Yusuf woke in the morning to the sound of steel on stone. He startled, thinking he had only seconds to live, they must be under attack, the goatherd had reported them to someone! He flailed as he tried to remember where he'd put his scimitar – why wasn't it right next to him? Oh yes, he'd been in such a good mood that he'd stripped of armor and weapons to lay comfortably as they watched the stars together. By the time he found it (just out of reach; he had to roll over to get it), he'd realized Nicolò was calmly sitting next to him with his own sword in one hand and a stone in the other.

Yusuf blinked at him, breathing hard, his scimitar loose in his hand as the prickles of adrenaline danced across his skin. There was no one else near. Nicolò rubbed the stone back and forth on his steel a few times with a small smile that was the devil itself in terms of mischief. "Ah!" Yusuf groaned. "You did that on purpose, did you? Or did you just find it funny when I thought I was about to be killed in my sleep?" He sat up and rubbed his face. It was still a strange thought to realize he wouldn't have stayed dead.

Yusuf put his arms on his knees and watched the man. Nicolò went back to sharpening his sword, his face tense as he tried not to smile too much. After a few moments, Yusuf began to chuckle. It was funny and he didn't think Nicolò had done it on purpose. Nicolò let his face relax and a smile peeked out, along with the tip of his tongue as he focused on what he was doing. Yusuf stared at that bit of tongue a little too long before he forced his attention elsewhere. Between them was the belt they'd stolen from the Frank two nights before, with the contents set out.

There was a collection of coins, neatly stacked and sorted by type. The man they'd killed had been rich. It was a lot of money to be set out openly. It had not been divided into two sets, either. Yusuf suspected that said Nicolò thought they would be spending from a common pool, as though they were partners in their future endeavors. He smiled softly, charmed that someone who had put a sword through him last week would be so generous.

It was enough money that even half of it would allow him to return to his family's trading house in Cairo and cover the trade goods he'd taken to Jerusalem to sell. He'd passed up the opportunity to return home safe and rich so he could stay and repel the invaders who threatened to slay all. And who had slain all, because he'd failed, and in so doing he'd failed his family as well as the people of Jerusalem – they were dead and he was broke. But here was enough gold that he could at least make good on one of those commitments. If word of his betrayal didn't make it back to Cairo and he was willing to lie about it.

He examined the coins in more detail, picking them up and checking their marks. Nicolò continued working his sword with no tension or insecurity to see Yusuf handling the funds. Yusuf saw that his expectation the money was looted was likely incorrect. The small coins – maybe – but the majority of the stacks was of a gold coin he didn't recognize. He picked one up and turned it over, proffering it in Nicolò's direction so he could more easily see it. "Where is this from?"

"Aurum," Nicolò replied with the word for gold in Latin.

Yusuf smiled blandly. "Yes, I know it is aurum. I am a merchant. This is something I actually know about. In Arabic, the word is gold. Gold."

"Gold," Nicolò repeated dutifully in Arabic. He continued with the tiny shard of a whetstone. His tongue was very distracting.

Yusuf cleared his throat and tried to stay focused on the money, which as an area of focus had never been a problem in his life before now. "Yes. Well. Where did it come from?"

"Belt." Nicolò pointed at one of the pouches. "In." He pointed at the stacks of coins. "Out."

"Now you're being a smartass. Thank you for that reminder of your stunning personality and imperfect grasp of the language." He examined the coin closer, seeing nothing on it he recognized. Greek maybe? But he was familiar with Greek coins and this wasn't one of them. "You come from Genova. Where does this coin come from?"

"Genova."

"You come from Genova. Does the coin also come from Genova?"

Nicolò gave him a straight look that showed he understood. "Yes."

Yusuf turned the coin in his fingers, looking at the stacks and trying not to be greedy. This was not his. At this point, not even half of it was his. It was all theirs. "Did you know this man? This Frank that we killed?"

"What is this dead Frank?" He was still saying 'what is this' as a single word. Yusuf found it too cute to correct.

