[61] What did flash through my brain was the incredible irony of it all. Here I was, dying in front of an altar of Christ, on a holy crusade that I never really believed in.

I didn’t believe… Yet I was dying for this cause anyway.

As I looked at my murderer, my fear left me. So did my urge to resist. I peered into the Turk’s eyes. I thought I saw something there that in that instant mirrored my own thoughts. The strangest urge overcame me. I could not hold it back.

I didn’t pray, or close my eyes, or even beg for my life.

Instead, I began to laugh.

THE TURK’S SWORD hovered over me. At any second he would strike the final blow. Yet all I could do was laugh.

At what I was dying for. At the total ridiculousness of it all. At the precious freedom I was about to be granted at last.

I looked into his hooded eyes, and though I knew it was probably my last breath, I simply could not hold back. I just laughed…

My attacker hesitated, his sword poised above my head. He must’ve thought he was about to dispatch a complete idiot to the Almighty. He blinked at me, his brows arched, confused.

I searched my mind for something to say in his tongue, which Nicodemus had taught me. Anything at all.

“This is your last warning,” I said to him. “Are you ready to give up?”

Then I burst out laughing once again.

The massive Turk, his eyes like fiery coals, loomed over me. I waited for the death blow. Then I saw his expression relax into the slightest inkling of a smile.

Choking back the laughter, I stammered, “Th-the thing is… I’m not even a believer.”

The giant man hesitated. I didn’t know if he would speak or strike. His mouth curved into a sheepish grin. “Nor am I.”

[63] His sword still quivered menacingly over my head. I knew any moment could be my last. I raised myself to my elbows, looked him in the eye, and said, “Then, one nonbeliever to another, you must kill me in the name of what we do not embrace.”

Slowly, almost inexplicably, I saw the hostility on his face fade. To my utter amazement, the Turk lowered his sword. “We’re too few as it is,” he said. “No reason to make one less.”

Was this possible? Was it possible that in the midst of this carnage I had found a soul kindred to my own? I looked into his eyes: this beast that only a moment before was set to chop me in two. I saw something there that this whole bloody night I had not seen: virtue, humor, a human soul… I couldn’t believe it. Please, God, I finally prayed, don’t let this be some kind of cruel trick.

“Is this real? You’re going to let me go?” My fingers slowly relaxed from the priest’s staff.

The Turk took a measuring look at me, then he nodded.

“You probably thought you were ridding the world of a complete madman,” I said.

“The thought occurred.” He grinned.

Then my mind fixed on the danger of the moment. “You’d better go. Our forces are all around. You are at risk.”

“Go…?” The Turk seemed to sigh. “Go where?” There was something in his face, no longer hatred or even amusement. It was more like resignation.

At that moment, loud footsteps burst through the outer door. I heard voices. Soldiers stormed into the church. They were not wearing crosses but filthy robes. Tafurs.

“Get out of here,” I urged the Turk. “These men will show you no mercy.”

He took a look at his assailants. Then he merely winked at me. He started to laugh himself, then turned to face their charge.

[64] The Tafurs came upon him with their swords and awful clubs.

“No…” I screamed. “Spare this man. Spare him!”

He managed to kill the first one with a mighty sweep of his sword. But then he was overwhelmed, consumed by heavy blows and disemboweling slashes, never once crying out, until his powerful body resembled some hideous slab of meat and not the noble soul he was.

The lead Tafur delivered one more blow to the bloody mound, then he delved through the Turk’s robes, looking for something of value. Finding nothing, he shrugged to his comrades. “Let’s find the fucking crypt.”

It took everything I had not to leap on the Tafurs myself, but these savages would surely kill me.

They passed by me on their way to loot the church. I was trembling with horror.

The lead vermin ran the blade of his sword across my chest, as if he were evaluating whether to leave me in the same condition as the Turk. Then he sneered, amused, and said, “Don’t look so sad, redhead. You are free!”

I WAS FREE, the Tafur had said. Free!

I started to laugh once more. The irony was bursting through my sides. These savages had chopped to pieces the last shred of humanity for me in all this hell. Now… they were setting me free!

If the Turk had not hesitated just a moment ago, I’d have been dead myself. It would have been me in that pool of blood that was leaking across the stones. Yet he’d spared me. In all this madness I had found a moment of clarity and truth with this Turk, whose name I did not even know. We’d touched souls. And the vermin had told me I was free.

I struggled to my feet. I stepped over to the body of the man who had spared me and looked, horrified, at his bloody corpse. I knelt down and touched his hand. Why …? I could walk out of this church. I could be cut down as soon as I stepped out on the street, or I could live for years, a full life. For what end?

Why did you spare me? I looked into the Turk’s dull, still eyes. What did you see?

It was laughter that had saved me. Laughter that had somehow touched the Turk. I was only a breath away from death and yet instead of panic and fear, laughter had entered my soul. Amid all this fighting, I had simply made him smile. Now he [66] was gone and I was here. A calm came over me. You are right, Tafur… I am finally free.

I had to get out of here. I knew I could no longer fight. I was a different man. Different from a moment ago. This cross on my tunic meant nothing to me. I stripped it from my chest. I had to go back. I had to see Sophie again. What else could matter? I was a fool to have left her. For freedom? Suddenly, the truth seemed so clear. A child could have seen it.

It was only with Sophie that I felt truly free.

I wanted to take something from the church with me. Something from this moment that I would have for the rest of my life. I leaned over the dead Turk. The poor warrior was empty of anything: a ring, a memento.

I heard voices outside. It could be anybody. Infidels, raiders, more Tafurs hunting for spoils. I looked around. Please, something.

I went back to the priest. I lifted the staff that had been in my hands when the Turk spared my life. It was a rough, gnarled Stick of wood, maybe four feet long, and thin. But it seemed strong. It would be my friend when I crossed the mountains again, my companion. I vowed to carry it with me wherever I went for the rest of my life.

I looked at the fallen Turk and whispered good-bye. “You’re right, my friend; we are too few as it is.”

I gave him a wink.

Looking up, I noticed a small crucifix on the altar. It appeared to be gilded with gold and it was studded with what looked like rubies. I took it down and stuffed it into my pouch. I had earned this much. A golden cross.

The cries of men dying hit me as I stepped outside. Mayhem was still rampant in the streets. The conquering throng had gone deeper into Antioch, cleansing the city of anything Moslem. Bloody corpses were scattered everywhere. A few latecomers in clean armor rushed by me, eager to share in the spoils.

[67] I heard awful cries of death farther up the hill, but I wasn’t going there. I put the priest’s staff to the ground and took a step-the other way.