The journey toward Eila was no easy one.
The lands surrounding Jerusalem were barren, and the southern reaches were no different.
We marched south with the Dead Sea to our left and mountain ridges to our right.
A week had already passed since leaving Jerusalem.
In that time, Vult and I had grown rather close.
"There we go. Good."
Vult snapped up the apple from my hand. I stroked his smooth mane.
I hadn't expected riding to feel this satisfying.
Was this why so many warriors loved their horses like brothers?
Vult tossed his head contentedly.
"Your Highness! Prince Baldwin!"
I turned to see Aig running toward me, bowl in hand.
My breakfast, no doubt.
"You're here again," he said, slightly out of breath. "I've brought your meal."
Dry bread. Hard biscuits. Salted meat.
The same rations for seven days straight.
It hadn't bothered me at first—but now?
"Set it down. I'll eat in a moment."
"Sir Garnier ordered me not to leave until the bowl is empty."
I stared at him.
"I thought you were my squire."
"I am, but—"
I sighed and stuffed some bread and meat into my mouth.
"Fine. I'm eating."
Vult wasn't the only one I'd grown familiar with. Aig had relaxed around me as well.
Still overly formal—but better than before.
He held out a bundle of hay to Vult.
"Eat."
I frowned.
"Why is it wet?"
"He refuses it dry."
Aig glared at the horse like a scolding parent.
"So I soaked it. Now eat."
Vult promptly turned his head away.
I burst out laughing.
Those two would need time.
I surveyed the landscape—sand dunes, camel caravans, wagons stretching endlessly.
We had picked up additional wagons at villages and forts along the way.
"There really are many fortresses."
The Crusader states might lack manpower—but they possessed overwhelming numbers of castles.
A defensive strategy compensating for limited troops.
I'd love to visit Krak des Chevaliers someday.
But that was a luxury for another time.
Two priorities stood before me.
First: rebuild Eila and secure revenue—for the Crown and for myself.
Money meant options.
Second: prevent Lord Reynald from breaking the truce.
That required my presence in Eila.
The Byzantine problem would come later.
Garnier rode up beside me, cloak snapping in the desert wind.
"At least you are eating properly today."
"Aig made certain of it."
He laughed at the sight of Aig and Vult still arguing.
"Food is life on campaign," Garnier said as he dismounted. "If battle comes, you may not eat again for hours—or days. The same goes for water."
"I understand."
Hattin flashed across my mind.
A disaster born of thirst.
Fortunately, Venice had prepared meticulously.
"How much farther?"
"Three or four days. We've coordinated with nearby fortresses for supplies."
He hesitated.
"There is something else. For several days now, a group has been following us. We believed them to be traders at first."
He pointed.
I climbed a sandy rise carefully.
In the distance, clusters of figures dotted the horizon.
Hundreds, at least.
"Scouts report they are unarmed civilians. Jews."
"I'll speak to them."
We halted the column.
Within minutes, Garnier returned with an elderly man riding behind him.
White beard. Long coat.
The old man dismounted with assistance and bowed deeply.
"This humble servant greets the noble and exalted lord of the Kingdom of Jerusalem."
The titles were escalating.
"I am Emmanuel, son of Ahram. May peace rest upon your path."
"And upon yours."
We embraced lightly.
"I am told you follow our caravan. Have you lost your way?"
"Not at all."
He gestured behind him.
"We have heard you journey to rebuild Eila. That city was once home to our people—until ten years ago, when Saladin's Egyptian forces burned the port."
So Saladin had razed it.
"We fled with only our families. Now that it is to be rebuilt, we have gathered what little we possess and followed."
I looked at the distant group.
Many women. Children. Elderly.
They were returning home.
"Then join us openly—"
"Absolutely not!"
Marco stormed forward, belly jiggling indignantly.
"These beggars will drain our supplies!"
"We bring our own provisions," Emmanuel replied firmly. "We seek only protection from Saracen raiders."
Bedouin tribes prowled these lands.
Travel without escort was suicide.
Could I accept them?
Rebuilding Eila required people.
I focused.
No hostility. No deception.
"Very well," I decided. "If you carry sufficient supplies, you may join our column."
"Your Highness—!" Marco protested.
"Reconstruction requires labor," I said coolly. "Unless Venice intends to man the port alone?"
He fell silent.
He knew I was right.
"Thank you," Emmanuel said. "Our men will gladly assist."
Within hours, they joined us.
Desert. Hills. Endless sky.
I stretched atop Vult.
"If only it remains peaceful."
It did not.
The next afternoon, another group appeared.
Riders on brown horses and camels.
The moment I saw them, every nerve in my body tightened.
Like spotting a snake in tall grass.
"They appear to be Saracen merchants," Garnier began.
"Order the men to prepare for battle," I said calmly.
"No need to confirm. They are enemies."
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the desert red.
From a ridge, armed men watched the caravan below.
Camels. Horses. Supplies.
A feast of plunder.
"Do they suspect us?"
"The sun sets behind us. They cannot yet see who we are."
"And the other tribes?"
"Messengers have been sent. Reinforcements will arrive."
"Good. Exhaust them first. Like hunting wild horses."
"Shall I order the archers ready?"
"Was it truly Jerusalem's banner?"
"Yes. The royal arms."
A cruel smile spread across the leader's face.
"A captured prince would fetch a fine ransom. Or earn favor from Saladin."
He raised his curved blade. It gleamed like a crescent moon.
"Raise your swords! Allah guides us to victory!"
"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!"
"There is no god but God, and Muhammad is His messenger!"
Their cries echoed across the burning desert.