After a few words by Gordon Randall Garrett.

This is a science fiction story.

History is a science The other part is, as all Americans know, the most fictional field we have to day.

He settled himself comfortably in his seat and carefully put the helmet on, pulling it down firmly until it was properly seated.

For a moment he could see nothing.

Then his hand moved up and with a flick of the wrist, lifted the visor.

Ahead of him in serried array, with lances erect and penance flying was the forward part of the column.

Far ahead, he knew were the Knights Templars, who had taken the advance.

Behind the Templars rode the mailed Knights of Brittany and Anjou.

These were followed by King Guy of Jerusalem and the host of Poitou.

He himself, Sir Robert de Boaine, was riding with the Norman and English troops.

Just behind the men of Poitou.

Sir Robert turned slightly in his saddle.

To his right he could see the brilliant red and gold banner of the lion Hearted Richard of England, ghouls and pale three lions passant gardant ore behind the standard bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady measured pace, his coronet of gold on his steel helm, gleaming in the glaring desert sun the lions of England on his firm held shield.

Was the King himself.

Further behind the Knight's hospitallers protected the rear, guarding the column of the hosts of Christendom from harassment by the Bedouins.

Bah a lady, came a.

Voice from his left, three days out framca anzacosazzaras and still ludas.

Sir Robert de Boyne twisted again in his saddle to look at the Knight riding alongside him.

Sir Gaeyton de lach Tombay sat tall and straight in his saddle, his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun.

Sir Robert's lips for smile.

They are not far off, Sir Gayton.

They have been following us as we march parallel to the sea coast.

So they have been marching with us in those hills to the east.

Less, Sir Jacros, they are, said, Sir Gayton.

There sail us from Zorea.

As they set up traps and our path ahead.

Our spies tell us that the Turks lie ahead of us in countless numbers.

And yet thephear to face us in open battle.

Is it fear or are they merely gathering their forces?

Both, said Sir Gayton flatly.

Thephear us as they would not daily to amass so far as them afors, If, as our informers tell us, they are uncounted to exclude afore, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being dogged by the Bedouin and the black horsemen of Egypt, it would seem that Zaladin Azar and more than enough to overcome us.

Was they are truly Christian knights, give them time.

We must wait for their attacks.

Sir Knight, it were foolhardy to attempt to seek them in their own hills, and yet they must stop us.

They will attack before we reach Jerusalem.

Fear not yeve geeskunyaf You know heathen masunman, Sir gateon ground.

It's zizelish heids that is driving me mad.

He pointed toward the eastern hills.

The sun is yet low, and already the heat is unbearable.

Sir Robert heard his own laugh echoholily within his helmet.

Perhaps twere better to be mad when the assault comes.

Madmen fight better than men of cooler blood.

He knew that the others were baking inside their heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable.

Sir Gateon looked at him with a smile that held both irony and respect in truth, Sir Knight, it is the brand z that you fear.

Neis a men nor heat gnaws your own blood.

TOOKU true.

I ride with Yon Normans and your English and jo Gingrichard o Za liaonsade the damg and has no fieldy to him but to side with the Zaduke of Burgundy against King Richard.

He gave a short barking life.

I fear no man, he went on, But if I had Suvia won, it would be a ridshad of England.

Sir Robert's voice came like a sword, steely, flat, cold and sharp.

My lord the King's spoke in haste.

He has reason to be bitter against Philip of France, as do we all.

Philip has deserted the field.

He has returned to France in haste, leaving the rest of us to fight the Saracen for the Holy Land, leaving only the contingent of his vassal, the Duke of Burgundy, to remain with us.

Riz that of England has never been on zabest upturns with Philip Augustus, said Sir Gayton.

No, and with good cause.

But he allowed his anger against Philip to color his judgment when he spoke harshly against the Duke of Burgundy.

The Duke is no coward, and Richard Plantagenet well knows it, as I said, he spoke in haste.

Anjou intervened, said Sir Gayton, it was my duty.

Sir Robert's voice was stubborn.

Could we have permitted a quarrel to develop between the two finest knights and war leaders in Christendom at this crucial point?

The desertion of Philip of France has cost us dearly?

Could we permit the desertion of Burgundy too?

You did what must be done in honor, the gascon concluded, But you have not Gamezolovoviridshad by doing us all.

Sir Robert felt his jaw, said firmly, my king knows I am loyal.

Sir Gayton said nothing more, but there was a look in his eyes that showed he felt that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty of Sir Robert de Vawayne.

Sir Robert rode on in silence, feeling the movement of the horse beneath him.

There was a sudden sound to the rear, like a wash of the tide from the sea.

