Nat didn’t know much about the Crusades, but he knew about the three lions. Toward the end of his crusading days, King Richard I, “the Lionheart,” had adopted three lions on a red background for his seal and coat of arms. Nat glanced again at the man who rode an arm’s length away from him. It was impossible, wasn’t it? But, thought Nat, if I’ve been transported back through time to experience this, anything’s possible! He was positive that the owner of the shield was Richard the Lionheart, and somehow, Nat found himself riding alongside him on the Third Crusade! Rigid with fear, he wondered what would happen if they were ambushed again, like he’d seen in Sir William’s chronicle, and he had to fight.

They rode in grim silence apart from the occasional snorting of the horses and the muffled sound of their hooves on the sandy ground. As the shadows lengthened and the horses got their second wind, Nat found he could control his mount with ease, and he managed to stay on at a gallop without dropping his sword or shield. As he rode, the horse’s hooves beat a tattoo on the sand and Nat felt himself settle into the smooth rhythm.

Memories that were not his own flashed into Nat’s brain. Somehow, the chronicle had helped him to share all the memories and experiences Sir William de Gourney had recorded. He even knew that the mighty black horse he rode was named Arcadia.

How did I know that? thought Nat, amazed at the flood of information. It’s like I’ve become Sir William! Then Nat had his first comforting thought. If I have somehow been transported into Sir William’s body, I’ll be safe. After all, he must have survived the Crusade to write this chronicle.

Nat and the crusaders journeyed north under the foreign sky for what seemed like hours. When darkness fell, the company stopped to water their horses. The temperature dropped sharply and the wind picked up, gathering speed as it raced through the hills. Nat’s bravery disintegrated when, through the eerie thrumming of the wind, wild, whooping howls could be heard — faint at first, then becoming louder as they drew closer.

Then the howls stopped. Whatever had made the noise was hidden in the trees. Nat could bear it no longer; he lifted his right arm experimentally, bringing up the sword in his hand. To his amazement, thirty or forty of his fellow crusaders did the same.

“Stay your weapons!” snarled King Richard. Nat realized that the Lionheart had given the order in French, a language that Nat struggled with at school, and yet he had understood every word. He copied the other men as they sheathed their swords. They seemed to be waiting for something. But what? Nat shivered and shook in anticipation.