The amir sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by four Seljuqs who, by dress and bearing, I took to be noblemen and advisors -the Atabeg of Albistan among them. Amir Ghazi's expression was stern and challenging. His white beard bristled like hog hair on his flat, wrinkled face; he had put off his buff-coloured turban, and his long grey hair was knotted into a hank, which rested on his shoulder. 'God is great!' he said in Arabic.

Sahak interpreted the amir's words for me, to which I replied, 'Amen!'

Ghazi nodded, and made a flicking motion with his hand. The Armenian bowed, then turned to me and said, 'His Most Excellent Amir Ghazi has considered your claim. He has discussed this with his counsellors and it is the opinion of the amir that you were fleeing the Armenian stronghold or else you would not have been captured. Is this not so?'

'Yes, my lord, it is so,' I answered, gazing full at Ghazi.

'It is the amir's opinion that there are many reasons for a man to flee. The two most common, and therefore most likely reasons-in the Most Excellent Amir's sage opinion-are these: either you have made enemies among the royal family, or you have committed some crime in the royal household. Perhaps the theft of the brooch with which you have attempted to purchase your freedom, yes?'

'Tell my lord the amir that I am not a thief,' I said, trying to remain calm and unruffled. 'I have stolen nothing. Neither have I made enemies among the royal family.'

I might have insisted on recognition of my noble rank, but it serves no purpose to allow one's self-importance to erect obstacles at times like this. As Abbot Emlyn says, martyrs are often burned, not for their beliefs, but for their toplofty pride alone.

Sahak repeated my assertion, and then gave me the amir's terse reply. 'It makes no difference,' he said. 'Amir Ghazi says that you are to remain a captive. You have said your friends escaped. If this is so, those who were with you will send ransom, and then you will be freed. By this he will know the truth, and the matter will be concluded.'

'If no one comes for me?' I hated asking the question, but I had to know.

'You will be sold in the slave market in Damascus with the rest of the captives who have no hope of ransom.'

The amir watched me to see how I would take this news. When I made no outcry or protest, Sahak said, 'Do you understand what I have told you?'

'Completely,' I answered. 'I am more than grateful for the amir's wide forbearance.'

The rancorous scribe's eyes narrowed as he tried to determine whether I was mocking him. Satisfied with my sincerity, he relayed my words to Ghazi, who continued, 'By virtue of the fact that you are a captive of war,' the amir said, speaking through Sahak, 'you stand condemned. Yet, it is written: He who desires mercy shall mercy employ. Therefore, I will show mercy to you, least deserving of men.'

He waited while his words were translated for me, then said, 'You have claimed to be a nobleman and, indeed, I find that you conduct yourself with admirable restraint and courtesy-two of the chief virtues of nobility. Mercy and generosity are two more.'

I could see that Ghazi, for all his sly practicality, nevertheless imagined himself something of a philosopher.

'Therefore,' Sahak continued, 'by the immense mercy and generosity of Lord Ghazi you will be accorded the honour and rank of a nobleman in captivity.'

The pronouncement dismayed me, I will not say otherwise, yet I shouldered the burden of disappointment as manfully as I could. I held my head erect and kept my mouth shut. I tried to preserve my dignity in the circumstance by reminding myself that, at least, by remaining in Ghazi's camp a little while longer, I would be near the Black Rood.

'All noblemen are to be ransomed in Damascus,' Sahak told me with spiteful glee, 'and, should anyone wish to claim you, the amir has decreed a price of ten thousand dinars for your release.'

'Please, tell the Excellent and Admirable Amir Ghazi that I am truly overwhelmed by the prodigious magnitude of his mercy and generosity.'

Sahak grimaced. 'Tomorrow we will continue our journey to Damascus. You will travel in the amir's baggage train with the other noble captives. So that you will not offend the Illustrious Atabeg Buri, by arriving empty-handed, the Wise and Benevolent Ghazi will provide you with a gift befitting your rank.'

When the translator was finished, the amir clapped his hands, and a guard entered from the outer room. Ghazi beckoned him near and put his mouth to his servant's ear. The man rose quickly and left. The amir enjoyed a shrewd smile at my expense and I felt a dread apprehension creep over me as the guard returned bearing a large wooden box, which he placed on the floor between myself and the amir.

The box itself was one of the ornately carved variety I had noticed in the anteroom; made of fine wood inlaid with gold tracery, it was costly, certainly, but I reckoned the box itself was not the gift the wily amir had in mind.

'Open it,' commanded Ghazi through his gloating Armenian mouthpiece.

I knelt down and unfastened the simple hasp. Then, taking the top in both hands, I steeled myself and lifted the hinged lid to reveal a severed human head. One brief glimpse of the long yellow hair and the neat forked beard gave me to know it was none other than the golden head of incautious Prince Bohemond.

Impetuous no more, Prince Bohemond appeared serene and tranquil, his fine features becalmed, if not beatific-a testimony to the embalmer's art, for even in my fleeting encounter with the hasty Count of Antioch, I could tell that serenity was never part of his nature. Certainly, I had never seen him looking more contented -as if in death, his war with the world now over, he had entered a splendour of peace that had eluded him in life.

The flesh had a waxy texture and a slightly glistening tawny sheen, due to the pitch resin used to preserve the head. Yet, it was lifelike in every other way so that poor Bohemond seemed merely to slumber in the serene tranquility of a golden sunset. Alas, it was a sleep from which there would be no waking, and I might have mourned the life of a brother Christian so brutally cut off-if not for the fact that he had brought this ghastly extremity upon himself.

He had sown destruction, and reaped a bounteous harvest. Those who deserved my grief were the men who had no choice but to follow their vainglorious prince into death's cold and darksome halls.

My Seljuq masters wanted me to feast my gaze upon the grisly prize that I might know the fate awaiting noble traitors. Oh, they took great pleasure in their victory, of which the prince's head was the emblem. Given a choice, I believe Amir Ghazi would rather have had the ransom money-doubtless, the prince would have paid an enormous fortune in treasure for his freedom. Still, the wily amir was not sorry to have annihilated a foe whose continued presence would have been a bane and a curse.

They presented me with the box, and the Armenian katib informed me that I was to carry it-a sort of punishment, I suppose, for causing the amir the aggravation of having to deal with me. Or, maybe it was the scribe's revenge for my subtle mockery of the day before.

Whatever the reason, I carried the head of Bohemond on my back all the way to Damascus. A loathsome labour, I cursed the arrogant young lord every trudging step of the way.

Provided with a length of folded cloth to serve as a strap, I hoisted the bejewelled box onto my back and followed the other servants when, upon striking camp, they set off. The box was heavy, and in a discouragingly short time my shoulders and arms were throbbing with a fiery ache. I eventually worked out that by knotting the ends of the strap and raising the knot to my forehead, the pressure on my shoulders was relieved by taking some of the weight on my hands. It was awkward, and bent me like an old man, but at least I was able to walk like this for long stretches at a time without exhausting myself.