I made my way to the door. Then I took several deep [171] breaths. A flash of nerves slithered down my spine. From inside the room came curious noises. Giggling and squeals. The bastard was in, all right.

I removed the sword from under my cloak. This was for my wife and child.

I UNLATCHED AND PUSHED OPEN the heavy door to Norcross’s room. It was dimly lit. A mound of clothes lay on the floor. Norcross’s… and a lady’s…

There was the sound of heavy panting and grunts.

On the heavy-posted bed, I saw a partially clad woman bracing her arms against the headboard with her legs akimbo. Norcross, wearing only his undertunic, hammered her from behind.

It took me a moment to recognize the lady Estella. Her and Norcross’s ardor was so great, I wasn’t spotted until I was well into the room.

The knight turned first. “Who goes?”

I stepped forward into the light and winked at Estella. “My lady.” I bowed. “It seems you are once again offended. As often as possible, it appears.”

“You…” Norcross said. His eyes lit up as if he were staring at a roasted side of beef.

“Me,” I replied, a smile on my lips.

Norcross pulled himself off Estella, who covered herself with bedsheets. He stood up, his prick still quivering, and crudely wiped himself with his own shirt. “However you got yourself free, you have great balls to come here.”

“Good. Then at least one of us does,” I said, glancing down.

[173] Norcross curled a smile. In no hurry, he reached for his sword. “I might as well take your head tonight. Then I can sleep late tomorrow.”

Estella grabbed her garments and ran, half naked, toward the door.

“Do not go, Estella,” Norcross said. “Nothing perks my prick like spilling a man’s guts in front of him. I’ll be back inside you before you’re dry.”

Norcross chuckled. He seemed in no great hurry as he circled away from the bed, flexing his chest muscles, looking at me contemptuously, as if I were a bug he was about to squash. “Here, fool, have your justice.” Then he let out a fierce cry and swung his sword at my neck in a mighty arc.

I stood my ground and his sword clashed against mine with a loud clang. At the impact, I swung underneath, but Norcross parried as if his sword had no weight.

He was a skilled fighter. I could see that from the first blows. I had learned well in the Crusade-I was certainly frightened of no one-but it flashed through my head that he was far more experienced than I… a knight! And a killer of women and children.

Norcross grunted and swung his sword fiercely, as if to cut me in two. I leaped backward, the blade slicing by with a loud whoosh.

Norcross swung the weapon in a continuous motion and charged at me again. I breached my sword to take the blow and forced his to the floor. We stood there, eye to eye, our swords pinned. “You fight like a woman.” He grinned.

Then he butted me in the forehead and sent me reeling.

I caught myself on the bed, Estella scampering out of my way. He charged again, this time hammering his sword twice at my shoulders. Somehow I blocked both blows.

Sparks flew from the clash of steel on steel. The chilling clang of death reverberated in my ears.

I swung back. Norcross blocked it with ease. He stood up [174] my sword almost effortlessly. Then, as he pushed it downward, it grazed across my arm, taking a slice of flesh. I let out a howl. Singeing pain sliced through me. The wound ran red on my forearm.

“Know the feel.” Norcross grinned assuredly. “That will be your neck a moment from now.”

He came at me, swinging his mighty sword back and forth. I blocked it two, three times, but the weight was overpowering.

I felt my arms growing weary. Each blow I found myself parrying late. I was a mere instant from having his sword plunge through my chest. I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to die. But I was losing. Any moment might be my last.

Finally, he forced me back into a corner. Frantically, I swung one last time, and he blocked me with ease. He was laughing, knowing he had me. His stale breath was in my face. The smell of his sweat tormented me. The awful sneer on his face could be the last thing I ever saw.

“Go to your grave knowing that I fucked your wife. I shot my seed into her, and when I finished, she asked for more.”

My sword was slipping in my grip. His was closing on my neck, inches from slicing through the bone. With my free hand, I reached into my belt. My knife there …My last chance.

Norcross’s eyes were fiery and determined. “Listen close, fool. That is the last thing you will ever hear.”

“For Sophie… for Phillipe!” I yelled in his face.

In that instant, I shoved the knife upward into his chest. I felt sinew tear, bone crack, but he did not move a muscle in his face.

I pushed the knife harder and harder, but his gaze bore down on me. Incredible! He continued to press his blade into my neck.

Then Norcross opened his mouth as if to add one last thought. This time a stream of blood rushed out. I saw his hands loosen on the sword. Then he took a step backward. A stagger, actually.

[175] I pushed him away, my knife buried deep in his chest.

Estella screamed as if the knife were sticking in her.

Norcross was trying like a drunken man to regain his balance. He wobbled, then he fell to his knees. He looked up at me, disbelief in his eyes, cupping his own vitals in his hands. Then he keeled over dead.

I felt overcome, at first with relief and then with sadness. I had avenged Sophie and Phillipe, but I realized there was nothing for me now.

I picked up my sword. I had to get out of here. I took Estella by the hair. She had set me up. She’d nearly cost me my life. I held her pretty head back and ran the tip of my sword across her neck. “Do not shout or call out. Do you understand?”

She nodded, terror in her round eyes.

“You are most lucky,” I said, forcing a smile, “that I am a gentle-fool.”

EXHAUSTED, AND AFRAID that Estella would sound the alarm, I staggered from the fallen knight’s room. I was now a murderer.

I took my staff and sword and was able to climb down the ramparts from an undetected spot near Norcross’s chamber. The moat was dry, and I crossed it on foot.

From there, I ran. Ran in the shadows through the darkened streets of the surrounding village. Ran until I found the woods.

My arm hung like a roast sliced open. The wound was bleeding profusely. I came upon a stream and cleaned it as best I could and tied it with a strip of cloth from my tunic. I was an outcast again, a criminal now, not just a deserter from a far-off war but a murderer-a killer of a noble. No doubt Baldwin would come after me. I needed to put as much distance as I could between me and Treille. But where would I go?

I hid in the woods, keeping off the main roads. I was hungry and cold, but the knowledge that I had avenged Sophie and Phillipe warmed me inside. I felt vindicated, restored. I hoped God forgave me.

Just after first light, I heard a loud rumble. I hid in the brush as a posse of armed riders, dressed in Baldwin ’s colors, galloped by. I didn’t know where they were heading. Veille du Père? Sweeping the roads and villages?

[177] I headed east, tracking the main road, through the deepest part of the forest. I avoided any travelers I saw. I didn’t know where I was going. My arm ached and throbbed.

A day out, I came to a fork in the road that I now knew well. I had passed here on my recent journey to Treille.

To the east lay my old village, Veille du Père. A day’s trek. My inn was there, Matthew, my brother-in-law, what family I still had. My friends… Odo, Georges… Memories of Sophie and the grave of my poor baby son…