The column of men made their way across the yellow earth of the Holy Land, raising clouds of dust as they passed. The once pristine armour of the knights was soiled and begrimed, while the clothes of the men-at-arms who followed them were filthy and heavy with the choking powder. Further behind, the camp-followers with the baggage train were in no better shape. From his vantage point on a rocky bluff, nearly half a mile from the column, Richard of Warwick could see the lines of men, animals and wagons stretching back towards the coast.

"An impressive sight," the Golden Knight said to his companion.

John of Chester nodded. "Over ten thousand men - and all of them English. It is something to be proud of."

Richard glared at John. "Pride is a mortal sin."

"And it would be, if not for the indulgence of our Holy Father," John replied lightly. "While we are here - doing God's work - we are in a state of grace. All sins are forgiven."

Richard reached forward to rub the neck of his horse, King. Normally unshakeable, something had disturbed the animal. The Golden Knight looked around, hoping to see whatever it was that was causing his mount to shift uneasily. Somewhere to the south of the bluff, Richard could see something glinting in the sunlight. "Do you see that?" he asked.

"See what?" came the reply.

"There." Richard raised a gleaming gauntlet and pointed.

John raised his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I think I do. It looks like there is something there." The bantering tone had gone from his voice. It had been two weeks since the knights had arrived in the Holy Land and joined the army following Richard the Lionheart's banner to the city of Acre. In that short time, the two companions had proven their worth to their commander and had been assigned the positions of outriders - scouts trusted to ride ahead and report back whatever they found. "Shall we go take a look?"

The Golden Knight dug his heels into the side of his steed. King responded instantly, breaking into a swift gallop. John of Chester followed suit, and was only a dozen yards behind. The two knights rode across the dry landscape, keeping as best they could to the hard ground. Small puffs of dust rose up from the hooves of their horses, only to disperse quickly in the hot, dry air. They arced south, towards a collection of boulders that would - with luck - screen them from any observers.

From their new vantage point, the two knights looked to where Richard had pointed. A warband of white-clad dervishes had positioned themselves in a dry wadi. They were watching the Crusader army go past, paying close attention to its ranks.

"I wonder what they're looking for?" John of Chester muttered.

"Or who," Richard replied. "We should find out."

The knights dismounted and advanced towards the dervishes. They moved quietly, hoping to take the Muslim warriors by surprise. With only a few yards to go, Richard drew his sword. The sound of the blade leaving its scabbard was enough to distract one of the tribesmen, who glanced back towards the knights.

"Al faris al dhahabiu!"

As soon as the cry of alarm had left the Muslim's mouth, the others reacted. They grabbed for their weapons and spun around to face their ambushers. Uttering ululating cries of battle, they engaged with Richard and John.

Richard's first blow slashed through the chain armour that protected the chest of the closest attacker, bursting the links and slicing into the flesh beneath. His second blow narrowly missed the next attacker, but only because he had reflexively checked his headlong rush. John thrust with his sword, impaling his attacker through the stomach. Then the melee began in earnest. The remaining dervishes spread out in an attempt to encircle the knights. Richard and John fell back until they were almost touching, ready for the inevitable rush. A trio of the white-clad attackers charged John, who blocked their blows with his shield. those on the other side of the circle jabbed at Richard, but their blades were easily parried.

"They have no stomach for this!" Richard called back to his companion.

"Speak for yourself!" John grunted. More blows thumped against his shield, jarring his left arm.

Richard sprung forward, catching one of his assailants by surprise. The blade of his sword cut deep, felling the dervish. Another of the Muslims lunged at Richard's open side, but the blow was knocked aside by one of the warrior's comrades. "La!" he called out. ""Al faris al dhahabiu!" Richard took advantage of this to despatch them with strikes to their upper bodies.

From behind him there was a horrible crashing noise. Two of the dervishes had knocked John to the ground and were on top of him. A third had his sword raised, ready to deal a mortal blow through the slits in the knight's helmet. Richard struck hard and fast, cutting down at the hip of the swordsman and sending him sprawling. Kicking and cursing, the Golden Knight drove the others from off his companion. He reached down to pull John to his feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Behind you," John wheezed.

A stunning blow hit Richard from behind, sending him stumbling away, his spine burning with the impact. John charged the dervish, smashing his shield into the unfortunate man's chest, then stabbed up and into his heart. Richard gulped in a lungful of air and made ready for the next assault, but it never came. The last of the dervishes were fleeing, afraid to face the fury of the Englishmen.

It took a few minutes for John and Richard to recover from their exertions. John was the first to speak. "We should have killed them. They'll have gone back to their masters, to tell them of our approach."

Richard nodded and swallowed. "But we can warn our lords. They'll know what to do." He paused, then, "You know some of their tongue. Do you know what 'al faris al dhahabiu' means?"

John thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I do not. Why?"

"It is just something they said. I was curious."