"They abandoned everything? Is that truly so?"
Qurbugha stared into the valley ahead.
The echo of camels braying and warriors shouting drifted back toward them.
"Yes. All of it stacked in Sahakan Valley. The other tribes have already entered."
"So that is why the Franks camped there yesterday."
"They had no choice," one of his men replied. "You cannot fight with sheep penned beside you. They must have thrown down the spoils and fled."
Qurbugha grunted.
"So this is the toll they pay for passage. A pity we captured no prisoners."
His tribe had been starving for months. The drought had been merciless. The Frankish fortresses would not trade with the Bedouin anymore.
Plunder was all that remained.
"The other tribes are already inside?"
"Yes. They rushed in before the scouts even finished reporting."
"In a narrow path," Qurbugha muttered, "there are no brothers and no friends."
He raised his hand.
The mounted warriors followed.
Excitement burned in their eyes.
A hunt not seen in years.
Food for their families. Supplies to carry home.
If they delayed, nothing would remain.
"Soon it will be time for prayer. We go now!"
A roar answered him.
They rode into the valley.
Inside, warriors from other tribes were already shouting in triumph.
Food and valuables were piled high beside enormous wooden planks.
Enough to feed the surrounding tribes for a year.
"What are those boards?"
"Frankish ship parts, it seems. They were hauling them in pieces."
Several warriors danced before the plunder.
"Perhaps they meant to invade Mecca. When Saladin hears of this, he will reward us."
Qurbugha's eyes swept the valley.
Something felt wrong.
"Are we certain the Franks have withdrawn? The air is strange."
A pressure.
A tension.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
"It must be—"
The men dancing by the planks collapsed.
Arrows protruded from their throats and limbs.
The wind hissed.
"Arrows! Ambush!"
"Franks behind the boards!"
"Do not retreat! Draw bows!"
Then stones began to rain from above.
Panicked horses reared. Men were thrown and trampled.
Qurbugha ducked.
Arrows from the front.
Rocks from above.
A trap.
"Do not counterattack! Turn your mounts! Out of the valley—now!"
He wheeled his horse—
And froze.
Armored Frankish cavalry blocked the entrance.
For a heartbeat, silence hung.
"Commander—!"
"They are few! Charge! Break through!"
Qurbugha drew his blade.
If this was a trap, they would carve their way out.
"Loose arrows, you fools!"
"They're fleeing!"
"Seal the exit! Not one rat leaves this valley!"
Garnier bit down hard.
Until moments ago, everything had gone perfectly.
The Bedouin had seen the plunder and lost all reason.
They fought among themselves for it.
Then the trap sprung.
Archers within.
Jewish men atop the cliffs hurling stones.
Chaos.
Victory had belonged to Jerusalem.
But there were more of them than expected.
"Hold them! Spears! Bodies if you must!"
"Sir Garnier! The rear—!"
He turned and cut down a rider.
Blood sprayed across his armor.
He felled two more—
But for every man struck, two slipped through.
Like fish tearing free from a loose net.
"Many have broken out!"
"Ride to the prince! Tell him to withdraw!"
"Stop them from reaching him!"
Garnier's roar shook the valley.
"They realized too quickly."
I stood atop the ridge.
The valley below was thunder and screaming.
The sound of arrows tearing air.
Steel striking steel.
"We've won, haven't we?" Aig asked.
"The battle? Yes. What comes next is what matters."
The plan had been to encircle and force surrender.
But there were too many.
Dozens of riders had already broken through.
A knight approached.
"Your Highness, we should rejoin the main force."
"Wait."
I saw them.
Saracen riders racing toward the caravan.
Merchants.
Women.
Children.
Unprotected.
If they reached them—
Screams. Slaughter. Chains.
I pulled my helm down.
"We intercept."
"But Sir Garnier ordered—"
"I am giving the order."
There was no time to be treated like a child.
"Then we will go. You remain here."
"No. I ride."
We had six knights.
Every horse mattered.
I mounted Vult.
He pawed the sand, eager.
Aig mounted beside me.
"You may fall back."
"I will not. Sir Garnier would kill me."
He handed me a spear.
"Do not swing it. Hold firm. Let the impact drive through."
Heavier than expected.
So this was cavalry charge.
"Prince Baldwin rides with us! Charge!"
We surged forward.
The acceleration nearly threw me backward.
Thirty… forty enemy riders ahead.
More fleeing than attacking.
Sand blasted into my helm.
"Lances up!"
They spotted us.
Shouted in Arabic.
"Keep them from the caravan!"
We spread wide.
Like sheepdogs.
Arrows fell short.
My shield trembled under the strain.
Do not hit me.
Do not hit me.
"Charge!"
At last they turned away.
We herded them off.
I exhaled—
And something slammed into my face.
My body snapped backward.
Pain exploded through my spine.
Darkness flickered—
Then returned.
Feet still in the stirrups.
Body half off the saddle.
Vult still running.
"Prince Baldwin is struck!"
"Stop!"
Vult halted.
Aig reached me.
"Your Highness! Are you alive?!"
"Yes."
"Where are you hit?!"
"Unhook the stirrup."
He freed it.
I fell onto the sand.
The impact was dull.
"I can stand."
My jaw throbbed.
Blood in my mouth.
Perfect.
I removed the helm.
The chin guard was dented.
The arrow had struck and deflected.
The Great Helm had saved my life.
"Are you unharmed?"
"Unless you have a spare jaw, I'll manage."
Aig laughed shakily.
"I nearly died of fright."
"So did I."
The knights gathered.
The armor was heating in the sun.
I looked toward the horizon.
'I swear,' I thought, 'I will never do that again.'
And I knew that was a lie.