"Um, yes. The dead Frank who owned this belt." He pointed at it.

"Not tomorrow?"

"I don't understand."

Nicolò paused, thinking. "Before today? Not tomorrow?"

"You mean yesterday? Yesterday, today, tomorrow?" Yusuf moved his hands to indicate a sequence.

"Yes. Crossbow Frank. I know … know him yesterday. Genoese, not Frank."

"One of your countrymen, then. Did you know him personally?"

"No Arabic." The answer came quickly enough that Yusuf wasn't certain if he didn't understand, or perhaps didn't want to answer.

He softened his voice. "Was he a friend?" Nicolò looked at him blankly. "I have used the word for friend between us before now. Do you know it?"

Nicolò made a very small gesture with one finger, indicating the two of them. "Friends?"

Yusuf breathed out heavily, relaxing into a warm feeling. "Yes. We are friends." How had that come to be over so few days? A pleased expression settled over Nicolò's face. He seemed to glow. His eyes were on Yusuf's face. Yusuf said, "You don't look that bad when you look like that. Come to think of it, you don't look nearly so bad now as you did a few days ago. Bathing and a bit of rest suits you. Imagine that."

He sighed wistfully and watched as Nicolò went back to working on a nick on his blade. Yusuf enjoyed watching him. Nicolò did not seem to mind being watched. He assumed Nicolò would mind if he knew what all the sighing and staring was about. "The dead Genoese," Yusuf said after Nicolò moved on to another section, "was he a friend?"

"No."

"Good." For Nicolò's sake, he didn't want the man to have had to kill a friend. A fellow invader, a fellow countryman, was bad enough. The tally for each of them was now three of their own people, Yusuf realized – the same for both.

He looked at the other items. There was an ivory elephant statuette that he guessed was looted (but who could tell?) along with a chunk of quartz crystal. Each would fit in the palm of his hand. Besides the coins, there was a bundle of cloth he assumed was intended as bandages. They would not need them, but he didn't discard them. And then there was the bit of whetstone Nicolò was using and the tinderbox they'd used the previous night.

The belt itself was of fine manufacture and very new. It wasn't of local make. He picked it up and turned it over. "I heard that in Ma'arra the Franks were so hungry they ate every piece of leather in the city." He set down the belt. "Of course, I've also heard they ate all the people. You Genoese joined right before the siege of Jerusalem, so you would not have been there. Did you hear of Ma'arra? Was that why you came, I wonder, to help the Franks gain a speedy victory so there would not be such an atrocity again?"

Nicolò offered him the whetstone. "Ma'arra is bad. Bad is not good, yes? Malus?"

"Bad is not good. Ma'arra was bad. Very bad." He took the whetstone and picked up his scimitar.

"'Was'," Nicolò mused. Then he asked, "You, Ma'arra?"

"No. But I heard about it. Is that truly what happened in Jerusalem after I left? Is that why you've turned against your people?"

"Jerusalem?"

"Yes. Tell me about Jerusalem, now that you have more words."

Nicolò started to speak a couple times, then said, "Jerusalem … was very bad. Franks … killed women. Killed children. Killed men no swords. Killed all. One house after one house. Kill all. All houses." He swallowed, his face taking on a haunted cast. "In the house. In the road. All … all Jerusalem. Dead. Killed."

"All?" Yusuf asked, boggled. Typically, conquerors would kill only soldiers, or if they were especially brutal, all the men of fighting age whether they were soldiers or not. To kill everyone in a city was so heinous that even men of Yusuf's non-military background had taken up arms to oppose it at no more than the rumor. Jerusalem's people had died while Yusuf was escaping and while admittedly he'd been defending others who were fleeing the same fate, the guilt still weighed on him.

"All," Nicolò said bleakly.

"But they weren't starving," Yusuf argued, trying to find sense in it. "In Ma'arra, the Franks were starving to death. They ate their own dead as well, if the worst of the stories are true. They weren't in that situation in Jerusalem. They had food. There would be no reason to kill … everyone."

