'We saw the first battle, too,' Murdo volunteered helpfully. He pointed out towards the plain. 'The Turks ambushed the knights and killed them. It was a terrible fight. The crusaders fought well, but there were too many Turks, and they -

While Murdo was speaking the rider to the left of the nobleman leaned close to his companion and whispered, 'Look! He has it, by God!'

Murdo saw the knight's gaze shift to the lance behind him on the ground.

'What have you there, thief?' shouted the nobleman.

There came a clunk from the door, and a muffled voice on the other side called out. Murdo took a slow step backwards.

'Stop! Stand where you are!'

The door gave out a creak. Murdo glanced to the side to see that a smaller door cut in the larger was opening. He took a half-step towards it, away from the lance.

'Stand still!' shouted the knight, handing his reins to the rider next to him as he made to dismount.

Murdo waited until the knight had begun sliding his leg over the saddle, and then leaped forward, throwing his hands in the horse's eyes, and shouting as loudly as he could. 'Hie!' he cried, waving his hands. 'Hie-yup!'

The frightened animal tossed its head and reared back, lifting its forelegs off the ground and sending the unbalanced knight sprawling, his foot still caught in the saddle. The other horses shied, too. Murdo jumped back, snatched up the lance, and dived for the door, which was yet but half-open. He heard the sharp ring of steel as the knights drew their swords, and then hit the door with his shoulder. The gateman was thrown back off his feet, and Murdo was through.

Gathering his feet under him, he dashed for the nearest street.

An instant later, the first of the knights burst through the door. 'Stop, thief!' cried the knight, his voice loud in the quiet of the morning. 'Thief! Thief! Stop that man!'

Keeping the sun at his back, Murdo darted quickly along the twisting, narrow streets, working his way down through the city of Jaffa to the harbour. Every now and then, he paused to look for his pursuers, but he neither saw nor heard them, and began to feel he had left them far behind.

As he ran on, he noticed there were more people about in the streets now as the morning's business began to occupy the townspeople. Lest he draw any unwanted attention, he slowed to a purposeful walk, and crossed an empty market square in which merchants and traders were beginning to gather. Once across the square, he entered a covered street stuffed tight with tiny stalls from which the ring of hammer on brass could be heard. Several of the traders called out to him in Greek as he passed, but he ignored them and hurried on.

The sudden sight of the bay brought him up short. He stopped and stepped quickly back, hiding in the early shade of a pillar for a good look around before proceeding. Among the scores of ships anchored in the harbour below-Genoese and Venetian for the most part, along with Greek of various kinds-small fishing boats plied the still water. Here and there along the wharf scatterings of crusaders lazed, waiting, no doubt, for ships to take them home.

At the far end of the wharf, he saw the imposing imperial galley, its tall yellow masts and folded red sails towering over its nearest neighbours: the low-hulled longships of King Magnus' Viking fleet. He searched among the tall, upswept prows for the one he knew best, and quickly found it; Skidbladnir was second from the last, which was nearest the emperor's ship.

Leaving his hiding place, Murdo started down to the wharf, where he made his way quickly towards Magnus' ships, forcing himself to appear calm and unhurried, just one more eager home-going pilgrim.

He drew near the Norse fleet, and saw several hulking figures he recognized; men left behind to guard the ships. He had almost reached the first friendly hull when the dreaded cry sounded behind him.

'There he is! Stop him!' the cries went up. 'Stop thief! You there! Stop that thief!'

Two men reclining on the planking jumped to their feet as Murdo fled past. They made a grab at him, and one of them snagged a piece of his sleeve and spun him around. But Murdo was ready. Even as he turned, he swung the iron lance down hard on the man's forearm. The fellow yelped and released his hold, falling back with a curse between his teeth as Murdo leapt away.

He put his head down and ran for Jon Wing's ship, and was up and over the rail before anyone else could lay a hand on him. He dived for the prow, his fingers searching under the rail for what he had hidden there. When he did not find it, dull panic seized him in its icy grasp. Had it been found? Had someone removed his handiwork?

The shouts on the wharf were louder. His pursuers were almost upon him. He ducked out of sight beneath the upswept prow, swallowed down his fear, and searched again.

Cold iron met his touch. He grasped the metal, and pulled the spear he had made in Aries from its hiding place. The weapon now wore a thin coat of rust from the sea air and damp of its long stowage beneath the rail. This gave it a much older appearance, thought Murdo, which was no bad thing.

Hearing footsteps on the deck behind him, he turned and saw the familiar face of Jon's pilot. 'Gorm!' he called. 'Keep them off the ship!'

Without a word, the leather-skinned pilot swung around, seized a spear from the holder and levelled it on the nearest of the advancing pursuers. The men, unready to face this challenge so early in the morning, hesitated and fell back.

Swiftly, swiftly, Murdo's hands flew over the golden cord and binding cloth of the Holy Lance, stripping it away-and just as quickly rewrapping it. He could hear the voices shouting from the wharf. They were calling for him to come out and show himself. He also heard the clatter of hooves on the dock timbers, and knew that his ruse was all but finished. He could not hope to hold them off any longer. He tied the last knot on the golden cord, carefully lay the lance on the deck, took a deep breath and stood to meet his fate.

A sizeable crowd had gathered on the quay. The knights who had raised the pursuit stood on the wharf, weapons drawn, staring at him. At Murdo's appearance, the shouting had ceased; it now began again. Murdo calmly raised his hands-for silence, and to show that he held no weapons. 'Please!' he called. 'In the name of Our Lord Christ, I beg you, let me speak.'

'Silence!' roared the foremost knight. When quiet reclaimed the crowd, he said, 'What do you have to say, thief?'

'Who is your lord?' asked Murdo. He knew, but he wanted those looking on to hear it for themselves.

'We are Count Baldwin's men,' the nobleman replied. 'We demand that you return that which rightly belongs to him.'

'What is it that you believe I have stolen from Count Baldwin?'

The nobleman glanced quickly at the crowd around him before answering. Clearly, he did not like the direction the proceedings were moving. Flinging his hand at Murdo, he shouted, 'He has stolen the Holy Lance!'

The crowd on the wharf murmured in astonishment. The Lance of Christ! Here? they wondered. How can this be?

'I have stolen nothing from you,' Murdo answered directly. 'What I have, I obtained not from you but from the amir.'

'Liar!' shouted the man. 'Seize him!'

The crowd, inflamed by the knight's accusations and a desire to involve itself in this interesting conflict, surged forward in a rush towards the ship. Murdo stooped quickly and retrieved the lance and lofted it above his head. 'Halt!' he shouted.

Amazed at the sudden disclosure of the relic, the crowd lurched to a stop.

'Stay where you are,' Murdo warned. 'If anyone takes so much as one step nearer, I shall throw the lance into the sea.'