In spite of our being totally outnumbered, there was no option but to stand and fight. I drew my sword, resolved that any breath might be my last, and hacked away at the first wave of horsemen.

[49] A dark-skinned Saracen whirred by, and the head of a man next to me shot off like a kicked ball. Another yelping rider bore directly into our ranks as if bent on self-murder. We pounced on him and hacked him bloody. One by one, the small group of men Robert and I had attached ourselves to began to thin. Begging to God, they were split open by the Turks as they swooped by.

I grabbed Robert by the tunic and dragged him farther away. In the open, I saw a horseman hurtling directly toward us at full speed. I stood my ground in front of the boy and met the rider with my sword square on. If this was it, then let it be. Our weapons came together in a mighty clang, the impact shaking my entire body. I looked down, expecting to see my legs separated from my torso, but, thank God, I was whole. Behind me, the Saracen rider had fallen off, horse and rider surrounded by a cloud of dust. I leaped on him before he had a chance to recover, plunging my sword into his neck and watching a flow of blood rush out of the warrior’s mouth.

Before this day I had never taken a life, but now I hacked and slashed at anything that moved as if I had been bred solely for it.

Every instant, more horsemen stormed out from the gates. They swept down on our fleeing troops and hacked them where they stood. Blood and gore soaked the ground everywhere. A wave of our own cavalry went out to meet them, only to be overcome by the sheer numbers they faced. It seemed as if our whole army was being slaughtered.

I pushed Robert through the smoke and dust in the direction of our ranks. We were now out of arrow-shot. Men were still moaning and dying on the field, Turks hacking at them. It was impossible to tell a red cross from a pool of blood.

For the first time, I noticed that my own tunic and arms were smeared with blood, whose I did not know. And my legs stung from the spray of molten pitch. Though I had seen many [50] men fall, in a way I was proud. I had fought bravely. And Robert too. And I had protected him, as was my vow. Though I wanted to weep for my fallen friends, Mouse among them, I fell to the ground happy just to be alive.

“I was right, Hugh.” Robert turned to me, grinning. “God did protect us after all.”

Then he lowered his head and puked his guts out on the field.

IT HAPPENED JUST THAT WAY nearly every day.

Assault upon assault.

Death after meaningless death.

The siege took months. For a while, it seemed as if our glorious Crusade would end in Antioch, not Jerusalem.

Our catapults flung giant missiles of fiery rock, yet they barely dented the massive walls. Wave after wave of frontal attacks only increased the death toll.

Finally, we constructed enormous siege engines, as tall as the highest towers. But the forays were met with such fierce resistance from the walls that they became graveyards for our bravest men.

The longer Antioch survived, the lower our spirits fell. Food was down to nothing. All the cattle and oxen had been butchered; even the dogs had been eaten. Water was as scarce as wine.

All the time, rumors reached us of Christians inside the city being tortured and raped. And holy relics desecrated.

Every couple of days, a Moslem warrior would hurl some urn down from the towers and it would shatter on the ground, spilling blood. “That is the blood of your useless Savior,” he would taunt. “See how it saves you now.” Or, lighting a cloth [52] afire and tossing it to the earth, “This is the shroud of the whore who gave him life.”

At intervals, Turk warriors made forays outside the city walls. They charged our ranks as if on a holy mission, yelping and hacking at those who met them, only to be surrounded and chopped to bits. They were unafraid, even heroic. It made us realize even more that they would not easily give in.

Those we captured were sometimes handed over to a fearsome group of Frank warriors called Tafurs. Barefoot, covered in filth and sores, the Tafurs were distinguished by the ragged sackcloth they wore as uniforms and by the ferocious savagery with which they fought. Everyone was afraid of them. Even us.

In battle, these Tafurs fought like possessed devils, wielding leaded clubs and axes, gnashing their teeth as if they wanted to devour the enemy alive. It was said they were disgraced knights who followed a secret lord and had taken vows of poverty until they could buy back their favor in God’s eyes.

Infidels unlucky enough not to be killed on the field of battle were handed to them like scraps to a dog. I watched with disgust as these swine would disembowel a Moslem warrior in front of his own eyes, stuffing his entrails into his mouth as he died. This happened, and much worse, so help me.

These Tafurs reported to no lord among us, and to most of us, it seemed, no god either. They were marked by a cross burned into their necks, which attested not so much to their religious fervor as to their urge to inflict pain.

The longer the horrible siege went on, the farther away I felt from anything I knew. It was now eighteen months I’d been gone. I dreamed about Sophie every night, and often during the day: that last image of her, watching me go off, her brave smile as I hopped down the road.

Would she even know me now, bearded, thin as a pole, and blackened with grime and enemy blood? Would she still laugh at my jokes and tease me for my innocence after what I had [53] seen and known? If I brought her a sunflower, would she kiss my bright red hair now that it was filled with gore and lice?

My queen … How far away she seemed right now.

“A maiden met a wandering man,” I sang in the quietest voice before I slept each night, “in the light of the moon’s pure cheer.”

THE WORD SPREAD like fire from battalion to battalion. “Get ready… Full battle gear. We’re going in, tonight!”

“Tonight, another charge?” Weary and frightened soldiers around me moaned in disbelief. “Do they think we can see at night what we cannot even shoot during the day?”

“No, this time it’s different,” the captain promised. “Tonight you’ll go to sleep fucking the emir’s wife!”

The camp sprang alive. There was a traitor inside Antioch. He would give up the city. Antioch would finally fall. Not from its walls crumbling but from treachery and greed.

“Is it true?” Robert asked, hastily putting on his boots. “Do we finally get to pay them back?”

“Sharpen that knife,” I told the eager lad.

Raymond ordered the army to break camp, giving the appearance that we were headed for a raid elsewhere. We pulled back two miles, as far as the river Orontes. Then we held until close to dawn. The signal was spread. Everyone be ready…

Under the shield of darkness, we quietly crept back within sight of the city walls. A sliver of orange light was just breaking over the hills to the east. My blood was surging. Today, Antioch would fall. Then it was on to Jerusalem. Freedom.

As we waited for the word, I put my hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Nerves?”

[55] The boy shook his head. “I fear not.”

“You may have started the day still a boy, but by its end you’ll be a man,” I told him.

He grinned sheepishly.

“I guess we’ll both be men.” I winked.

Then a torch waved over the north tower. That was it! Our men were inside. “Let’s go!” the nobles shouted. “Attack!”

Our army charged, Frank, Norman, Tafur, side by side, with one purpose, one mind. “Show them whose God is One,” the leaders cried.

Our battalions headed toward the north tower, where ladders were hoisted against the walls and wave after wave of men climbed over. The sound of shouts and vicious fighting erupted from inside. Then, all at once, the big gate opened. Right in front of our eyes. But instead of attacking Moslem horsemen streaking out, our own conquering army spilled in.