Prologue September 29, 1208 House of Heaven Jerusalem, the Holy Land Sunken black eyes peered out of the two-inch view slot in the copper door. “No beggars,” a cross voice said in gutter Arabic, spewing into the air the stink of his rotten teeth. Cristophe pulled back his cowl to reveal his shaven head, and the skin he had darkened with the juice of steeped nut hulls. To distract the eunuch from the light color of his eyes, he held up two pieces of silver. “Four,” the eunuch demanded promptly. Cristophe shrugged, turned away, and took a step in the direction of another brothel. As he expected, the eunuch threw the bolt and shoved open the door. Stoop-shouldered by spine disease, a lifetime of beatings, or despair—probably all three—the eunuch twisted his head to one side. “Our women are plump and fragrant, their talents many.” He named a variety of sexual acts and services in the monotone of unthinking, repeated recital. “Three.” Cristophe held up the twin silvers again. “Miserly wretch. For the love of Allah, I take pity on you.” The eunuch beckoned, but when he tried to grab the coins from Cristophe’s hand, the knight blocked the snatch with a swat. “Not so quick. You pay first.” The scent of frankincense and lung