On that first day, I wondered why it was that the amir's caravan made no attempt to keep pace with the troops. After a time, it became apparent that we were travelling by another route. This caused me some concern, and I hoped we would eventually rejoin the rest of the Seljuq army, as I did not like being separated from the other Christian prisoners.

Then, as the day dwindled away towards evening and we stopped to make camp, I was joined by three other captive noblemen bound for ransom in Damascus; all were Franks. One of them had been wounded in the battle, and still suffered from his wounds; the other two were nobles of a more rustic stripe who knew little Latin, and no Greek, which made it difficult to speak with them. Also, because of my dress and speech, they thought me an Armenian and worthy only of contempt; say what I might, I could not disabuse them of this notion. Consequently, they would have nothing to do with me, and I was left to myself for the most part.

In many ways, those servants employed in the keeping of the amir's camp had the best of the travelling. Since much of the treasure and tribute was loaded onto horses, requiring the servants to walk along beside, they stopped regularly for rest and water-much more often than the great mass of the army, which pushed swiftly on. So, when they rested, my fellow prisoners and I rested; and when they drank, we drank.

Those first few days were blessedly shortened, or I do not believe I would have survived. As it was, we walked until the burning sun stretched our shadows long behind us. Then the chief steward, having found a suitable place, would give the command to set up camp. In this chore, I had no part; each servant had his special duties and, as I was given nothing to do-except fetch water for the animals occasionally-I was most often able to rest and watch the hurried proceedings as tents were erected, cooking fires lit, and meals prepared.

Each evening, as the flame-tinted sky flared with the day's last brilliance, the amir and his retinue would arrive and the camp would be ready. The amir ate a simple meal, usually alone, and then received members of his following-sometimes singly, more often in groups of two or three.

Left to myself for the most part, I would find a hollow place among the stones to sleep, and lay on the ground listening to the sound of the Seljuqs' voices, loud in the quiet of the camp. They talked long into the night, their intense discussions frequently interrupted by bursts of rowdy laughter which would cease as abruptly as they began. Then, in the morning, the amir would emerge from his tent, give orders to the chief steward, mount his horse and ride away, leaving us to strike camp and move on to the next stopping place.

After we had been several days on the trail, my presence ceased to be of interest to my erstwhile guards. I was treated no more or less well than a dog or mule belonging to the camp; if no one took any interest in my welfare, neither did they show me cruelty or inflict needless torment. They were not warriors, after all, but servants: inexperienced in keeping prisoners and largely unaware of any pressing need to keep me bound or tethered in any way. Perhaps they reckoned escape unlikely as, with nothing but empty desert wilderness stretching away in every direction, there was no place for me to flee.

This was the unvarying pattern of the next eight or ten days-each day so like the last that I lost count, and simply drifted along until we came in sight of Damascus. I heard one of the Arabs shout, and the others began to chatter excitedly all at once. I raised my head and saw the shimmering dazzle on the far horizon.

It was late in the day, and the low sun set the high, white stone walls glowing like kindled ivory or lustrous alabaster. I wiped the sweat from my eyes, and gazed on the glimmering city with a thrill of mingled excitement and alarm. Ahead lay the fate towards which I had been slowly moving for many days, and I had no idea what to expect when we reached our destination.

Rather than push on to the city, the chief steward halted the caravan at a nearby well. As the servants scurried to establish the camp, I put down my burden and sat on the mud brick rim of the well to watch while the servants scurried to make ready to receive their lord. I noticed that some greater care attended this evening's chores, and it occurred to me that perhaps the amir was preparing to receive dignitaries from the city.

For, once the amir's tent had been erected beneath the tall date palms, the treasure-which ordinarily remained packed and secured with the animals – was unloaded and brought to the amir's tent. This task finished, the servants hastened to prepare the evening meal, and I took the opportunity to doze awhile in the dying rays of the sun.

The chief steward must have caught sight of me sleeping, and saw the carved box between my feet, for I was roused with a sharp kick in my ribs and I woke to find him standing over me, railing in Arabic. Before he could kick me again, I jumped to my feet, whereupon he snatched up the box and thrust it into my arms. Still shouting, he gestured towards the amir's tent and at last I understood that I was to take the box and put it with the rest of the treasure.

I obeyed. As there was no one to take the box from me-everyone was busy with other chores – and as the entrance flap was open, I entered the tent myself. The treasure had been dumped in a careless, cascading heap. I checked my first impulse to simply pitch the box onto the pile and walk away, but fearing the square casket might come open and spill its grotesque contents, I decided to take a moment and make a secure place for the box to rest.

I carefully pulled a few items from the haphazard hoarding and set them to one side-a golden bowl, a ceremonial quiver containing four gilded arrows, an alabaster chalice rimmed and footed with silver, a pair of beaded silk shoes, and so on. This created a goodly space, but as I bent to retrieve the box a few items from the top of the stack started to slide and I soon found myself pulling things from the heap in order to keep the entire mound from toppling.

One of the objects caught my attention as I picked it up. Black and heavy, it looked like a thick oblong casket made of wood and very old. Less than the length of my forearm, both ends were bound in heavy gold into which a number of rubies had been set; each ruby was ringed with tiny pearls. Curiously, I could see neither hinge nor hasp. Closer examination confirmed that there was no lid or opening of any kind. Further, the wood was deeply grooved, worn smooth and polished by much handling, but dense and heavy still, and hard as iron.

A strange feeling crept over me as I stood holding that short length of age-darkened timber and realized I had found the holiest treasure this side of heaven. I had found the Black Rood. My heart began to beat more quickly, and I was overcome by a powerful urge to kneel down and cradle the strange object to my breast.

Fearful of being discovered, I quickly turned and made my way to the tent opening to see all the servants working away busily. The camp steward was overseeing the preparation of the cooking fires, and there was no one near the tent that I could see. Retreating into the tent once more, I knelt down and picked up the relic and held it for a moment as one might hold an infant child.

Like my father before me, I had discovered the treasure of a lifetime carelessly stowed in an Arab tent. A prize of battle, nothing more, with no more meaning to those who captured it than the price of the gold and gems adorning its surface.

These thoughts were the realization of an instant, and fleeting at that. I knelt and embraced the holy object, and reverenced it with eyes closed and a prayer of thanksgiving in my mouth. Strange to feel such an upwelling of emotion at the ordinary sight of this bulky chunk of old, old wood. Truly, there was no mystery or enchantment in its appearance. Yet, there was mystery.