Manfred shook his head. "Nothing is left for me except to decide how the minnesingers will remember me after this day. To fall in battle will be far better, surely, than whatever shameful end Charles d'Anjou might be planning for me."
"But you need not fall into Anjou's hands," Daoud insisted.
"There is nowhere for me to escape to," said Manfred. "I have lost all my fighting men. All my kingdom lies open to Charles."
"Sultan Baibars would receive you as a revered guest. Or the Emperor of Constantinople."
And we could take Sophia there with us.
Manfred shook his head with a rueful smile. "I would be honored to eat your sultan's bread and salt. Or to visit that wonderful city, Constantinople. But I do not want to see the shambles Anjou makes of this land my father and I labored so many years to make beautiful. And—I have been a king, and I do not want to end my life as an exile."
But we are all exiles, Daoud thought.
Manfred continued. "I thank you for all your help, Daoud. You must get away while you still have a chance."
Tears burning his eyes, Daoud saw that the little space Manfred's men defended had shrunk even as they spoke. He thought of Sophia, waiting for him in Benevento. He thought of El Kahira, of Blossoming Reed, of going before Baibars and telling him he had failed to stop the alliance of Tartars and Christians.
He would never see any of them again.