response to Vin's suggestion.
"Then it is a fitting time for us to leave."
"We did well here, didn't we?" Jean asked, sounding young and uncertain, as he took one last look at the village.
"It was a great victory, Jean," Vincenzo assured the lad. "It's a pity Ishmael didn't live to see it. It was his victory more than anyone's."
Christophe could feel Will's gaze upon him. He didn't need to turn to see it. "He gave his life for it." The ex-Templar knight turned to look his old sergeant at arms in the eyes. "And it was a great victory."
Will grinned. "That it was."
With a decisive nod, Chris turned to mount his horse. Jean climbed aboard the cart beside Will and Josiah took the reigns at the front of it. Almost as one, the seven men turned toward the group of villagers that had gathered to see them off. They waved and shouted their various farewells. Then, again with an unconscious unity, turned back toward the road out of town and commenced their journey.
"So where are we headed?" Jean was once again all eager excitement.
Various members of the group glanced at each other, unsure what to suggest. But Vincenzo di Taranto kept a steady gaze upon the road before him. "Damascus," he said simply.
"Damascus," Christophe agreed.
Josiah grinned. "A fine destination for a journey toward enlightenment."
"Lord help us!" moaned Ezra with a theatrical sigh.
Christophe de Lacey cast a brief glance over the men forming their company. Seven in all and a motley band, if ever he'd seen one.
"Amen," he muttered dryly in response to Ezra's comment.
Nonetheless, he smiled as he spurred his horse onward, along the road to Damascus.
END