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their horses about and rode down the path.
    They were headed straight for us.

11
    T he High Counsel took the head of the column and spurred his horse along the trail. The jangling sounds of swords and chain mail grew louder as the riders drew near. Then, softly, a familiar humming filled the air around me. Having heard it so many times before, I was relieved at first, but I still worried. I felt the Grail would protect me. But what about Maryam and the boy? What if the boy were forced to reveal our presence?
    He wasn’t visible from my position in the hay, but I offered up a prayer that he had the good sense to remain calm and not draw attention to himself. My hand was still firmly clamped over Angel’s muzzle and she wiggled beneath my grasp. We held our breath for what seemed an eternity.
    As the horses thundered toward us, she became more anxious and struggled so much that I lost my grip on her. She wormed her way out of the pile of hay and jumped off the back of the wagon, barking madly at the horses. I couldn’t see anything, but outside the wagon she put up quite a fuss. Even worse, the column reined to a stop.
    Angel ceased barking, but continued to growl and whine. Maryam and I lay frozen beneath the mound of hay, and the beating of my own heart pounded in my ears, nearly drowning out the whispering hum of the Grail.
    The High Counsel spoke to the boy in a gruff, commanding voice, but his words were muffled by the hay, as was the boy’s reply.
    Then there was only silence. Every muscle in my body was coiled and tense as if I’d been frozen solid in a sudden winter storm. The only sounds reaching my ears were Angel’s whine and the snorts of the horses as they waited impatiently to resume their trip.
    The High Counsel spoke again, but I could only hear the boy answer, “Oui.” Angel quieted. We waited and waited, and I half expected a sword or lance to come poking into the hay.
    Finally he gave an order to move out. The horses sprang to life and we heard them ride off.
    Dizzy and light-headed, I took slow, deep breaths while the feeling returned to my limbs. Angel jumped back up onto the wagon and dug at the hay in an attempt to uncover us. The boy knocked twice on the side of the wagon.
    â€œLa voie est libre,” he told us. All clear.
    We sat up, pushing the hay out of the way. I jumped out of the wagon and vigorously shook the boy’s hand several times.
    â€œWell done, mon ami . Well done,” I said. I wanted to thank him more profusely but wasn’t sure my French was adequate for the task.
    Maryam, whose clothing and hair was covered in bits of hay, thanked him as well.
    He smiled, and the expression on his face said he was more than happy to help two slightly crazed, hay-encrusted strangers.
    I examined the wagon with the boy, and we discovered that the wheel on one side had indeed slipped off the axle. I offered to help him repair it, but he would have none of it. He waved us on our way.
    He pointed to the trail we stood on, then lifted his arm and pointed up toward the mountains in the distance. “Montségur.”
    His meaning was clear.
    I bowed to the boy in gratitude. It was unusual to see such courage and cool-headedness in a boy so young, and for a moment, though he looked nothing like him, his manner and disposition reminded me of Quincy, my friend and fellow squire whom I had left behind in Acre. His memory came rushing back to me, and I was overcome by feelings of regret.
    â€œVery well. Merci ,” I said. Maryam was busy pulling bits of hay from her hair, but she waved good-bye to the boy. Gathering up the small bag of food, we took to the road. Angel fell into step a few paces in front of us.
    â€œNext time, Little D—. . . Angel,” I said, “try to stay quiet when enemy soldiers are about.”
    She kept trotting ahead of us, ignoring my admonition, and bounded about, rushing to and fro as if madness had overcome