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shifting uncomfortably in their hot armour. John and Rabbit elbowed their way to the front, directly across from Reynald and Ernaut. As word spread, other knights came – Hospitallers, Templars, Franks, and Germans – forming a dense crowd, those at the back standing on their helmets for a better view. Others gathered on top of the nearby wall to look down on the sport.
    When Reynald judged that a suitable crowd was present, he stepped into the centre of the ring. ‘Today, while out hunting, my men and I came across a dozen spies from Damascus, sent here by Emir Unur to gauge the strength of our forces. Their presence in our lands is an outrage, a violation of our treaty with the emir, and they fled at the sight of us. We gave chase, and three fell to our swords. By the Grace of God we captured four more!’ The men roared their approval.
    ‘Now, I have heard talk amongst you of our enemy, of their bravery, their skill, their ruthlessness,’ Reynald continued. ‘I have heard men say they are monsters, savage beasts.’ He turned slowly around the circle, meeting the eyes of his men. ‘But today you will see that the Saracens are no monsters. They are men of flesh and blood. And they die like any other man!’ He turned and called out over the crowd: ‘Bring forth the prisoners!’
    The crowd turned as the four prisoners approached. They had been stripped of their armour and wore only flimsy linen loincloths. They were unarmed, but Reynald was taking no chances: the prisoners were led by a man-at-arms, sword drawn, and followed by two more soldiers carrying spears. As the Saracens approached, the assembled soldiers jeered and shouted insults at them. The first prisoner was tall and lanky, with olive skin and long black hair that hung well past his shoulders. The second was shorter, spare and compact. He was older, with a greying beard and a pronounced limp, left by some old wound. The third Saracen was a huge man; a good head taller than John, with a round chest like a beer barrel, an ample belly, and upper arms as thick as John’s legs. He was bald, and his head glistened in the sun. The last man was dark-skinned and solidly built, with thickly muscled arms and a broad chest criss-crossed with scars. Of all the prisoners, he alone walked straight-backed, his head held high.
    The prisoners reached the ring, where they were lined up before Reynald. He examined the four men for a moment, then placed himself in front of the huge Saracen. The other prisoners were led off to the side, where they stood shifting their weight as they eyed the menacing crowd around them. Meanwhile, Reynald had retreated to the edge of the ring and grabbed a sword. He threw it at the feet of the giant Saracen, who picked it up cautiously, as if he feared some trick.
    ‘Ernaut, you hairy oaf!’ Reynald yelled. ‘This fat-arse is yours.’
    Ernaut pulled on his helmet and stepped forth to face his adversary. As Ernaut drew his sword, Reynald turned the hour-glass. An excited clamour went up from the crowd as bets were laid on how long it would take Ernaut to dispatch the Saracen. A few men even took the long odds and bet on the Saracen to win. There was little chance of that. Ernaut was not quite as tall as the Saracen, but he was even broader. And whereas the Saracen had nothing but his sword to protect him, Ernautcarried a shield and wore full-length chainmail with plating on the chest.
    ‘Two coppers on Ernaut in under one turn!’ Rabbit shouted, waving the coins.
    ‘I’ll take that,’ a man behind him called.
    Rabbit turned to face John. ‘Aren’t you going to bet?’ John shook his head. A fair fight was one thing, but he had little taste for this sort of blood sport. He had come to the Holy Land for redemption, not for this.
    Ernaut stepped towards the centre of the ring, and the crowd whistled and jeered as the Saracen backed away. The men surrounding the ring drew their swords, poking at the Saracen and forcing him back into the