The heat was almost too much for Richard of Warwick. Like many of the other knights, he had discarded his European clothing soon after arriving in the Holy Land and adopted the lighter clothing favoured by the native inhabitants. When he was in the camp, in the privacy of his own pavilion, he would often wear light cotton robes. Also, due to the scarcity of water, Sir Richard had grown a beard that he kept close-trimmed. This, combined with the tan he had acquired, gave him the appearance of a member of one of the lighter-skinned tribes. He was not alone in this, and it had become quite the fashion amongst the younger nobles to adopt some of the native customs.

When it came to the business of war, Richard had no choice. If he wanted to protect himself from the its misfortunes, he had to wear his armour. While the polished golden metal reflected the worst of the sun's rays, it grew hot and heavy as the day progressed. Also, it marked him out. At first he had revelled in the reputation he seemed to have gained amongst the Muslim warriors - after all, what young knight did not want fame and glory? But, as time had passed and King Richard's army had advanced further towards their goal, it had become burdensome. Very few of the enemy would fight him, and then only if they were cornered or if they were tyros.

Today, the Golden Knight was once again leading a scouting party ahead of the main body of King Richard's forces. Their orders were to spy out the land and find out what was within two day's march: determine if there were any farms or wells that could be used to sustain the thousands of men and women; make sure that there were no columns marching against them or waiting in ambush.

John of Chester, Richard's closest companion, reined his horse in and waited for his friend to catch up. "Another wasted day," he said. "Only peasants and olive farmers."

"Be thankful," Richard replied. "If I had to wield my sword today, I would collapse from exhaustion."

John nudged him and chuckled. "Not enough practice, eh? Perhaps we should spar with each other? It would do us both good."

Richard lowered his head to hide his smile. John always knew how to cheer those around him. "Well, if you think that today has been a waste, shall we tell our lord that? Or shall we tell him that we encountered a dozen men and put them to the sword, like good Christians?"

John looked at the scrub around them. "No. I think not. I would like a boring trip to Acre, God willing. I would like to arrive there well-rested and ready for a triumphal entry."

"What - no stories for the grandchildren?"

"Oh, I intend to have plenty of grandchildren."

Richard raised his hand and called out to the others. "We've ridden as far as we should today! We return to report!"

The ragged column of cavalry wheeled around and waited for Warwick and Chester to take their place at its head, then rode back in the direction they had come. Soon, the only sign of their passing was the broken soil and a cloud of yellow dust.

The sun was almost touching the western horizon by the time the scouting part returned to the Crusader army. A warm breeze had sprung up and the flags that flew above the myriad tents were flapping and snapping in its wake.

"Men! See to your mounts and see to yourselves!" Richard ordered. "John, come with me to report."

The two knights dismounted and handed their horses to the grooms. Then they made their way towards the great tent that belonged to their monarch. However, as they approached, they were stopped by William of Gaunt, one of the king's courtiers. He looked contemptuously at the two dusty knights. "State your business."

Richard saluted the earl. "My lord, we have returned from patrol. We wish to report to His Royal Majesty."

William didn't move. Instead, he stood there, his arms folded. "His Majesty is otherwise occupied now. But you may tell me, and I shall make sure that your words reach him."

Richard suppressed the urge to push past. "My compliments to His Majesty," he began, and then delivered his report finishing with, "I swear by Almighty God that this is true."

William nodded in acknowledgement. "Good. Now, return to your tents and make ready for tomorrow. You will have a long ride ahead of you."

"Tomorrow?" John of Chester blurted out. "What is so important about tomorrow?"

"We shall march on Acre, to relieve it from the heathens. His Majesty wishes you to be in the vanguard. He has heard," William gave Richard a sardonic smile. "He has heard of your reputation amongst the enemy troops. Perhaps you shall frighten them away so that our journey will be easy."

Richard stared down at the ground, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. "My lord," he mumbled. "Is there anything else?" But, when he looked up, William of Gaunt had departed.

"That man is a right mare's queint," John muttered. "If he was not one of the king's favourites ... ."

"We are brothers in arms," Richard scolded him. "You should not say such things. But I do agree." He pulled at his companion's arm. "You heard what he said. Tomorrow we set forth, and it will be another three days at least before we get to Acre. At least we can ride."

"Aye. In which case, I should see to my own self."

"And likewise."

The two knights embraced each other, then went their separate ways back to their tents. Richard had every intention of setting his servants to packing his belongings ready for the morning, but when he arrived at his tent, he was greeted by the hunched figure of Emrys Wledig.

"Ah! Young Richard," the scholar addressed him. "There is much for us to discuss. Have you a moment?"

"I have orders," Richard began, but the old man ignored him.

"Good. Good. Let us talk then." He pulled aside the flap of Richard's tent and bowed. "After you, my lord."