Murdo heard these words, felt his heart stirred to anger within him, and answered, 'I will.'

Emlyn, hands still raised, looked at his young friend. 'Murdo?' Seeing the light of a strange and powerful determination in the young man's eyes, he said, 'You have seen the vision, too.'

'I have,' confirmed Murdo. 'A curse and a blasphemy, you said -you were told to rescue the sacred relic from those who -

– from those who would make of it a curse and a blasphemy, yes, but-' the monk began.

'I am going after it,' Murdo said, his confidence growing by the moment. 'It is not right that they should use that holy relic as a trinket to be bartered for position and power. One way or another, I will bring it back.'

The priest rose quickly and stood before him. 'Hear me, Murdo: once in every life the choice is given,' Emlyn said quietly, his voice taking on the tone he used when telling the stories that moved Murdo's heart, 'to follow the True Path, or to turn aside. Your time has come, Murdo, and here is where it begins. You may lose everything you have worked for-you may even lose your life; but once you have begun, you can never turn back. Do you understand?'

Murdo accepted this with a nod. In that instant, he saw the path stretching out before him; he had taken the first step of a journey that would take a lifetime to complete. And for once in his life, he felt truly free. 'I am going,' he said again.

'Give me your sword,' Emlyn said. 'Men are forever taking up swords in spiritual battles. They forget who upholds them and delivers them; they trust instead to their own strength, and they fail. I do not want that to happen to you.'

Murdo hesitated.

'Look around you,' the monk instructed, indicating the corpses spread out upon the field. 'Godfrey's best warriors could not avail; why believe one more blade will make any difference?' He held out his hand for the weapon. 'It is not by might or skill at arms that this battle will be won, but by faith and the will of God.'

Unbuckling the sword belt, Murdo handed the blade to Emlyn. 'You are right,' he agreed. 'Besides, it would only slow me down.'

'May God bless you, Murdo, and send a flight of angels to surround you and guide you safely home once more.'

Murdo thanked the monk, embraced him, and said, 'Once you get inside the walls, go to the harbour. Find Jon Wing's ship and wait for me there. I will join you as soon as I can.'

Murdo drank some water then, and quickly refilled the waterskin from the contents of others he retrieved from among the belongings of the dead nearby. Meanwhile, Emlyn pawed around in the pouch behind the wounded knight's saddle, and brought out a chunk of dried meat and a bit of hard bread. Taking a cloak from behind the saddle of another dead knight, he returned to Murdo. 'You will need this tonight, I think,' the priest said, handing him the cloak. 'And take this bread and meat.'

Murdo slung the waterskin over his shoulder, and drew on the cloak. 'I will return as soon as I can,' he promised, accepting the small hard loaf and scrag of meat the monk offered. He glanced up at the sky and saw the stars already shining over the hills to the east. 'It will be a clear night and a good moon. I will be able to see the way. You should hurry, too, before the gates are closed for the night.'

He started off, making for the trail Bohemond and his war band had followed. 'Fear nothing,' Emlyn called after him. 'God himself goes with you.'

'See you do not lose the camel,' Murdo called back, lifting his hand in farewell. Then, turning his gaze quickly to the south, he saw the broad backs of low hills; he could make out their smooth slopes in the twilight. These were the leading edges of the grassy dunes which ran along the coast south of the city. It was from there that the Seljuqs had sprung their attack, and that was where he had seen them disappear. Somewhere among these dunes, thought Murdo, he would find the Holy Lance.

Murdo reached the edge of the sand hills as the first numbing pangs of fatigue seeped into his bones. He paused only long enough to catch his breath and swig a few mouthfuls of water before he climbed the nearest dune for a better look around. Sea grass, tough and dry, covered the top of the hill, and hissed at him as he waded through the tall stuff to see over the other side.

The moon was rising above the line of the hills so he had a good view of the bay spreading out before him. Directly ahead, no more than half a league distant, stood the nearest walls of Jaffa. To his right, there were more dunes, marching off along the coast in staggered ranks that formed a series of little valleys whose mouths opened towards the sea. Away on his left, he saw the silver arc of the coastline beyond the city, gleaming in the moonlight.

As he stood looking, he heard the unmistakable sound of a battle taking place far away to the south. So! he thought, Bohemond has found the Seljuqs. Before he knew it, his feet were moving towards the fight.

He moved along at an easy dog-trot, alert to the sounds around him. Though it would have been easier to walk along the water's edge, he considered he would be too easily seen, so Murdo decided to keep close to the dunes where he would be more difficult to spot and catch. After a while, he came to a place where the coast bent sharply to the right. As he could not see around this bend, he decided to climb up one of the nearby hills to discover what he could of the way ahead.

The moment he crested the hilltop, he knew what he would find-the battle sounds grew instantly louder as he stepped up to look over the top. Stretching below him was the long outward curve of the shoreline and the flats of a shallow beach. Midway between the glittering water and the sandhills was a dark swirling mass of men and horses where the battle was taking place. The sound of the clash echoed up from the sand, making it seem as if there were battles taking place in every wrinkled hollow and fold.

Uncertain what to do next, he hunkered down in the long seagrass to watch and wait. While watching, he became aware of a movement on the sands below-a company of men on horseback was fleeing the fight and riding directly towards him. Murdo lay down on his stomach in the tall grass and waited.

Closer, this dark shape resolved into a band of warriors-perhaps twenty in all-riding hard for the dunes. From the sheen of moonlight on their plumed helms, and from the quickness of their horses, Murdo could tell they were Turks. He pressed himself still closer to the sand and held his breath.

The enemy warriors raced by, disappearing into one of the little valleys between the sandy hills-only a few hundred paces further on from where Murdo was hiding. He watched and waited, and when the Turks did not appear again, he decided to find out what they were doing.

Creeping slowly, he moved along the sandy ridges, pausing to listen every few steps, until reaching the place where he had seen the enemy vanish. There he stopped. Down in the valley between the dunes, he could make out the large dark mass of something hidden in the shadows. No sound came from the object; nothing moved.

'The Arabs are a wandering people,' his father had told him. 'So they always travel with their tents and treasure-even in battle they keep their treasure with them.'

There were a dozen or more horses picketed directly beneath him, and he first thought the warriors must have quickly dismounted and tethered their animals there. Yet, upon glancing quickly to the valley entrance, he saw that the warriors themselves were still mounted. The Turks' backs were to him, they all appeared to be watching the battle taking place further up the beach.

Murdo gazed at the dark object hidden in the valley-with the extra horses ready and waiting-and knew he had found the amir's treasure tent.