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Page 384
left of his lance, and prepared to fight his way out to safety. The Crusaders wheeled their horses and grouped around the well-known voice.
Now, Simon thought. Now they have taken our measure, how few we are, and they will fall upon us. He could feel his horse heaving under him. Even Lord Rannulf's strain of destriers was not proof against a month's immobility followed by overactivity. The mounts of some of the other men were in worse case, trembling and staggering. Simon smiled grimly. It seemed as if he would need the salt meat he had stowed in a cloth behind his saddle. They would have heavy work to win safe away. Sword in hand, he scanned Comnenus' army, watching for whence the attack would come. Instead, he watched that army begin to ravel away. Those with the swiftest horses were already farthest.
"Advance!" Richard roared.
For one moment Simon's faith in the King's tactical genius was shaken. Had Richard forgotten the state of their horses? But the King did not set out in pursuit of the fleeing knights. He rode down to where Comnenus' camp had been set. Here, indeed, they had some heavy work, for Comnenus' footmen and servants were determined to loot their master's camp, and Richard was equally determined to keep the goods and cattle for his own men. Simon struck and thrust with growing disgust. There were some armed men, but most of the frantic wretches that opposed them were ragged scarecrows. Each blow killed or disabled, and Simon used his shield more often as a weapon than to protect himself.
The loot, he admitted, was well worth saving and well worth the few bruises and scratches he had sustained. Simon ran a string of emeralds set in sunbursts of gold from hand to hand, thinking how well they would look on Alinor's white throat. There was a nice little chest full of similar gauds, a considerably

 
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