Deep within the inner town of St. Jean d'Acre -- crowded with square flat houses now darkened by early evening -- a knight jammed an iron bar across the inside of his door, then turned to the two reasons for the hasty barricades.

"These are not the circumstances I envisioned for a joyful reunion," Sir William told his two visitors. "Yet when one prays for miracles, one does not ask the Lord to make it a convenient miracle."

The closest visitor smiled -- unseen -- as she unfurled the veil which covered her face.

The other visitor, Thomas of Magnus, merely gazed about the room with undisguised wonder and awe.

"I have been here before," Thomas of Magnus, he said, "many times in strange and troubled dreams."

"You have reason for this familiarity. You spent a part of your childhood in this house," Sir William said softly. "Would that I had time now to explain."

Thomas saw the knight's face did not reflect his urgency, despite the recent echoes of that iron bar slammed quickly into place. His rugged and handsome face -- that of a trained fighter -- had changed little since the knight departed from Thomas a year and two continents before. Sir William was still darkly tanned, his hair cropped short, now with a trace of gray at the edges. His blue eyes still as deep as they were careful to hide thoughts. And always, that ragged scar down his right cheek.

Shaking away his trance, Thomas half laughed. "Explain? I'm in this town less than half a day after stepping off ship --" furrows across his forehead deepened as he shot a dark glance at the other visitor "-- and out of the chains which had held me there because of Katherine. A half day, yet already I've been forced to flee assassins, only to have you appear as rescuer. You, a person I never expected to see again. Then, in one breath outside those doors you tell me my father is alive and waits for me, and in another breath inside this house you tell me that I spent part of my childhood here, in a land thousands of miles away from England. "

Thomas paused. "Only a sane man would demand explanation of all these mysteries."

He then shrugged and smiled to rob his sarcasm of insult. "However, no man could be sane under these circumstances. So do not trouble yourself with tiresome explanations. Even if we had the time."

The third person in the room shook her hair loose as the veil finally fell away. The light of the lamps burnished her blond hair, so that it appeared almost bronze. Her suddenly revealed beauty drew a gasp from Sir William.

"Katherine," he marveled. "I remember you a winsome child, but thisSthisS" He stopped and sighed as if love struck. "Were I as young as Thomas, I would throw myself at your feet and pledge the treasure of all the earth."

His stunned reaction showed how little the knight cared for finery. Katherine wore a long cape of purple silk, held in place at the neck by an oval clasp of silver which showed an engraved sword. Her neck and wrists glittered with exquisite jewelry. Yet he had seen all of that -- an impressive sight anywhere, let alone the depths of this ancient port town -- and had not glanced twice.

But now, he noted Katherine's inner joy which added beauty to a face revealing delicate curves and a hint of mystery. And again, William sighed theatrically.

Katherine laughed. "Death pursues us, but you men only think of desire."

She laughed again. "And to pledge the earth's treasure is farthest from the mind of your friend Thomas. He much prefers threats, such as casting me from ships at sea."

The knight widened his eyes in mock horror, but his reply was interrupted by shouts from outside. Moments later, a crash sounded as a heavy shoulder pounded the wooden door.

Then two more crashes. The iron bar held secure.

Shouts again.

"By the sounds, perhaps a dozen men," the knight said.

Another crash shook the door in its frame.

"Your crossbow will be useless at short quarters," Thomas said, nodding at the weapon the knight had laid upon a nearby table. "Have we a place to our advantage in a sword fight?"

The knight shook his head. "Against infidel assassins, no place gives advantage."

"I will not die quietly," Thomas vowed.

"Who speaks of death?" the knight countered.

Sir William yanked an unlit lamp from a nearby shelf. He pulled the wick loose from the base, and emptied the oil in a semi-circle on the room's wooden furnishings.

He then grabbed one of the three remaining lit lamps and shattered it on the ground.

Flames licked at the spilled oil, then burst into a small wall of fire.

The knight nodded grimly as black smoke began to fill the room.

"Let them fight this instead."