and brought it down with all his strength on the
Frenchman's wrist. The count's arm was moving into the blow, which gave
it even more force.

The scimitar flew from de Gobignon's hand. Daoud threw his body against
de Gobignon's and locked his foot behind his opponent's ankle. His long,
thin frame top-heavy in his mail, de Gobignon fell over backward. Daoud
stepped forward instantly. Groans and cries of horror were already going
up from the Frenchmen in the ring around them.

Daoud planted his leather-booted foot on de Gobignon's chest hard enough
to knock the wind out of him. He jabbed his saif straight at one of de
Gobignon's few vulnerable places, his right eye, stopping the point a
finger's breadth from the pupil.

Daoud and de Gobignon remained frozen that way.

_And now, O God, tell me: What will I do with him?_

A year ago he would have joyfully driven the point of the saif into
Simon de Gobignon's brain. Even now, he reminded himself that to kill de
Gobignon would relieve Islam of a most dangerous enemy. Daoud would have
won the battle for Manfred today, and Manfred would still be alive were
it not for de Gobignon's unexpected charge. For that alone, the young
count deserved to die.

De Gobignon lay motionless, his face full of anger and defiance.

_But what a waste. I will kill him, the other Franks will kill me, and
both of us will be dead. All loss. No gain._

The sun hurt his eyes. It was low in the west, almost touching the hills
that bounded the valley of Benevento.

_Even if I spare him, the Franks will not let me live. For what I have
been, for what I have done to them, they will burn me, as de Verceuil
said, or worse. Could I trade Simon's life for a decent death for
myself?_

He opened his mouth to speak.

A crushing blow to his chest jolted his body, throwing him back. He
heard the clang of metal punching through his chest armor. An instant
later a thunderbolt of pain struck just beneath his ribs and spread
through his body. He cried out in agony.

Somewhere nearby a woman's voice screamed.

He sank to his knees, dazed.

_What happened to me?_

He still had his sword in his hand. In his blurred vision he saw de
Gobignon, his mouth open in surprise, sitting up, crawling toward him.
Warningly, he raised his saif, but the terrible pain in the middle of
his body drained the strength from his hand, and the sword fell from his
fingers to the ground.

_God help me. I have been arrow-shot.