"No … No Arabic?"

Yusuf made an aggravated, dismissive wave. "You have already said. I had hoped the stories I had heard were false," Yusuf said, his voice hollow. "I had hoped they were exaggerations. I should have known the truth of it when you turned your sword on your companions in that room in Jericho. I suspected it then … but I wasn't certain." He was silent for a long beat, then asked, "Were you part of that?"

Nicolò looked at him uncertainly, but there was enough pain in his eyes that Yusuf nodded to himself and said, "No. You were not. And I know because you chased me out on the road to Jericho instead of staying in the city for the slaughter."

Though if he were honest, the killing was probably still going on when Nicolò returned. What he'd done then – joined in or excused himself – was between Nicolò and his conscience. Yusuf assumed he hadn't opposed it, because to do so would be death or imprisonment, and he'd been free and a soldier during the later attack on Jericho. At which time, he had taken a stand in a situation where people could be saved and not merely have their execution pushed back an hour due to his interference. Yusuf turned to sharpening his sword, trying to smooth out the burrs from where he'd clashed it against other weapons or armor.

For a while, there was silence between them aside from the sound of the whetstone. It was solemn instead of awkward. Eventually, Nicolò asked, "You. Before Jerusalem?"

"Are we making conversation?" Yusuf smiled wryly and pulled his thoughts from regret and sorrow. "It is nice to have progressed beyond simple nouns. That is very good."

"You before Jerusalem?" Nicolò tried again.

"You are persistent as well, friend. Before the siege of Jerusalem, I was traveling and trading. Seeing where I could sell products for a higher price and then making arrangements for it to happen." He picked up a coin and showed it. "I was a merchant. I trade. Buy, sell? Understand?" Nicolò nodded a little. Yusuf said, "I am ashamed to admit I came north with the Egyptian Fatimids with some immature and incorrect ideas about profiting in a warzone. I saw the error of my ways and took up the sword to defend the faithful. Why did you come to Jerusalem?"

"Why Jerusalem?"

Yusuf asked the questions slowly so the sentence structure was clear. "Why were you in Jerusalem? Who were you before Jerusalem?"

"God. God-men. Imams? Christian imams?"

"Priests?"

"Priests." Slowly, he said, "Priests say go. I go. I," he tapped his chest, "priest." He shrugged and grimaced like this was an irrelevant detail.

"You are a holy man?" Yusuf caught himself. "No, that is the wrong way to say it. You have taken vows? I don't even know how your religion is set up. Is it your job? Do you minister?"

"No Arabic."

Yusuf sighed. There were so many questions he had now, but they didn't have the language to discuss them. Nicolò's early insistence that they were of God came back to him. It was the reason Nicolò was with him – because they both happened to be able to heal. No other reason. Which was … disappointing. Yusuf grimaced. "Yes. Well. Very well. You were a priest in some capacity. But somewhere you learned to use that crossbow."

"Genova."

Yusuf nodded. "Genova. Do you want to go back to Genova?"

"No." He didn't seem conflicted about it – simple answer, direct.

Yusuf leaned forward, the beginnings of a plan sprouting in his mind. It was the money that had planted the seed. "Will you come with me to Cairo?"

"Where?"

"Cairo."

"I- No Arabic?"

"Egypt?"

"Yes, Egypt."

"How have you not heard of Cairo?" Yusuf exclaimed, throwing up a hand emphatically. "Everyone's heard of Cairo!"

"Kaido?" Nicolò said the word with a distinctly different pronunciation, the same sort Yusuf had heard from Greek sailors.

"Ah! Yes. Same city. Cairo. I was not born there, but we moved there after the Genoese razed most of Mahdia. My family had a trading house in Cairo, so they found … safety, of a sort, though our debts are many. Will you go there with me?" he entreated.

"Yes." Nicolò pointed the way they'd come the day before. "South?"

"Yes, you know where it is! I know it means retracing our steps, but yesterday I wasn't thinking very far ahead." Yesterday he had not had a plan besides getting away from Jericho. Now he had a goal and they could start making progress on it immediately.

