The mood of the drafted soldiers dipped further as they trudged farther and farther from home. It was Festus who kept them going — Festus and Leo. Festus was friendly towards all the drafted soldiers, but he was especially smitten with Leo. Festus often walked alongside Leo and at night, he'd curl up beside him.

     Festus' antics were the most engaging thing for the soldiers to do as they trudged towards the Holy Land, their feet growing sorer by the day. Several times, they ran out of supplies and had to live off of the land until they made it to a village or city where they could trade for goods. By the end of the second month of marching, even the knights were looking forlorn.

    One night after a particularly tough day of marching, the drafted soldiers gathered around the campfire that Leo had made. Frank took off his shoes and rubbed his tired soles. He thought longingly of the oil Hazel used to combat dry skin. "This Crusade business better land me in Heaven," Castor said.

       Pollux nodded in agreement. "I haven't had a good draught of wine in weeks."

    "The knights are probably hoarding some," Castor said.

     "I doubt it," Jason broke in.

     They turned to him and he shrugged. "Any store of fine wine they had is probably long gone like your own. There's only so much a horse can carry."

    Frank nodded. "The horses have been looking bad this past week. They need a break."

    "We all need a break," Leo said, tossing a stick into the fire.

    They heard footsteps and looked up to see Sir Michael striding towards them. "I know you're tired."

     The drafted soldiers exchanged glances. Just how much of their conversation had Sir Michael heard? Or had he read the exhaustion in their tensed up faces and tightened eyes? "We're a week's journey away from Venice," Michael said. "From there we'll take a ship to Jerusalem. You'll get your rest soon."

    He gave them a looking, half-cutting half-pitying, then swung around to rejoin the other knights. Once he was out of earshot, Leo whooped and jumped to his feet. Everyone turned to stare at him. Festus was looking straight at Leo, head cocked to one side like he was missing something.

Leo began to dance, though it wasn't any dance Frank knew of. He was throwing his arms in the air and whooping like a jester. "Why are you so excited?" Jason asked.

Leo grinned from ear to ear, continuing to dance. "We're going to Venice!"

He began shimmying from side to side. "Venice, baby, Venice."

"What's so great about Venice?" Frank asked.

Leo stopped dancing and looked at him as if he'd said something vulgar. "Venice is only one of the richest port cities in Europe. It has trade links to the Byzantine empire."

"Does it have good wine?" Pollux asked.

Nonplussed, Leo grinned. "Why wouldn't such a cosmopolitan place not have good wine?"

Pollux and Castor high-fived each other. Jason was biting his lip. Frank wasn't even sure how he felt. "Is it going to be like the other villages we've passed through?" he asked.

Leo shook his head. "It will be bigger and better in every way."

"The people probably won't speak our language," Castro speculated.

Leo slapped Jason and Frank on the back. "These two know enough Latin for us."

Frank bit his lip. Surely not every Venetian would know Latin. Would some of them know French? "How do you know so much about Venice, Leo?" he asked.

    Leo grinned. "I'm a worldly man, remember."

    Frank rolled his eyes. "You're a blacksmith."

     "Yes and I possess one of the finest minds in the world," Leo said, puffing out his chest. "Naturally, I keep my ears open and listen to what I hear from customers, around town, in the church. I also make note to talk to ass many passer-by as I can. One never knows when you need to move and start over."

      Leo was referring to his own childhood. After his mother died in a fire, he'd been shuffled from house to house, moving from village to village. At times, he stole to survive. Other times he found charity through the church. Eventually, Leo had ended up in Frank's village, apprenticing the blacksmith named Hephaestus for several years. The two developed a bond that was almost paternal.

      I'm not the only one who has suffered, Frank thought. "You don't need to start over again," Jason told Leo. "We've got your back."

     "We want you here," Frank agreed.

     Leo raised an eyebrow. "Even with my jokes?"

     Frank groaned as Leo began telling a bawdy tale of a miserly vicar. Sometimes he wished he'd keep his mouth shut.

***

    The next day, the drafted soldiers moved with more enthusiasm. Their spirits last long and when two weeks had passed and they still weren't in Venice, the rumbling grew too loud for Sir Michael to ignore. He dismounted from his steed and his sharp gaze swept over the gaggle of men. "What's this that I hear?" Sir Michael asked, the reproach venerating with every syllable. "Men complaining. Men slacking off. Men questioning their lord's orders. Men questioning our Lord."

A hush fell upon the men, a silence so loud it hurt Frank's ears. "Lord Dare is giving you an opportunity to save your souls," Sir Michael said, "and all you can do is moan and gripe. You call yourself men?"

Frank felt himself shrinking, wishing he was smaller so he could escape the scathing words being thrown at him. He looked around and saw the other men bearing similar expressions — all of them except Castor. "Lord Dare isn't sending us to war to purify ourselves," Castor said. "He's doing is to save his own dirty soul."

One of the knights moved so quickly that Frank could barely register the blunt edge of the sword that crashed onto Castor's head. The man, once florid and his pale, lay in the dust. Pollux crouched beside his brother, grabbing his hands and crying his name. Castor didn't speak. "He's gone," Sir Michael said, his voice flat.

Pollux threw him a look of utter disgust. "This war was never worth fighting for."