Came the sound of sorres and war cries, and the clash of steel on steel, mingled with the sounds of horses in agony and anger.

Sir Robert turned his horse to look.

The Negro troops of Saladin's Egyptian contingent were thundering down upon the rear.

They clashed with the hospitallers, slamming in like a rain of heavy stones.

Too close in for the use of bows.

There was only the sword against armor, like the sound of a thousand hammers against a thousand anvils.

Stun fast, stun fast, hold them off.

It was the voice of King Richard, sounding like a clarion over the din of battle.

Sir Robert felt his horse move as though it were urging him on toward the battle, but his hand held to the reins, keeping the great charger in check.

The King had said stand fast, and this was no time to disobey the orders of Richard.

The Saracen troops were coming in from the rear, and the hospitallers were taking the brunt of the charge.

They fought like madmen, but they were slowly being forced back.

The master of the hospitalers rode to the rear to the King's standard, which hardly moved in the still desert air.

Now that the column had stopped moving, the voice of the Duke of Burgundy came to Sir Robert's ears.

Stand fast.

The King bids you ought to stand fast, said the Duke, his voice fading as he rode on up the column towards the Knights of Poitou and the knights templars.

The master of the hospitalers was speaking in a low, urgent voice to the King.

My lord, we are pressed on by the enemy and in danger of eternal infamy.

We are losing our horses one after the other, good Master, said Richard.

It is you who must sustain their attack.

No one can be everywhere at once.

The Master of the Hospitalers nodded curtly and charged back into the fray.

The King turned to Sir Baldwin de Carello, who sat a horse near by, and pointed toward the eastern hills.

They will come from there, hitting us in the flank.

We cannot afford to a massa rearward charge.

To do so would be to fall directly into the hands of the saracen.

A voice very close to Sir Robert said, Richard is right.

He goes to the aid of the hospitalers.

We really expose the column to a flank attack.

It was Sir Gayton, my lord the King, Sir Robert heard his voice say, is right in all but one thing.

If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear, there will be no need for Saladin and his Turks to come down on our flank, and the hospitaalers cannot hold for long at this rate.

A charge at four gallop would break the Egyptian line and give the hospitaaler's breathing time.

Are you with me against the orders?

Are the king?

The king cannot see everything.

There are times when a man must use his own judgment.

You said you were afraid of no man.

Are you with me?

After a moment's hesitation, Sir Gayton couched his lance.

I'm with you, Sir Knight, live or die.

I follow, strike and strike hard forward.

Then Sir Robert heard himself shouting forward for Saint George and for England.

Saint George and England.

The gascon echoed.

Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward toward the battle lines, gaining momentum as they went.

Moving in unison.

The two Knights, their horses now at a fast trot, lowered their lances, picking their Sarrecen targets with care.

Larger and larger loomed the Egyptian cavalrymen.

As the horses changed pace to a thundering gallop.

The Egyptians tried to dodge as they saw too late the approach of the Christian Knights.

Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse as the steel tip of the long ash lance struck the Sarzan horsemen in the chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sir Gaiton too had scored the Saracen impaled on Sir Robert's lens, shot from the saddle.

As he died.

His lighter armor had hardly impeded the incoming spear point, and now his body dragged it down.

As he dropped toward the desert sand.

Another Moslem cavalryman was charging in, now swinging his curved saber, taking advantage of Sir Robert's sagging lance.

There was nothing else to do but drop the lance and draw his heavy broadsword.

His hand grasped it, and it came singing from its scabbard.

The Egyptian's curved sword clanged against Sir Robert's helm, setting his head ringing.

In return.

The Knight's broadsword came about in a sweeping arc, and the Egyptian's horse rode on, with the rider's headless body behind him.

Sir Robert heard further cries of Saint George I ne England.

The hospitallers, taking heart at the charge, were going in.

Behind them came the Count of Champagne, the Earl of Leicester, and the Bishop of Beauvais, who carried a great warhammer and ordered that he might not break Church law by shedding blood.

Sir Robert's own sword rose and well, cutting and hacking at the enemy.

He himself felt a dreamlike detachment, as though he were watching the battle rather than participating in it, but he could see that the Moslems were falling back before the Christian onslaught, and then quite suddenly there seemed to be no foeman to swing at.

Breathing heavily, Sir Robert sheathed his broadsword beside him.

Sir Gayton did the same, saying, it will be a few minutes before they can redroops.

Sir Knight, we may have routed them completely, aye, but King Richard will not approve of my breaking ranks and disobeying orders.

I may win the battle and lose my head in the end.

There is no time to worry about the future, said the gascon rest voy a moment and relax that you may be stronger later.

