'- carry the prayer before the High Throne of Heaven and that Girardus' last wish for his family will be granted.' I said the Amen and signed him with the cross, as I had seen Emlyn and Padraig do when shriving sinners.

Rubbing unshed tears from his eyes, the soldier thanked me, and then, having made peace with his Creator, bent his head to prepare himself for death.

All at once there arose a commotion across the field. I glanced in the direction of the sound and saw a rider streaking towards us, followed by at least a dozen more. They reined in before the resplendent Amir Ghazi, on his milk-white stallion, exchanged a few heated hasty words, and the amir called a command to his men, who were at that moment dragging another screaming wretch out from among the beaten crusaders.

Then, one of the newcomers-a small, dark-skinned Turk with a bristly white beard and a face as flat and scuffed as the bottom of a boot-shouted something, turned his mount and rode out to where we were awaiting execution. This Arab carried no weapons, save a curved gold-handled knife, the pommel of which protruded from his dirty cloth belt. He glared at all around him with a dark and angry countenance, as if furious that we should be reclining while he laboured long in the saddle.

The glittering amir advanced and, smiling pleasantly, addressed the angry Arab in, as I thought, placating tones. The two began to converse, and I supposed the agitated newcomer was being informed of the disposition of the captives.

'He is furious as a tarred ferret,' observed Girardus.

'The amir does not appear overly concerned,' I pointed out.

'He is not the amir,' Girardus informed me. Indicating the small dark angry man, he said, 'That is Amir Ghazi.'

I looked again at the man I had taken for a lowly scout. Unlike the other Arab chieftains I had seen, the amir was arrayed no better than the lowest soldier in his war host. Instead of flaunting his superiority, he wore the simple black dress of tunic and trousers of a Seljuq warrior, with black boots of soft leather; the only difference that I could see was that where their turbans were black or brown, his was sand-coloured. If Girardus had told me he was a trinket pedlar, I would have believed him. Certainly, the man I saw glaring down at us from the saddle appeared more disposed to selling brass baubles in the street than commanding the combined armies of the mighty Seljuq tribes.

'That is Amir Ghazi?' I said, staring at the dusty, sweating Turk. 'Are you certain?'

'Yes, and he is enraged.'

'Why?'

'He is angry with his commanders for killing so many captives. Noblemen are worth fortunes in ransom, and the rest can be sold as slaves. Ghazi says their thoughtlessness has cost a great deal of money which could have been used to further the war against the Franj.'

I looked at Girardus in amazement. 'How do you know this?'

'I speak Arabic a little,' he said. I professed this to be a very wonder. 'No.' He shook his head. 'It is six years in Antioch.'

'If that is Ghazi,' I said, 'who is the other one?'

'That is Kaisin Tanzuk, Sultan of Jezirah,' my informer replied. 'They say he is wealthier than the Caliph of Baghdad.'

'What is he say -'

'Shh!' Girardus cut me off as he tried to follow the exchange. After a moment, the crusader turned to me, his bruised features forming an expression of pathetic relief. 'The killing is stopped. We are to be taken to Damascus.'

Satisfied that his command was understood, Amir Ghazi returned to his chieftains and began ordering the withdrawal of the army. While I was mightily grateful to be spared a messy and inglorious death, my relief was tempered somewhat by the realization that my rescue would now take longer. I had allowed myself to hope that once Padraig and the others discovered what had happened to me, they would ride to Anazarbus, alert Roupen, and the Armenians would instantly ride to my aid.

In a little while, a number of Turks approached with coils of rope, and began tying the captives together. It is only for a short while, I told myself as the Seljuq warrior passed the loop of tough leather rope around my neck. They will come for me. When they realize what has happened, they will come for me.

The rope was pulled tight around my throat, looped back to my hands, and secured. When he finished, I was bound to Girardus -who was joined to someone else, and so on-and the warrior gave the rope a final tug and began leading us away. I stumbled forwards into the strange and frightening nightmare world of the war captive.

So began the most wretched portion of my life. I will spare you the most painful incidents, dearest Caitriona. I could not bear the thought that my distress should cause you grief. Even through my sorest trial, my chief consolation was that you would not know how your father suffered. Thus, you would remain forever blissful in your memories of me-if indeed you should remember me at all. You were so young when I left you, heart of my heart; and for that I am sorry. Believe me, I have repented ten thousand times since then.

Ah, but dull ignorant man that I am, I did not perceive the Swift Sure Hand of God moving mightily in the chaos of those calamitous days. No doubt Padraig would have had the wit to perceive the subtle textures of our Lord's grand design in the intricate warp and weft of time and the myriad actions of men.

'Look here, Duncan,' the good priest might have said, 'see how the cloak is made of many threads-some light, some dark. The pattern is in the interplay of both, and who but the weaver can foresee the design?'

I miss Padraig greatly and pray for him constantly, as I do for you, my soul. Yes, and every day I curse my ignorance and folly. How arrogant I was, imagining I could bring some small order into the chaos of the seething, benighted East. I rue the day I allowed myself to become so deeply mired in affairs that did not concern me, and which only drew me further and further away from the true aim of the pilgrimage.

If we had but waited one more day-half-a-day, even!-the battle would have reached its inevitable conclusion, and I never would have been captured. Had we but waited half-a-day, I would not be here now at the pleasure of the Caliph of Cairo, by whose sufferance I yet draw breath. And yet, as Padraig never tires of pointing out: the Swift Sure Hand does bend all things to the good of those who love him.

As much as I entrust my hope to this belief, I cannot truly say I perceived the smallest tincture of good in that arduous and harrowing journey to Damascus. If there was a design in that, I confess I never saw it. Perhaps I may be forgiven my dullness of sight, however; most days, I was busy fighting for my life.

Amir Ghazi commanded the massed armies to move south at once. As I think on it now, he must have recognized the priceless opportunity he had won. Having vanquished Antioch's protecting forces, he moved to press his advantage as far as it would go.

So, without a pause to draw breath, much less celebrate their victory, the amir's army was on the move once more. In preparation for this, Seljuq warriors searched through the ranks of crusader captives with swords; anyone with a disabling wound was instantly put to death. Those with lesser injuries were spared, and allowed to continue so long as they could walk. Still, as the days passed, there were times when I reckoned a quick chop in the neck might have been the greatest kindness.

We marched from the plain of battle and into the low hills to the north and east. It was long past dark when we stopped. I spent a cold night on the ground in the company of eight other prisoners. We were tied together in groups to keep us from escaping, and each group separated from the others so that we could not raise rebellion.