Yusuf led them east to where he'd seen the goatherd. They followed goat paths that broadened into trails and then proper cart tracks. Below them in the valley, they could see the town he would soon find was named Pheselch. He left Nicolò to bide his time in a thicket and went into the settlement alone, prepared to pay gold where his silvered tongue could not persuade alone. He returned after some hours with two heavy packs and several fewer coins.

He had had to lie very little. A runner from Jericho had delivered news, but whatever description of himself had been included (assuming there were any) was not close enough for anyone to ask him challenging questions. Triumphantly, he announced to Nicolò, "I got you clothes. Take off what you're wearing so you can change." Yusuf pulled out a tan robe and a natural-color tunic with pants. He hung them carefully on one of the shrubs. "Take everything off except your boots. I have underclothes for you as well. Fresh ones!"

"Mutton stew?"

"No, I didn't get mutton stew, but you will like what I did get. Change clothes and we'll eat. I broke my fast, but I haven't had lunch." He collected Nicolò's armor and regarded it. Like his own, it was covered with the evidence of a dozen fatal encounters for its wearer. Where Yusuf had poorly stitched rents in the leather and slices into his steel plates, Nicolò was missing links in his mail, creating gaps where spearhead or sword had been applied with enough force to break whatever rivet or fastening was used to keep the links together. He assumed it could be mended, but mail armor was rare around here unless it was on the back of an invader. He doubted anyone other than an invader would be willing to wear it, which reduced its value to nothing.

Yusuf told him, "I was going to leave mine. It's not even worth selling and we will need the lighter load to move quickly. Are you keeping yours?"

"What?"

"Can I leave it? No armor. Zero armor." He dropped it over to the side where he had left his earlier. "Is that good?"

Nicolò looked at it lying on the dirt for a long moment, then nodded. He finished undressing and folded his ragged Genoese tabard, keeping it. "This in the pack."

"Alright." Yusuf assumed had some value as an identifier, or maybe just sentimental. There was a sigil on it that he'd seen on some of the other Franks at Jerusalem. It was light enough that it wouldn't slow them down to keep it. The rest of the old clothing was folded up for them to use to sit on. Yusuf got out their lunch while Nicolò pulled on the new clothes. "Here we have cooked eggs with onions, fried bread, and steamed greens, still a little warm. The rest of the food is more practical for travel. But I thought you might appreciate the indulgence of a fresh meal." Yusuf laid it out like a feast and for them, it was. He'd bought enough to feed four men.

Nicolò set to with an appetite that gave nothing an opportunity to spoil. "One last thing," Yusuf said when he was done. "Let me get this head-covering on you."

He stood before Nicolò and adjusted it on his head. He'd rinsed his hair thoroughly so it was … cleaner, but it was probably still better for everyone to have it covered. It was too light-colored and so fine that every breeze stirred it. It felt silken under his fingers as he wrapped the cloth around the man's head. Nicolò touched Yusuf's robes, tugging on the fabric. Yusuf glanced down and then up in question. They were very close, by necessity. Nicolò said, "Blue and grey," describing the color of Yusuf's garments.

"Like your eyes," Yusuf said, returning his attention to the head-covering and avoiding those eyes, which turned to him with sudden intensity.

"My eyes?"

"Yes, your eyes." Yusuf didn't meet them. He'd had few choices for color, but he'd chosen these intentionally. It seemed like a silly reason now. "You let this part hang loose and cover your face with it when anyone gets close. Like this."

He held it over Nicolò's face, touching his cheek and finally looking at his very distracting eyes. Most of the man's face was the same way. It was so peculiar; he didn't know if he'd ever get tired of looking at how singular his features were. He scoffed at the man's looks – they were not for him to be looking at so much, especially this close. "I'll just tell them you're terribly ugly. It will be easy to remember because it's true." He let the cloth drop.

