ew archers not felled by their volleys ran to the
sides of the valley to safety.

Charles was too far away for Daoud to read his expression, but his arms
were waving frantically, as if he were trying to conjure up knights out
of thin air. The men around him clutched at him, clearly telling him
they must ride for their lives. One of Charles's men had pulled the red
and black banner out of the ground and looked ready to gallop away with
it.

Daoud slung his bow across his back and drew his long, curving saif from
the scabbard. The noonday sun flashed on it as he held it high. His men
roared and brandished their own swords.

The band had caught up with them, and the trumpets and hautboys screamed
death to the enemy while the kettledrums rumbled.

There was nothing left to protect Charles d'Anjou now. There was not
even time for the French leader to run for it. He seemed to know it. He
had his sword out and he held up a white shield with a red cross.

Urging the Arabian on, shouting the name of God, Daoud raced toward
triumph.

* * * * *

On hands and knees Simon stared horrified as the long line of
red-turbaned riders charged at Charles's position.

The Saracen riders still had half the length of the valley to cross
before they reached Charles's position. The French foot archers--some of
them must be the same men Simon had briefly commanded before the gates
of Rome--were lining up to protect their king. There was time, but very
little.

"God have mercy!" exclaimed Antoine de la Durie.

Simon backed away from the hilltop, stood up, and turned. All down the
side of the ridge hidden from the valley of Benevento, rows of knights
sat on their great horses, hefted lances, thrust at the air with their
swords. Some were still struggling into their mail shirts with the help
of their equerries. Hundreds of faces looked up inquiringly at Simon.
Trees hid the rest of his army, farther down the slope.

He took the polished helmet Valery held for him, its top adorned with an
angry griffin spreading its wings, and set it down over the padded
arming cap that held it in place.

De la Durie, de Marion, de Puys, and ten more barons gathered around
him. They waited silently for him to speak.

He was shaking inwardly, and prayed that it would not show. He was
afraid of death and of defeat. But, thank God, he was no longer in doubt
about what to do. He knew.

"Over a hundred Saracens are about to