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wharf?” Marek threw the reins over the horse’s neck and clambered into the saddle. “Why? Are we taking a boat?”
    “Your prayers to join the Holy War appear to have fallen upon more willing ears than mine.”
    “I don’t believe it.” Marek grinned. “I knew I wasn’t indentured to a tourneyer for no reason. The saints sent me to you to save your soul! I’ve heard the priests rattle on about it a hundred times. Raise our swords in a Crusade and we’ll be absolved of all sins, from now until forever!” He crowed and laid his heels to the palfrey’s side. “I should be sainted myself for this!”
    Annan stood in the dust of the alley and watched the palfrey gallop around the corner. Marek faded into the clamor of the city, and Annan’s arms fell to his sides.
    Absolution .
    The word clattered around inside his skull, but he could only stare into the distance with the weariness of a man who did not even hope that such might be true.

Chapter III
    ANNAN BRACED HIS arms against the sway of the Bonfilia ’s bow and stared across the dappled glare of the bay. An inert giant of tent-white camps stretched out upon the Holy Land’s beaches, all the way to the city walls. Even from the middle of the bay, the great catapults, like two guardians of savage lore, were visible rising above the camp, swinging relentlessly amidst the heat of the day. He could hear the thunder of the stones against the walls; the crumbling of clay and rock; the distant, hollow ring of voices.
    “We be at infedele blockade very soon.” The gap-toothed Venetian captain jostled Annan’s elbow as he strode past. “Go back to the quarterdeck with your servo now, sì ?”
    Annan nodded, took one last look at the shimmering hills of the besieged port city, and pushed away from the rail.
    Slowly, he made his way to the forecastle , shouldering past the jostling sailors and their unintelligible speech. A long score of days had passed since he and Marek boarded ship in Bari, and he was ready to have the feel of sand once more beneath his feet and an enemy before him that could not run away as did the demons of his mind.
    Marek, seasick since the beginning of the journey, sat cross-legged in a pile of hawser . As Annan approached, the lad made a rumbling noise that had no doubt been intended as a moan. “All this to be right with Heaven? I tell you, the priests are an unfair lot. This is all that Baptist’s fault.”
    Annan leaned against the rail, his back to Marek, so he could watch the infidels skittering across their vessels, preparing for the skirmish that preceded every Christian ship’s entry into the Acre port. “Last I heard, you were taking credit for this entire expedition yourself.”
    “That was before too many miles of rough seas. Anyway, we both know it wasn’t my intentions, however noble, that got you here.” He sniffed. “Tell me this. Why is it that when I argue for months to come on this pilgrimage , you act as if you can’t even hear me? But as soon as that mad monk whispers one little word of it, here we are staring the infidels in their faces?”
    “Your reasons weren’t quite as good as his, laddie.”
    “I’ve been with you nigh on three years. You’d think you’d have the sense to listen to me before you do some raving heretic.”
    Annan watched the approaching galley. The infidel ship slid through the water on the strength of its oars alone, its sails of no use in the humid breathlessness of the Eastern climate. “If the Baptist is who I think he is, I’ve known him a long span past our three years.”
    “Aye, well, you might have been sharing whatever it is you think you ken about him with a faithful servant like meself, instead of stalking about the ship for the whole journey.”
    The Bonfilia gathered speed, and the air pushed against Annan’s face. All around, the sailors tensed, their sun-darkened skin tightening across their faces. The captain, standing just behind the prow, murmured to them in