Nicolò had an odd expression, mouth slightly open, eyes narrowed like he was realizing something. He tugged at Yusuf's robe again as Yusuf went to move away. "It's the same fabric – mine and yours," Yusuf told him as he took hold of his robe and pulled it free from Nicolò's persistent grip. He hoped the man didn't think he'd cheated him. Less dye did mean less expensive, but there was a reason for it: "Mine's dyed more so they'll speak to me first. Yours will stand out less. That's the only reason for the difference."

"You good," Nicolò said with an awkward urgency. "You are good."

Yusuf hesitated, trying to fathom his friend's meaning. "Thank you," he said, still confused. Nicolò nodded and smiled openly, broader than usual. It seemed to be the right answer. He looked happy, at least. And maybe embarrassed? Yusuf dismissed it. He had something he wanted to review. He squatted down and cleared an area in the dust. "Come here. Let me explain my plan. Do you know what a map is?" Nicolò was staring at him like Yusuf could be saying anything at all and the man wouldn't care. Weirdo.

"Look. This is important." Yusuf drew a line down the left and tapped the empty space next to it. "Water. The ocean. The Mediterranean Sea. Mare?" Nicolò nodded and moved to the side so he could see better, finally paying attention to the map. Yusuf drew a section to the lower right. "This is the Dead Sea." He drew a line up from it. "This is the Jordan River. We crossed it and then recrossed it coming back." He picked up a stone and put it near the middle. "This is Jericho."

"Ah, yes!" Nicolò said in sudden enthusiasm. He picked up another stone and set it to the left of Jericho. "Jerusalem!" Yusuf nodded. Nicolò picked up other stones and rapidly placed them along the coast. "Jaffa. Ashkelon."

"Yes, yes," Yusuf interrupted him. "That's good. I see you know what a map is. We're not going over there so you don't need to populate the entre coast. There are invaders there, so we're going the opposite direction." Nicolò dropped his extra rocks, eyes darting over the map now that he understood what Yusuf was doing. Yusuf spared him a glance. The man was far more literate than he'd given him credit for. He wondered if Nicolò knew the local geography better even than Yusuf did. And to think he'd called this man stupid.

Yusuf waved a hand over the region from Jericho to the Mediterranean Sea. "This entire area is war. No peace. The invaders are looting farms and homes. There are refugees everywhere. Those of the faithful who are able to fight are not organized. They move in bands like the one we were recruited into. Sometimes many move on the same target like Jericho, but there is no leader who is unifying them properly right now. The amir we met might – but not yet."

He gestured at the right side of the Jordan River. "Invaders have not been seen east of the Jordan River. If we go to Pheselch, we can get a boat across the river and then when night falls, there is a main road we can make good time on. We can go south past Shuna, take the east shore of the Dead Sea, and if the roads are clear, we will make Eloth in a few days. Then we go west to Cairo. I bought enough food to see us most of the way there. We should be able to buy more as long as war has not touched the marketplaces we pass near."

Nicolò squatted down next to him, resting his elbows on his knees and joining his hands together in prayer. He shut his eyes. It was a bizarre position to pray in, squatting like he was to relieve himself, but Yusuf waited respectfully. The religious practices of the Christians were largely unknown to him. He had managed to do his own prayer at the appointed time in Pheselch and left the experience with a renewed sense of purpose. He hoped Nicolò found the same. When Nicolò opened his eyes, he reached for the stick Yusuf had been using to draw, asking, "Please?" Yusuf handed it to him.

He gestured over the warzone with his empty hand, pointing as needed. "No peace. Invaders. Jerusalem. Jericho."

"Yes," Yusuf nodded, affirming the sum-up. Nicolò rested the stick on the stone that marked Jericho. "That is Jericho," Yusuf supplied. "It is only marginally held by the faithful. Any push by the invaders from Jerusalem and it will fall again. Or so say the men in Pheselch and I have no reason to doubt them. You and I saw it ourselves."

Nicolò nodded slowly. He drew a line between Jerusalem and Jericho. "Here," he said grimly.

