_We stopped the charge of the Frankish knights._ But looking toward Benevento, Daoud felt triumph turn to dismay. The flying wedge of Manfred's knights had pushed itself deep into the French line, but then had come to a stop. Even though the Sons of the Falcon had hurt them and halted them, the French had held their formation. They had not broken under the Swabian attack. Daoud groaned in anguish. Both sides had stopped in their tracks, and where they faced each other their formations had crumbled into a hundred individual combats. This was just what Daoud had feared and warned against. Endless butchery, futile bloodletting, a battle that would go as badly for the winner as for the loser. _There must be another way_, Daoud thought desperately. _There must be a Mameluke way to win this._ LXVIII Thierry reined his horse to a stop and doffed his helmet in salute to Simon. From the wild look in the young knight's eye Simon sensed at once that he had seen something extraordinary. "What is it, Messire?" he demanded. "Did you see Manfred's army?" Papillon, the brown and white mare Simon used as a palfrey, stood still while Simon patted her neck. "Manfred's _and_ Count Charles's," Thierry panted. "Both armies. They're already fighting, Monseigneur!" "Merciful God!" A battle meant _the_ battle. One battle must surely decide this war. Manfred would have brought together all the fighting men of southern Italy and Sicily. And Simon knew, from the series of urgent messages he had received from Charles on the road, that the count had left Rome with every man he could muster, and that there was no more help on its way to him. _Except for this army._ Simon glanced up at the sun. Halfway up the eastern sky. Some big clouds, but it was going to remain a clear, cold day. If the battle had started at dawn, it could be over by midday. "Pass the word to advance at a trot," he told de Puys. "Foot soldiers to proceed by forced march." Antoine de la Durie spoke up. "Monseigneur, should we not call a halt and rest and plan? We cannot plunge blindly into the midst of a battle." "We will have to plan as we ride, Messire," Simon said brusquely. "King Charles is outnumbered, and needs us _now_." He felt a small inner glow. He was getting to be quite practiced at putting older men of lower rank in their place--the sort who formerly intimidated him. He turned to Valery de Pirenne. "Tell Friar Volpe to join me here. And you, Thierry, come with me. You can tell the friar what you saw."