One of the guards shouted something, and Murdo, clutching the ancient relic, edged further back towards the rear of the tent. He watched the entrance and saw a flicker of flame kindle outside: torches.
He was out of time. Gripping the lance, he rolled to the side of the tent where it sloped down to the ground. The thick woollen fabric was secured by stakes at the corners and along the edges, but the sandy ground was soft and he easily loosened the nearest stake and wormed his way under the heavy tentcloth and out.
Murdo found himself between the tent and the foot of the dune. A swift glance towards the valley entrance confirmed what he had already guessed-a dozen or more Turks on horseback stood guard there; six more were loading the pack horses on the other side of the tent, and one of these had a torch.
He drew a deep breath and pressed himself into the shadow at the foot of the dune. It took all his nerve to stay there, still as a stone, while the Turk searched the tent with the torch-only the thickness of the tentcloth separating him from discovery and death.
After a hasty search, the guard emerged once more, threw the torch onto the sand, and called to his fellows. They entered by turns to collect more treasure. As the last guard ducked into the tent, Murdo made his escape.
Moving in the shadow, he slipped along the steeply rising foot of the dune, keeping the tent between himself and the Turks as much as possible. He ran with an easy, silent, gliding lope, holding the lance low at his side, and making for the end of the little dune valley where he crouched to wait. He watched while the guards carried out six more chests, and then untied three horses and brought them to stand with the others.
The instant they turned towards the tent, Murdo was away again. With a last backward glance, he moved into the light, crossed the valley floor, and started up the opposite face of the dune. He had taken no more than ten steps when one of the Turks cried out behind him.
In midstep Murdo turned, leapt back, and ran for the shadows once more. He reached the opposite dune and, without a quiver of hesitation, bounded up the shadowed slope. There were more shouts coming from the tent, and two Turks on horseback pounding after him. He reached the top just as the nearest rider started up the dune. Murdo caught the glint of moonlight on upraised steel, vaulted over the edge and down the other side.
Halfway down the slope, he changed direction, running along the face of the sandy hill to a crease formed by the meeting and merging of two nearby dunes. There he dived into the fold of the hill and hunkered down in a knot of tall seagrass, tucking the lance under him while the horse and rider crested the dune and plunged down the other side, passing within a few paces.
Upon reaching the bottom, the rider spurred his mount towards the mouth of the valley. Murdo watched him go, and in that moment his fear left him. This would be, he thought, just one more game of hare and hunter – the game he had played so often with his brothers in Orkney.
Murdo waited until his hunters had passed, and then, swift as any hare, he skittered up the sand hill to the top and crouched in the long grass. Taking the hem of his cloak, he teased out a few threads from the ragged edge and, pulling gently, he twisted them into a sturdy line and wound it around his fingers. He tied one of the threads to one of the tough stalks and, using all the stealth at his command, he crawled through the grass, back towards the valley entrance, paying out the line as he went. After a few paces, he paused and tied the other end of the string to a second stalk and continued, edging his way along slowly, slowly.
When his thread gave out, he stopped and waited. In a little while, one of the guards on foot appeared at the mouth of the valley and started forward. Murdo waited until he had passed by, and then gave the second line a furious pull. The grass stalk jerked and rustled. The Turk whirled to the sound. Murdo saw his face in the moonlight as he opened his mouth and shouted to his companions. The fellow turned and started for the place where the grass was yet quivering.
Murdo allowed him to get half-way up the dune face and then gave the first thread a tug, paused and tugged again. The Turk shouted, and his cry was answered by the others as they came running. Murdo gave the string a final tug for good measure and, as the two on foot passed below him, he rolled to the other side of the dune.
The guard on horseback was already galloping away as Murdo slid down the slope behind him. No sooner had he gone, than Murdo started up the opposite slope and made good his escape. He worked his way eastward, away from the coast and, when he reckoned he was no longer being followed, he turned and skittered away over the tops of the north-lying dunes.
Upon reaching the last dune, he paused. He could see the broad plain of the first battleground stretching out on the eastern side of the city; it was bathed in moonlight. The still unburied corpses of the fallen knights and the butchered carcasses of their horses appeared as a great black stain over the plain, but the open ground stretched wide and without cover-anyone following would spot him long before he could hide himself among the dead.
Closer, the city's southern wall swept down to the sea. It, too, was awash in moonlight-save for a narrow strip of shadow cast by the tower surmounting the corner of the wall. There was no cover between the dunes and the wall, but he would be in the open only a short time; if he could make it to the wall he could hide there in the shadow of the tower, at least until the moon had moved on.
With a last backward glance, he started down the broad, banking slope of the dune and out across the open ground, heading for the base of the wall. He ran, keeping his head down, stretching his long legs, fighting the urge to look behind him. Better not to know if he was being followed, he thought; there was nothing he could do about it now.
The distance was further than it looked; he reached the base of the tower, exhausted, his lungs burning, and staggered into the shadow, collapsing thankfully into the darkness to lie with his back to the great stone blocks, and gaze at the dunes he had left behind. There was no sign of anyone, however, and as he lay there, slowly regaining his breath and strength, he began to think that he had eluded his pursuers.
He looked at the long, slender length of cloth-bound iron in his hand, and decided to take a look at the prize for which he had risked his life. He pushed himself up and sat crosslegged, holding the lance across his knees, he untied the golden cord and unwound some of the silken covering.
For all that he could see, sitting in the dark, the holy relic was a simple shank of ancient iron, rust-spotted, and slightly crooked along its length. Despite its age, the crude weapon seemed sturdy still. True, it had lost its wooden shaft, and binding-all that remained was the iron haft and the short, tapering, three-sided blade-still, it did not appear beyond repair. It was simply an old iron lance, and a wholly unremarkable example of its kind at that.
He carefully pulled the winding cloth back into place, and retied the binding cord. This finished, he leaned back against the wall once more. He was tired and hungry, and wished only to be far, far away from this wretched desert land. God, he thought, I want to go home.
He closed his eyes, thinking only to rest a moment, but awakened with a start to find the night far gone. He looked around quickly, and made to run. But all was quiet. The moon had disappeared, and from the look of the sky to the east, he reckoned it was near dawn.
Rising, he began walking stiffly along the wall, using the lance as a staff. His over-tired muscles were sore, his back ached, and he was hungry and thirsty. He wondered how Emlyn had fared, and whether the monk was waiting for him at the harbour. Murdo walked around the tower, and started along the western wall making for the main gate. The plain where the battle had taken place the previous day was still in darkness, but he thought he could see figures moving on the battlefield-scavengers early to their work, he thought.