ow heaved and struggled. Dead horses lay by
the score, large dark lumps. Smaller objects lying about the field like
rocks might be dead men; it was hard to tell from this distance. Much of
what he saw was partly veiled by clouds of gray dust.

He felt a breath of fear on his neck at the thought that he must take
his army into that cauldron. He tried to make sense of what he was
seeing. Where were the leaders?

The half of the field nearer him was hidden by the trees growing lower
down on this ridge. Ignoring de Puys's whispered warnings, he crawled
farther forward for a better view.

Now he saw the town of Benevento at the south end of the valley, a city
of moderate size whose walls were fortified by a dozen square towers.
And before it a smaller city of many-colored tents. Above the tents, a
yellow banner with a black splotch in its center. That would be the
Hohenstaufen eagle.

Then those tents at the other end of the valley, where the road entered
from the north, must be the French camp. Simon saw many more banners,
too far away to recognize, on poles in the center of that camp.

He saw no fighting at the north end of the valley. Closer to the battle,
a small group of horsemen sat on a low hill, apparently observing. Above
them a red and black banner hung from a long pole. That could only be
Charles himself, and his chief commanders, under the banner of the black
lion. Lines of foot soldiers screened them from the main fighting.

_I should go down there, or send someone, to find out what Count Charles
wants me to do. But there is no time._

Again Simon's gaze swept the battlefield. The innumerable small
struggles, mostly in the center of the valley, told him that neither
side was winning. Again the Saracen warriors with the turbans caught his
eye. They were the only group of mounted men acting together. Moving in
a V-shaped formation with the center back and the tips of the two wings
well forward, they advanced slowly across the field. But with such
confusion around them, where could they effectively attack?

_Never mind that. Where can I effectively attack?_

He lay on his belly, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers, his
breath steaming in the air in front of him. Thierry, de Puys, and Friar
Volpe were waiting behind him. And behind them, the army he had brought
here. A sudden terror froze his limbs. The day was cold, but he felt
colder still, staring at the swirling fury below him, listening to the