"Here what?"

"I go. I go here. It is good. God is good."

Yusuf huffed a laugh, then another as he thought Nicolò must be joking. He did have such a strange sense of humor. "Why … why would you go there? You will be discovered." Whether by invaders or faithful, both had reason to hunt them. He'd be putting himself directly in the path of both.

Nicolò nodded. "No peace with Franks. My sword. Here." He tapped the spot decisively.

"Your sword? You'll go fight the Franks again? We- We don't have to do that." They were out of the war now. Their armor was lying in the dirt and they'd dressed in fresh new clothes that had not a blood stain on them.

"No Jerusalem. Not in Jericho."

Yusuf blinked at him in disbelief. "You're going to declare war against the invaders and hold them off from Jericho, by yourself?"

Nicolò gave him a regretful look, then nodded. "Yes."

"What? Why? What do you think that will accomplish?" Yusuf was dumbfounded.

Nicolò regarded him for a long moment. His expression faded into his own regrets. "No Jerusalem in Jericho," he repeated. "No Ma'arra. No killing all."

"But you are one man. You will be killed. You have died a half dozen times at least, four or five from me!" Yusuf tried desperately to persuade him to see reason. "How do you know there is not a number or a method by which you will not return? God did not give us this life and make peace between us just for you to throw it away! They will find a way to keep you dead! Do you think I have not felt guilt every day for surviving Jerusalem? For surviving at all? Why do you think I have wandered without knowing where to turn, where to go, or what to do? Why do you think I have told no one of this gift we share?"

"I go," Nicolò said simply, like it was an immovable fact, not to be swayed by any other aspect of reality.

"Then you are a madman!" Yusuf burst out angrily, standing. "I have a plan here! We can escape! We will be safe. I will return home with the money my father ... I …" He trailed off. He hadn't done this for money. He hadn't done it for his own safety. He never had, even though those were the things everyone thought he should measure his life by. He had done it to save people's lives or die trying – which was exactly what Nicolò was going to go do. It was noble. Honorable. And when Yusuf had done it, he hadn't had anything else worth living for. Things were different now. His eyes were wet.

Nicolò wasn't looking at him anymore. He'd stood and went to pick up his mail armor Yusuf had cast aside earlier. He took off the tan robe so he could change back into the tattered raiment of war.

"I …" Yusuf started again and couldn't finish. He swallowed roughly and found his voice with a struggle. "I will not leave you."

Nicolò paused, looking back at him thoughtfully.

"I … I will go with you," Yusuf said, feeling tears streak his cheeks. "Although I don't know what I am agreeing to." Except the dying part. He was very sure this was going to involve a lot of dying. "I do not need to. All I need know is that we will be together."

Nicolò walked to him and put his hands on Yusuf's upper arms, relief and concern on his face. "You are good. You are good." He hugged him, saying quietly, "We are two. Two is good."

Yusuf chuckled hopelessly at his situation and hugged back, tucking his face down next to Nicolò's and breathing him in. "We are two fools. Crazy fools, to go back into the war and for what reason?" They separated. Yusuf said, "To stop the invaders from retaking Jericho? They've already taken what they wanted from it twice!"

"Third time tomorrow," Nicolò said with certainty.

"You are sure?"

Nicolò tapped his own chest. "Invader. Third time tomorrow. Day, day, war. Day, day, war." He paused and demonstrated on his fingers. "Travel. Rest. War. Travel. Rest. War."

"Ah," Yusuf said, nodding slowly. Jericho had been sacked the second time three days after the first. Tomorrow would be three days after that second time. The amir and others who had driven out the Franks would have stayed to secure the city and that illusion of safety would have lured back the refugees who had already planned to return. It wasn't an empty ruin. It was people's homes. Tomorrow, they would be there, trying to rebuild.

"I see, my friend," Yusuf said. "I did not know such men as you existed. Perhaps together we can buy the faithful enough time to solidify their hold on Jericho."

"It is good."

"It is good," Yusuf repeated.