Free Eagle by Jack Hight Page B

weaving between the closely set trunks. He caught glimpses of the Saracens just ahead, and he could hear his own men crashing through the undergrowth behind him. He had not gone far when he heard an arrow whiz past. Another embedded itself in the tree beside him. John took shelter behind a thick tree trunk as the air filled with the buzz of arrows. Around him, the night echoed with cries of pain and curses in French and German.
    The arrows stopped and John continued his pursuit. He left the trees and crashed through a row of grapevines. He peered into the dark shadows ahead, but could see neither friend nor foe in the thick darkness, although he could hear the other Christians around him. Then he caught a flash of movement off to his left and headed that way, entering another stand of trees. As he pushed on, the sounds around him faded.
    John squeezed between two trees and found himself at the edge of a clearing where two men stood talking. Instinctively, John stepped back into the shadows. The man facing John was a Saracen in a white turban and chainmail. The other had his back to John. ‘It shall be as you say,’ he was saying. The man turned. It was Reynald.
    John caught a flash of steel out of the corner of his eye andducked just in time to avoid being decapitated. He turned to find himself face to face with Ernaut. ‘Ernaut! It’s me, John!’
    Ernaut stepped back and lowered his sword. ‘Sorry, Saxon. I thought you were one of them. It’s damn near impossible to see out here.’
    ‘Saxon!’ It was Reynald, marching across the clearing towards them. The Saracen was gone. Had John imagined him? Reynald grabbed John’s tunic and pulled him close. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I was chasing the Saracens.’
    Reynald’s eyes narrowed as he examined John; then he released him. ‘Very well. Since you are here, come with me. I must meet with the other leaders to discuss our response to this attack. Ernaut, you get back to camp and look after the men.’
    John fell in behind Reynald. As he walked he looked back to catch a glimpse of Ernaut marching into the darkness, a bulging sack slung over his shoulder.
    John and Reynald emerged from a dense grove of apple trees into a clearing that was almost entirely filled by a huge tent. From inside, John could hear the heated voices of many men. At the entrance, Reynald paused and leaned close to John. ‘You are brave, Saxon. You will go far with my help. But if you cross me, you will regret it. Do you understand?’ John hesitated. What had he seen, anyway? He nodded, and Reynald clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good man.’
    They entered the tent, and Reynald shouldered his way through the crowd to where King Louis stood with the German king Conrad and Baldwin, King of Jerusalem. John stayed at the edge of the crowd.
    ‘They came in through your section of the camp!’ King Conrad was shouting as he pointed at King Louis.
    ‘You’re the one who insisted that we camp here,’ Louis retorted. ‘There are hundreds of paths through the orchards. Itis impossible to guard every one of them. My men’s blood is on your hands!’
    ‘How dare you!’ Conrad roared
    ‘Enough! Enough!’ King Baldwin shouted. ‘This is just what our enemy hopes for. They wish to set us against one another. We must not let them. If you wish to blame someone, then blame me.’ He looked to both kings. Neither spoke. ‘Very well. We must fortify our position immediately. We will build walls to separate the orchards from the city, and we will post guards.’
    ‘Pardon me, King Baldwin, but is that wise?’ It was Reynald who spoke, and all eyes turned to him. ‘The orchards will be hard to hold, no matter what fortification we build. We will never be safe from these night-time raids so long as we stay here.’
    ‘What are you proposing?’ Conrad asked.
    ‘The walls are weaker on the eastern side of the city. I suggest we move our camp there.’
    ‘After we lost so many lives to take the