The dust blew about him as he rode, in shining armor toward Jerusalem, making his way through the traffic, mostly pedestrian. Farmers bringing their produce to market, traders on camels, and everywhere pilgrims from all over Europe.

But they stopped talking, and moved out of the way for the knight. They moved out of the way before he came near them, as if they could sense him approaching.

Then, a bit ahead, a little man with a thick Greek accent said, “By all the Saints, what is that smell?” He turned and saw the man in armor approaching. “I walked from Constantinople and I don’t…Who could smell that bad?”

The armored man rode toward the little man, and kicked him violently in the head.

Throwing open the visor of his helmet, he exposed a rotting face, with no nose. “I’m Sir Guillaume, of the Order of St. Lazarus, and I probably fucked your mother when I burnt your city to the ground. Now stay out of my way.”

Thus Guillaume, the Grand Master of the Damned Redeemed, returned to the Holy City.