On a high ground.
An eunuch clad in brocade robes, with a chin as smooth as possible and not a single beard, whispered to advise: "Prince Zahir, this is a well-trained Frankish army. We have ventured deeply into enemy territory. Should we retreat?"
"Retreat?"
"Harry, have you been frightened by the charge of these Frankish barbarians? Losing that thing has indeed made your courage completely dissipate!"
The leader of this group of Saracen cavalry was none other than Zahir Gazi, the third son of Saladin, the titular Lord of Aleppo and Governor of Northern Syria.
The eunuch had a sharp, long face, his complexion unreasonably fair. He said calmly: "Prince Zahir, my king has ordered me to look after you. This is my duty!"
Zahir glanced at the eunuch with disdain: "Enough, Harry. Pillaging a village won't extinguish the raging fire in my heart. I shall take the head of this Frankish cavalry leader and demand back Aleppo from Adil, which rightfully belongs to me!"
