Reid Sharpless

Antioch looked good, good, good. Red crosses on white banners blazed over the citadel, framed by the smoke of smoldering pyres and the grapevines grown fat with dusty fruit on the hills outside the city—and all this on a cool summer afternoon. Sir Godfrey of Handover resolved to make note of this fine moment in his journal of gratitude as soon as the Lord’s work was accomplished. “It all looks so good, doesn’t it, Clive?” The skull Sir Godfrey held nodded half-heartedly, then turned southward toward Jerusalem.  “I know, I know,” said the knight. “Patience, dear friend.”  Clive, of course,…