'We are neither high nor mighty in the eyes of the world, and that is both our blessing and our curse,' the monk declared. 'Our weapons are the weapons of the weak: wit, stealth, and secrecy. These we possess in prodigious supply, and have become proficient in their many uses. Make no mistake, our enemies are mighty and they are many-the Pope in Rome chief among them. For almost six hundred years, Rome has sought the death of the Cele De, yet we remain -a remnant only, it is true, but enough to ensure the continuation of our line. Secrecy is our protection, and we cling to it.'

Murdo thought about this for a moment, then asked, 'If this secrecy is so important, why do you tell me?'

'I have told you only as much as I would tell anyone who asked and was willing to listen. It is the teaching itself that is secret, not the means or purpose.'

Murdo regarded the monk sadly. Whatever else they might be, the Cele De were madmen, obviously-roaming the wilderness reaches of the world with their shabby little secret, bending the ear of anyone idiot enough to give them a listening. He liked Emlyn, and felt sorry for him. Still, all this talk of paths and lights and secret teachings made him tetchy and impatient; and he regretted having become entangled in such a futile conversation. Also, he felt foolish for allowing the monk to beguile him into the hope, however fleetingly glimpsed, that there might be something in what he said, something important, something real, something worth giving his life to learn and protect.

Even as he framed the thought, he remembered his own shabby little secret-that he was no crusader at all. He had not taken the cross, and had no intention of fighting for the liberation of the Holy Land. He thought of this, and softened his harsh opinion somewhat. After all, if he regarded his own secret as too precious and dangerous to be told, he could at least appreciate how the monks must feel.

'Five weeks-six, perhaps-no more,' declared Count Raymond of Toulouse confidently. 'The distances between cities is not great, and the way is well marked. We will be in Jerusalem long before summer.'

'But the guides say the roads are uncertain at best,' Hugh pointed out. 'Also, the enemy may have destroyed the old provisioning places along the way. It may take longer than we anticipate.'

With the fresh conquest of Nicaea behind them, the lords had gathered around the board in Count Raymond's expansive tent to drink wine and study the map prepared for them in Rome at the pope's behest. Full of their good fortune, the noblemen stood clutching their cups and gazing at the unrolled goatskin with its thin meandering lines and spidery inscriptions.

From ancient times, there had always been but three ways across the great upland plateau of Anatolia. Each route offered the traveller particular benefits as well as challenges. With the coming of the Seljuq, however, the difficulties had swallowed any benefits. It was no longer a matter of passage, but of endurance, and even the most informed and enlightened pilgrim would have found it impossible to say which route offered the best hope of success, for the land had passed out of imperial dominion more than a generation ago and no one knew the condition of the roads anymore. Nor could anyone say what the pilgrims might encounter on the way. And which of the old towns and settlements remained? Where would they find watering places? What was the enemy strength in the sprawling interior?

'The guides you trust so highly are spies,' Raymond hissed, his gaunt face hardening. 'Spies in the employ of that craven coward of an emperor. He would see us fail so that he can claim the spoils for himself. Did you see how quickly he swooped upon surrendered Nicaea? He had it in his grip before the blood had dried in the streets.'

'There was no blood in the streets,' Stephen corrected mildly, 'and in any event, we had already decided to give it to him so that we might press on in all haste. The season grows hotter by the day, and we must move quickly-the summer heat will kill us, if the enemy does not.'

'Bah!' cried Raymond. 'Listen to your bleating! My lords,' he said sternly, 'with our own eyes we have seen how easily the Saracens are defeated. If the Greeks were but half the soldiers we are, they would have driven them into the sea years ago.'

'The Saracens are a pestering irritation,' declared Baldwin into his cup, 'nothing more.'

'Seljuqs,' Stephen reminded them. 'They are not Saracens, but Seljuqs. There is a difference, I believe.'

'There is no difference,' growled Raymond.

'I agree,' put in Bohemond indifferently. 'Stick them and they bleed; cut off their heads and they die.'

'They are infidel, and they will be exterminated like vermin.' Baldwin glanced around the board, gathering agreement for this sentiment. 'We took Nicaea without breaking a sweat; the rest will fall to us likewise.'

'But if the guides say -' Hugh began again, desperate to have his concern taken seriously.

'Hang the guides!' roared Raymond, slamming his hand down on the board. 'I am sick to the teeth hearing about them. These scheming Greeks are part of the emperor's deceitful designs. I warn you, Vermandois, trust them at your peril. The maps given us by the pope are more than adequate for the task at hand. We have only to keep to the old military road and we are assured swift passage to Jerusalem.'

Straightening to his full height, he placed his hands on his hips and glared around the table at his comrades. 'On to Antioch, I say, and devil take the hindmost!'

The next day, the largest force assembled since the golden days of Rome's glory trundled off on the broken road. Moving in long columns, staggered to keep out of one another's dust, the crusaders looked their last upon the conquered city, and set their faces towards Jerusalem.

Nicaea had been their first real test, and they had come through it handsomely. The victory was no less sweet for the ease with which it had been accomplished. The outcome had been in doubt right up to the moment of surrender-owing chiefly to the fact that when the siege was begun, the crusaders' fighting force had not yet reached its full strength.

The last pilgrims to join-Duke Robert and his noble kinsmen, and their respective contingents of English, Norman, Scottish, and Flemish knights-had not reached their comrades until the eve of the fall of Nicaea. Like the others before them, they had taken the oath of allegiance in Constantinople, then crossed the Bosphorus in the emperor's ships and disembarked in Pelecanum where they made their way along the gulf to Nicomedia, the last city in Anatolia remaining to the empire. There they were joined by a regiment of Immortals which the emperor had ordered to accompany the pilgrims. Eager to join the pilgrimage, the western lords pressed on to Nicaea, led by the Byzantine regiment, who were in turn led by their commander, the strategus Taticius.

Though they remained alert and wary of attack, they saw no sign of the enemy, and were thus able to travel at speed-owing to Taticius and their imperial guides, and the fact that the other crusaders had already passed through and chased any adversaries away. Even so, by the time the latecomers arrived, Nicaea had been under siege for almost a month. Chosen by Sultan Arslan to be his primary fortress, Nicaea sat like a gigantic boulder in the pilgrims' path. They could not advance until the city had been taken. However, situated on a lake and defended by high stone walls and stout, iron-bound gates, Nicaea easily resisted every attack by the crusaders, and appeared happy to go on doing so indefinitely.

As the latest pilgrims came within sight of the besieged city, however, a great cry went up from the enemy warriors massed atop the walls. The arriving crusaders assumed that it was the cowardly Seljuq giving in to their dismay at the sudden appearance of so great a force of excellent horsemen and infantry soldiers arriving fresh to the fight. They exulted in the revelation of fear their imposing presence was inspiring in their quaking adversary, until realizing that the cries were actually shouts of triumph raised for the return of Sultan Qilij Arslan, who was at that very moment sweeping down upon them from the north.