"He's dying."

The words seemed to be coming from far away, as he lay with his eyes closed on the hard cot. They can't mean me, he thought. I'm too young. My whole life is ahead of me. He opened his eyes and tried to focus his vision. He could hear the groans of other men near him, and as he turned his head he could see dimly that he was lying with about a dozen others in what seemed to be a makeshift hospital.

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

He didn't immediately recognize the voice. Perhaps they weren't talking about him after all. Maybe it was one of the other knights, who was injured. He tried to sit up, but he was too weak. Where was he? And what had happened?

"Water," he heard himself say hoarsely. "Water."

A hand reached behind his head and lifted it slightly, as a cup of water was brought to his lips. He took several swallows, and then found he was panting from the exertion. The hand lowered his head gently and wiped his brow with a wet cloth.

He struggled once more to get his eyes to focus. He could make out the head and shoulders of the woman, who had given him the drink. It was hard to see the features of her face, because the light was behind her, but she seemed familiar. He closed his eyes and tried to think. If he could remember where he was and how he'd come to be there, he might be able to place her face.

She was talking now with two men, who were also standing beside him. "He doesn't have long now," she was saying. "He was too badly injured in the battle."

Yes, there had been a battle. They had been fighting to enter the Holy City. He, David and Michael had ridden furiously into a crowd of Muslim defenders, who were guarding the Lion's gate. The fighting was fierce, but the three of them had fought their way through and made it into Jerusalem.

He now recognized the voices of the men standing next to him. David and Michael! He was glad they were all right, but sad that he didn't have the strength to tell them so. They had been faithful companions to him all during the crusade. And together they had reached their goal, the holy city of Jerusalem. Had they won the battle? Had they taken back the city for Christ?

After they'd come through the gate, he'd been separated from his friends in the fighting. The streets inside the city were a maze, and he'd gone this way and that trying to find them. Hungry and tired, he'd stopped at a bakery shop to look for food, but the shopkeeper had rushed at him with a knife. It was no contest, of course. He'd quickly cut him down with his sword. As he wiped his sword on the man's robe, a woman ran out of the shop and fell over the body, weeping. It was probably the dead man's daughter, he thought. She was saying something in a language he couldn't understand, crying and raging.

Suddenly, she rose and lunged at him, her father's knife in her hand. He blocked her thrust with his shield and grabbed her wrist. She was surprisingly strong, but he quickly twisted the knife away from her. She continued, however, to attack him, hitting his armor with her bare hands.

What had happened then? He could hardly remember. He felt so weak. And he was thirsty again. Oh, yes. He remembered being surprised, at first, by her fury. After all, the man had attacked him. What was he supposed to do? He'd only been defending himself. Ah, now it was coming back. He'd thrown her down on the ground and begun to walk away. But she came after him again. Then he had become enraged. And as he struggled with her, his hands touched her breasts. All of a sudden he'd felt a burning desire for her body.

He dragged her into the shop, hit her across the face several times, and then threw her to the floor and lifted her skirts. She continued to struggle, but his weight held her under him. She raged and strained against him, as he thrust into her again and again. Finally, she lay still, weeping, exhausted by the fight and her shame.

"He may be able to understand us now," he heard a woman's voice say. It was the woman nursing him. He opened his eyes again and turned his face toward the voice. His vision was a little clearer now. He could see that the woman had a scarf over her hair, but her face was exposed. She was a Christian woman then, not a Muslim. He squinted at her. Why, it was Martha! What was she doing here? She gave him a worried look and tenderly wiped his face. He closed his eyes again. It was good to know that Martha was taking care of him. She wouldn't let him die.

Then he remembered taking the veil off the face of the woman he'd raped, as she lay battered and beaten beneath him. Even with her face bruised and bleeding, she had fine features, a delicate nose and dark hair. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily, but then she opened her blackened eyes and stared at him with a look of bitterness that turned his stomach. At that moment he realized it was Khalida Ali! Once more fury overcame him, and he began to beat her again on the face. The sound of her bones being smashed beneath his fists merely increased his anger, and he continued to pound her until he was spent and she was still.

He lay beside her for a few minutes, covered with blood, the shame of what he had done searing his mind. Why had he killed her? Why had he lost control of himself and raped her so savagely? He was a Christian knight, and this was a holy city. What a thing to have done! Weary and filled with guilt, he struggled to his knees and began to pray to God for forgiveness. He was crossing himself when a Muslim warrior stepped into the shop from the street.

Quickly, as fear replaced his shame, he sprang to his feet and pulled his sword. He fought gamely, but the Muslim warrior was big and strong and seemed to be filled with a fury that he couldn't match. Joseph blocked the blows with his shield and thrust with his sword, but his arms felt like bags of sand. His guard fell, and he was pierced in the side by the man's sword and went down. He tried to roll over and get to his feet, but he couldn't make his body move.

Before he lost consciousness, Joseph saw the Muslim warrior lean over and look into his face. It was Javed!

"We need to speak with him if that's possible," one of the men was saying now. Joseph remembered that he regained consciousness when Michael and David lifted and carried him into the street, where they put him onto a cart. And the brutally rough ride to the hospital came back with a vengeance. As Joseph grew more aware of his surroundings, he also felt the throbbing pain throughout his body.

"Joseph?" It was David speaking to him now. Joseph looked up at the three faces above him and finally brought them into focus. Tears were flowing down Martha's cheeks. Michael was silent, his head bowed. But David was looking directly into Joseph's eyes.

