It did not seem real, the stillness of the morning air and the pastel contrasts of crowded and ancient stone buildings against olive green and brown mountains, all framed by pale blue sky. It did not seem real, the background of the babble of the streets beneath the gentle warmth of the sun. And it did not seem real, to be walking slowly and calmly-among the people on the streets while soldiers hunted this quarter of Jerusalem from house to house, soldiers determined to capture and crucify them.

Thomas of Magnus wondered briefly if the pounding of his heart might give him and the two others away.

Crucifixion.

Could any death be more horrible for them? A wooden pole would first be placed into the ground, and a crosspiece fixed near the top to form a cross. Then, if they were fortunate, their arms would be roped to the crosspiece, not nailed. Thomas knew-should the Mameluke soldiers in pursuit choose to be merciful-that he and the two others with him would then quickly die of suffocation, because the weight of their bodies would shut off their air passages. But should it be deemed that their agony be prolonged upon the crosses, the soldiers would nail their arms and feet into the wood, thus providing support for the body and making suffocation impossible. Death then, would occur much more slowly, from shock or dehydration or exhaustion.

Shouts of soldiers broke above the babble of the streets as they swept from house to house. How far behind were the soldiers? And how far ahead the gates?

Thomas dared not lift his head to glance at their progress. His gray-blue eyes and fair skin would be too obvious to any onlookers, for it had been over a hundred years since Crusader knights had held the Holy City. Now, the infidels Muslim conquerors-ruled, and Thomas needed to keep his face hidden by the cloth which was draped over his head and neck as protection against the sun.

The other two, Katherine and Sir William, walked in wide separation and far in front. To remain in a group of three would instantly give their presence away to any sharp-eyed soldier.

More shouts, and angry arguments as new houses were searched.

For a moment, Thomas let his mind wander as he imagined what a rabbit might feel, crouched and barely hidden among the grass with a hawk, circling overhead. Any sudden movement would draw the hawk's attention, just as surely as anything, but a pretended calm now would draw soldiers. Yet Thomas could understand why a rabbit might bolt under the strain of waiting beneath a hawk, even knowing that to bolt meant certain death. There was an insane urge to bolt, even knowing that to bolt would draw attention.

It took great effort to force himself to walk slowly when every nerve shrieked at him to run.

The stakes were enormous.

A terrible death through crucifixion mattered little in comparison to the scrolled map Katherine held in her travel pouch. He and the knight, Sir William, were to fight to the death should they be discovered. And she was to escape while they fought. For without the scroll, a much greater battle -thousands of miles away-would be lost with cold certainty.

So much depended on escape from this city!

Thomas bit his tongue to keep those thoughts away. For he could not let fear paralyze him.

Instead, he directed his mind to the events which had led to this day, any thoughts at all except those of the soldiers in pursuit.

How long since he had been exiled from England? Already half a year. The great sweeping valleys of Magnus a lush green with the scattered purple patches of heather, and shrouded with mist in the winter were an aching memory.

He had survived a cutthroat ship's crew, and a bandit-infested trek through the Holy Land. He had survived betrayals and lies, and now finally, just as he had established that he could trust the two with him, the soldiers were in pursuit!

Thomas shook his head.

Walk slowly and think not of the soldiers, he told himself.

So he thought of Katherine. The moment she had first lifted her face to his in silvery moonlight. He remembered how his heart had caught as if they had been long pledged for the moment, and how later, in the Holy Land the mystery of that yearning had been explained. He thought of their first fleeting kiss, one of anger and frustration at desires neither could understand or trust. He thought of how candlelight bounced off her blonde hair, the curves of her face in the shadows of that candlelight and her half-hinted smile of inner joy. He thought of the beauty of depth of character, the slow measured way she would stare deeply into his eyes. If he were to lose her now, after all they had been through!

Walk slowly and think not of the soldiers.

There was the knight, Sir William. Thomas need only close his eyes to see the knight as he remembered him from their first meeting at a gallows, long ago and far away. The rugged and handsome face of a man who had been a trained fighter his entire adult life. Darkly tanned, with hair - showing a trace of grace at the edges - cropped short. Blue eyes as deep as they were careful to hide thoughts. And a ragged scar down his right cheek. The knight had helped him win Magnus and much later, greeted him in the Holy Land. With his help again, they had this quest to fulfill. Yet could Sir William's fighting skill and intelligence prove victorious against the Mameluke soldiers, a breed of fighters who had once defeated the Great Genghis Khan and his horde of Mongols?

Again, those dreaded shouts. Nearer now.

Walk slowly and think not of the soldiers.

Activity on the narrow twisting streets still seemed normal, a small piece of good fortune for Thomas. Obviously the people of Jerusalem were accustomed to the sight of running soldiers, for despite the shouts that carried from street to street, the bartering and selling at market booths continued.

Thomas felt a tug on the edge of his cape.

"Alms for the poor?"

He looked down into raisin black eyes. A boy. Maybe six years old.

The boy's eyes widened as he noticed Thomas' European features. His mouth opened as he drew breath to speak his surprise.

"Alms you will have, my friend," Thomas said quickly to forestall any exclamation. "But you must grasp my hand!"

The command intrigued the boy enough so that he did so and remained silent.

"Your name?" Thomas asked, his head still low as he looked at the beggar.

"Addon. I am seven."

Another memory stabbed at Thomas. That of someone barely older than this boy. Tiny John, a pickpocket rascal as mischievous and cheerful as a sparrow, who might have already perished in England.

Thomas blocked the memory, and concentrated on walking slowly, holding the boy's hand as naturally as if they were brothers. For if the boy bolted now and spread the word of a pale skinned stranger!

"Addon, as you observed, I am a traveler, now confused and lost in this great city of yours. It will be worth a piece of gold if you guide me to the nearest city gates."

The boy grinned. "Essenes Gate! For a piece of gold."

Essenes Gate. As Thomas well knew, it was guarded by only one tower. Less than five minutes away, and well-marked in the mind of the knight in front of him. However, if a piece of gold and a feeling of self-importance kept this child silent until they had left the city walls!

"After the gates, where shall I take you next?" the boy was asking.

"That shall suffice." Thomas smiled. This young guide wished to earn even more. "For then I depart."

Addon frowned. "Did you not know that is impossible?"

"Impossible?"

A quick nod from the young beggar. "The Mameluke soldiers have shut all the city gates. They guard them now."