in was
browner than any Frank's or Italian's.

The men flanking them on either side wore conical helmets and what
seemed to be leather breastplates and carried long, curving sabers. Bows
were slung over their shoulders. One man on the right end of the line
was dressed in a steel cuirass.

Lorenzo realized that he was seeing the Tartars and their Armenian
bodyguards. And the man with the steel breastplate was Sordello. At the
sight of the old bravo, Lorenzo felt fury boiling in him. Back in
Orvieto, that man had deserted Daoud and him. Despite that, Daoud had
sent him money through Ugolini in Perugia and Viterbo, and Sordello had
sent them snippets of information. But Lorenzo had privately vowed that
the next time he saw Sordello he would squash him like a bedbug. And now
he appeared again, just after Simon de Gobignon smashed Daoud's final
hope of victory.

The Tartars talked and gestured to each other, surveying the
battlefield. Their attention and that of their guards was on a melee
that was rolling rapidly toward them. A boiling mass of horsemen, the
survivors of Daoud's Sons of the Falcon battling with the vanguard of
the Frankish knights, was struggling its way to the western side of the
valley.

Partly hidden from the approaching Tartars by his horse, Lorenzo readied
his crossbow. He hooked the bowstring to his belt and put his right foot
in the stirrup in front of the bow. He kicked out sharply, straightening
his right leg, and the bowstring snapped into place behind the catch. It
would be a pleasure to kill Sordello, but his first duty was to kill the
Tartars. And thus he would pay the French back for Daoud's defeat. This
would be much more satisfying than leaving poisoned wine in their tent.
He raised the bow, loaded a bolt, and stepped out into the Tartars'
path.

"You little monsters!" he shouted. The younger Tartar, Philip, brought
his head up, giving Lorenzo an even better shot. Lorenzo depressed the
catch, and the bolt smashed into the center of Philip's chest, right
through the mail shirt. His eyes huge, Philip fell out of the saddle.
His frightened horse galloped away.

Lorenzo ducked back and bent to draw his bow. A moment later something
hit the side of his horse and the animal gave an agonized whinny and
fell to its knees. By that time Lorenzo had his bow cocked and loaded
again. He rose up from behind his dying horse.

John was just drawing his bow for a second shot.

"For Rachel!" Lorenzo