The Heretic of Jerusalem
The dust of Jerusalem was a mixture of limestone and dried blood, a grit that settled in the lungs and tasted of ancient grievances. Arthur had arrived in the city not as a conqueror, but as a ghost. He had been an archaeologist in London, a man of maps and carbon-dating, until a collapse in a hidden vault had thrown him back seven centuries into the heart of the Third Crusade. He had been...
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