"If you can hear me, Joseph, say so. Or, if it is too hard to speak, simply blink your eyes twice."

Joseph wanted to thank David and Michael them for bringing him to the hospital, and to tell them how much he loved them. But he couldn't make his mouth form the words. So he blinked twice and tried to smile.

"Joseph, we'll tell your father you died a hero fighting to free Jerusalem from the Muslims who've held it so long. He'll be proud of you."

As he listened to David, Joseph began to roll his head from side to side. "No," he moaned. "No."

David brought his face closer. "What are you saying? Do you have a message for your father?"

Joseph thought of his father who he'd hated for as long as he could remember. He wanted to send him a curse. His father ought to burn in hell for beating and abusing his mother. He could never forgive his father for hurting and humiliating her. But suddenly he realized that he had just raped an innocent woman and beaten her to death. Surely that made him as guilty as his father! He turned his face away from David, feeling spent and disgusted with himself.

Then he heard a new voice beside his cot and noticed that someone else had arrived.

"Fr. Paul is here to give you the last rites of the Church, Joseph." Martha was wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Paul made the sign of the cross over him and began the prayer. I'm not worthy, Joseph thought. I've just raped and killed a woman. And how many other lives have I taken in the battles to reach Jerusalem? He couldn't even count them. How could all this death be justified? On their crusade the knights and their foot soldiers lived off the land, helped themselves to the local women, and killed anyone who tried to stop them. How could their souls ever be saved? How could his sins be washed away?

Tears were streaming from his eyes now. He remembered the words in the Mass that are spoken just before coming forward to take the Eucharist: "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed." I want to be healed, Joseph thought. Please, Lord, heal my soul. Joseph struggled to rise. He had to confess his sins. He had to be absolved from the evil he had done. He wanted to repent of his life.

He felt Martha's strong hands on his shoulders, stroking them and calming him. And he heard the words of Paul, asking God to forgive him and to receive his soul. Yes, Lord, he thought. Please receive me. I want to come into your kingdom.

Then he was free of the pain, floating high above his body, looking down on Paul, Martha, David and Michael. Paul had closed his eyes, after Martha had folded his hands across his chest. Joseph could see that other wounded men in the hospital were also dying. God be with you, he prayed. May you, too, come to know the forgiving love of God.

Now he was moving over the city, floating just above the tops of the buildings. He saw the Lion's gate, where he had fought his way into Jerusalem, and he smelled the stench of the dead bodies lying there, festering in the heat. God, forgive me for this killing in your city of peace. He knew the word "salem" in Jeru-salem meant "peace." Why had the crusaders come to make war in the city of David, the city of peace?

Beneath him he recognized the shop where he had committed the rape and been wounded. He could see that Khalida Ali was laid out for burial on a table in the shop. She was so slight and still. Forgive me, he prayed, for abusing your body and stealing your life. He saw Javed kneeling beside her in prayer. Forgive me, Joseph prayed, as he floated above them. Forgive me.

Then he was rising up into the darkness above the city. He passed into the stormy clouds, up and up and into the light. And what a warm, bright light it was! Then he was surrounded and embraced by the light, and he heard enchanting music and voices singing: "Alleluia, alleluia. You are forgiven. You are forgiven." The voices came closer, and now he could distinctly hear each one. When he heard his father's voice, all the anger that had filled him for years was released. And when he heard his mother's voice, the disappointment and criticism he'd felt for her was also taken away.

Then he heard the voices of those he'd killed during the fighting. They were chanting in their own languages. He felt a weight released from his soul as their words soothed his conscience.

Whose voice was that? It was only a whisper, but it touched his soul like no other. Ah, it was the voice of Khalida Ali. His guilt and shame for raping and killing her was wiped out by the sweet sound of her sigh.

Finally he heard Javed's deep base voice, chanting his prayers in Arabic. Joseph couldn't understand the words but felt in the sound of Javed's voice a peace that was beyond his experience. He was, at last, being healed.

Suddenly Joseph was falling. As he moved out of the light and down into the dark clouds, the voices grew faint. He struggled to move back up into the light, but it was no use. He was falling. Perhaps I've just been shown what heaven is like, he thought, and am now being condemned to hell. Perhaps I've only been allowed to see what I might have had, if I'd repented and lived a more Christian life.

Down he fell, until once again he could see the holy city of Jerusalem and the shop where he raped and murdered and the hospital where his friends were standing around his body. Then he was back in his body, writhing in pain, gasping for breath, and crying: "I repent, I repent, I repent."

Joseph awoke in a sweat. He was lying on the floor in the front room of the mission, wedged between the bed and the low table in front of it. He lay still for a long time, stunned by the vivid images of the dream. Was it a warning of the judgment he might face? Or, was it an assurance of his salvation, if he did repent of his violent past? And why were Khalida Ali and Javed in his dream? It made sense to dream of Paul and Martha and his friends, David and Michael. But why had he raped Khalida Ali in his dream? And why had he dreamed of fighting with Javed?

As he listened to a cock crowing in the early morning, Joseph could only wonder what lay ahead for him. A powerful dream like this, his people believed, marked the beginning of a major change in the dreamer's life. But what was about to happen? Was he going to be killed in a fight? Or, would did his dream represent some other kind of traumatic, life-changing event?