Here have an old ging's.

He took a pack of cigarettes in his gauntleted hand, which he proffered to Sir Robert.

There were three cigarettes protruding from it, one slightly farther than the other's.

Sir Robert's hand reached out and took that one.

Thanks.

When the going gets rough, I really enjoy an old king's.

He put one end of the cigarette in his mouth and let the other from the lighter in Sir Gayton's hand.

Yes, Zam, said Sir Gayton, after lighting his own cigarette.

Old King's as the greatest.

They give a man, real, deep down smoking pleasure.

There's no doubt about it.

Old Kings are a man's cigarette.

Sir Robert could feel the soothing smoke in his lungs as he inhaled deeply.

That's great when I want a cigarette, I don't want just any cigarette, nor, I agreed the gascon Old King's is the only real cigarette when you're doing our real man's work, that's for sure.

Sir Robert watched a smoke ring expand in the air.

There was a sudden clash of arms off to their left.

Sir Robert dropped his cigarette to the ground.

The trouble is that doing a real he man's work doesn't always allow you to enjoy the fine rich tobaccos of Old King's right down to the very end.

No, but you can always light another letter, said the gascon Knight.

King Richard, on seeing his army moving suddenly toward the harassed rear, had realized the danger and had charged through the hospitallers to get into the thick of the fray.

Now the Turks were charging down from the hills, hitting not the flank as he had expected, but the rear Saladin had expected him to hold fast.

Sir Robert and Sir Gaiton spurred their chargers toward the flapping banner of England.

The fierce warrior King of England, his mighty sword in hand, was cutting down Turks as though they were grain stalks.

But still the Saracen horde pressed on.

More and more of the terrible Turks came boiling down out of the hills, their glittering cemitars swinging.

Sir Robert lost all track of time.

There was nothing to do but keep his own great broadsword moving, swinging like some gigantic metronome as he hacked down the Moslem foes.

And then suddenly he found himself surrounded by the Saracens.

He was isolated and alone, cut off from the rest of the Christian forces.

He glanced quickly around as he slashed another Saracen from pate to breastbone.

Where was Sir Gayton, Where were the others?

Where was the red and gold banner of Richard.

He caught a glimpse of the fluttering banner far to the rear, and started to fall back, and then he saw another knight near by, a huge man who swung his sparkling blade with power and force on his steel helm, gleamed a golden coronet.

Richard and the Great King, in spite of his prowess, was outnumbered heavily and would within seconds be cut down by the Saracen horde.

Without hesitation, Sir Robert plunged his horse toward the surrounded monarch, his great blade cutting a path before him.

He saw Richard go down, falling from the saddle of his charger, but by that time his own sword was cutting into the screaming Saracens, and they had no time to attempt any further mischief to the king.

They had their hands full with Sir Robert de Bauwaine.

He did not know how long he thought there, holding his charger motionless over the inert body of the fallen king, hewing down the screaming enemy, But presently he heard the familiar cry of for Saint George and for England.

Behind him, the Norman and English troops were charging in, bringing with them the banner of England.

And then Richard was on his feet, cleaving the air about him with his own broadsword, its bright edge besmeared with Saracen blood, was biting viciously into the foe.

The Turks began to fall back.

Within seconds, the Christian knights were boiling around the embattled pair, forcing the Turks into retreat, and for the second time, Sir Robert found himself with no one to fight.

And then a voice was saying, you have done well this day, Sir Knight.

Richard Plantagenet will not forget.

Sir Robert turned in his saddle to face the smiling King.

My Lord, King be assured that I would never forget my loyalty to my sovereign and liege.

Lord.

My sword and my life are yours whenever you call King.

Richard's gauntleted hand grasped his own.

If it please God, I shall never ask your life an earldom awaits you.

When we returned to England, Sir Knight, and then the King mounted his horse and was running full gallop after the retreating Saracens.

Robert took off his helmet.

He blinked for a second to adjust his eyes to the relative dimness of the studio after the brightness of the desert that the tell of Acarian helmet had projected into his eyes.

The studio seemed strangely cave like.

How'd you like it, Bob asked one of the two producers of the show.

Robert Bowen nodded briskly and patted the tell Vike helmet.

It was o k, he said, good show, a little talkye at the beginning, and it needs a better fade out, but the action scenes were fine.

The sponsor ought to like it for a while at least.

What do you mean for a while, Robert Bowen sighed, If this thing goes on the air the way it is, he'll lose sales.

Why commercial not good enough?

Too, good man, I've smoked old Kings, and believe me, the real thing never tasted as good as that cigarette did in the commercial.

And of after a few words by Gordon Randall, Garrett