After a quick search of the dead for valuables, they were stripped of weapons and armour, and the Seljuq commander led his men up the low bank and out onto the plain once more, leading me, and three riderless horses behind them.

Most of the dead were amassed in the centre of the plain near the road they had been travelling on when Ghazi sprang his trap. As we approached the road, where the fighting had been fiercest, I began to see corpses heaped one upon another-most of them without armour, and a few even without weapons. I wondered at this and decided that the ambush must have caught them so suddenly that the knights did not have time to arm themselves before the enemy was upon them; they were cut down as they struggled into their helms and hauberks.

The blood of the slain had turned the dust-dry road into a sodden mess, churned to vile mud by the feet of soldiers and Seljuq horses. Already the air was thick with the stink of curdling blood as the white hot sun beat down on the carnage. The sick-sweet stench filled my nostrils bringing the gorge to my mouth; I gasped and gagged as I was pulled along, desperate to keep my feet lest I be dragged through the gore-slick muck.

I tried not to look at the dead, and averted my eyes whenever I could – their slack mouths and lolling tongues, their astonished empty stares, their raw and gaping wounds-lest they be disgraced in my sight. Their piteous plight filled me with an immense and oppressive remorse. I stumbled across the battle-plain staggering over the corpses, bitterness welling anew with every step. An entire army had been cruelly cut down for the ambition of one heedless, headstrong lord. God help me, I cursed Bohemond for the sacrilege of the self-willed arrogance that had blithely squandered so many lives.

My Seljuq captors came to a place a little distance from the road where the victors were gathering. There, under the watchful eyes of their commanders, a vast company of warriors were enthusiastically stripping the dead of their armour, weapons, and clothing. The various items-swords, shields, helmets, spears, mail caps and hauberks, and the like-were brought and tossed onto the swiftly growing heap. Nearby, another, smaller, pile was also increasing; this one contained all the items of silver and gold, or other valuable objects. Bohemond had pressed hard in his effort to reach the Armenian stronghold as quickly as possible, so the crusaders had not pillaged many towns along the way and consequently had little plunder with them.

While I watched this dismal display, a great cry went up from a host of Seljuq warriors massed a short distance away where they were occupied with some great amusement. They waved their curved swords in the air, shouting loudly and enthusiastically. I could not make out what demanded such zealous attention, but more and more warriors were being drawn to the display.

I was still trying to determine what was happening when Amir Ghazi arrived. Surrounded by a bodyguard of fifty warriors on horseback – most of them on milk-white stallions like his own, and all dressed alike in cloaks of deepest blue with crimson turbans-he sat comfortably upon a raised, cushioned saddle of fine polished leather edged in silver. A small, smooth-faced man, he was swathed in shimmering blue samite, and wore a huge red turban surmounted by a peacock plume held in place with a great glittering emerald the size of a duck egg. In his cloak of white samite, he fairly gleamed like a star in the harsh sunlight as he sat in his high saddle and gazed at the still-growing mounds of treasure and weapons with the calm, beatific smile of a cheerful god.

He advanced and reined up before the atabeg and his men. The two addressed one another amiably and fell to discussing, as I imagined, the battle and its aftermath. At one point, the amir turned his attention to me; my captor simply shrugged, as if my presence was of little consequence, and they went back to their conversation.

They were thus occupied when all at once another tremendous shout went up from the nearby host. The amir turned in the saddle and, raising himself in his silver stirrups, attempted to peer over the heads of the close-gathered throng. Fatting this, he spoke a command to his men, and a dozen or so warriors wheeled their mounts and rode to the gathering on the plain. Using the butts of their spears, the warriors began prodding them out of the way, clearing a path by which the amir might see what was taking place just beyond them.

As the pathway widened, I saw with sickening dread what it was that so engrossed the watching warriors: the bloody execution of the prisoners. Not all of the crusaders had been slaughtered in the valley; two hundred or so remained alive and had surrendered themselves. These men had been herded together onto the plain, and were now undergoing summary execution by the victors.

This was bad enough; what made it infinitely worse was the way in which the executions were being carried out. Even as I watched, one poor wretch of a foot soldier was pulled screaming from among his companions and hauled to the centre of the plain where he was released. The instant he was freed, two Seljuq riders sped out from the near end of the field-one with a spear and the other brandishing a sword. The two closed rapidly on the fleeing crusader.

Leaning from the saddle, the foremost Arab waved his sword high. There was a glinting flash of steel in the air, and the victim's head flew from his shoulders, spinning bright ribbons of blood into the air. The decapitated corpse stumbled on a step or two and collapsed, jerking and quivering until it lay still. The disembodied head struck the barren ground to roll like a lumpy ball in the dust.

The whole hideous spectacle was greatly and warmly cheered by the ecstatic onlookers, many of whom had struck wagers on the rider's ability. That they should do this appalled me, and rage bubbled up like molten rock inside me. Instantly, I was overcome by a towering fury; my vision darkened and my blood flared like liquid fire in my veins.

Burning with impotent rage, I raised my fist to Heaven and called down fiery judgement to consume the heartless infidel. But the sky remained clear and no flaming thunderbolts descended to scorch the brutal victors' heads. When God withdraws his protective hand, the powers of hell are swift to claim the spoils.

Cait, my light, I cannot contain myself. For the first time in my captivity, a great fear and uncertainty has descended upon me and I do not know what to do. I pace and pray the night away besieged by a hopeless dread the like of which I have never known.

This very night, two members of the caliph's bodyguard burst into my cell. Although it was late and all the palace was silent, I was hastened directly to the throne room where the exalted caliph had previously received me, as you will remember. The great room was in darkness, save for two torches burning in sconces either side of a door at the far end of the room.

I was led across the empty expanse of floor to that door. It was opened, and one of the soldiers indicated that I was to enter. I did so, the door closed behind me, and I found myself in a small chamber, alone. In the light of a single candletree, I saw a small three-legged stool with a leather seat and a large blue satin cushion of the kind favoured by the caliph. There was a table with a bowl of dates and figs, and a brass bell.

As I stood looking at these things and wondering why I had been brought here in the dead of night, I heard a curious grinding sound – very like that of a mill wheel when it turns; it seemed to come from across the room and, even as I looked, a small seam opened in the corner of the wall. This seam became a low door, which swung outward. A belch of cool air washed over me and I smelled the stale scent of damp, musty earth, and it came to me that the many scattered rooms and buildings of the palace compound were no doubt connected by an elaborate system of passages and tunnels. I heard the slap of a footstep and, an instant later, who should emerge from the hidden passage but Caliph al-Hafiz himself with torch in hand.