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diff --git a/2762-0.txt b/2762-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53a5e35 --- /dev/null +++ b/2762-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14493 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Brethren, by H. Rider Haggard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Brethren + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: November 7, 2004 [eBook #2762] +[Most recently updated: August 10, 2023] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: JoAnn Rees + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRETHREN *** + + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Brethren + +by H. Rider Haggard + + +Contents + + Dedication + AUTHOR’S NOTE. + PROLOGUE + + Chapter I. By The Waters of Death Creek + Chapter II. Sir Andrew D’Arcy + Chapter III. The Knighting of the Brethren + Chapter IV. The Letter of Saladin + Chapter V. The Wine Merchant + Chapter VI. The Christmas Feast at Steeple + Chapter VII. The Banner of Saladin + Chapter VIII. The Widow Masouda + Chapter IX. The Horses Flame and Smoke + Chapter X. On Board the Galley + Chapter XI. The City of Al-Je-Bal + Chapter XII. The Lord of Death + Chapter XIII. The Embassy + Chapter XIV. The Combat on the Bridge + Chapter XV. The Flight to Emesa + Chapter XVI. The Sultan Saladin + Chapter XVII. The Brethren Depart from Damascus + Chapter XVIII. Wulf Pays for the Drugged Wine + Chapter XIX. Before the Walls of Ascalon + Chapter XX. The Luck of the Star of Hassan + Chapter XXI. What Befell Godwin + Chapter XXII. At Jerusalem + Chapter XXIII. Saint Rosamund + Chapter XXIV. The Dregs of the Cup + + + + +Dedication + + +R.M.S. Mongolia, 12th May, 1904 Mayhap, Ella, here too distance lends +its enchantment, and these gallant brethren would have quarrelled over +Rosamund, or even had their long swords at each other’s throat. Mayhap +that Princess and heroine might have failed in the hour of her trial +and never earned her saintly crown. Mayhap the good horse “Smoke” would +have fallen on the Narrow Way, leaving false Lozelle a victor, and +Masouda, the royal-hearted, would have offered up a strangely different +sacrifice upon the altars of her passionate desire. + +Still, let us hold otherwise, though we grow grey and know the world +for what it is. Let us for a little time think as we thought while we +were young; when faith knew no fears for anything and death had not +knocked upon our doors; when you opened also to my childish eyes that +gate of ivory and pearl which leads to the blessed kingdom of Romance. + +At the least I am sure, and I believe that you, my sister, will agree +with me, that, above and beyond its terrors and its pitfalls, +Imagination has few finer qualities, and none, perhaps, more helpful to +our hearts, than those which enable us for an hour to dream that men +and women, their fortunes and their fate, are as we would fashion them. + +H. Rider Haggard. + +To Mrs. Maddison Green. + + + + +“_Two lovers by the maiden sate, +Without a glance of jealous hate; +The maid her lovers sat between, +With open brow and equal mien;— +It is a sight but rarely spied, +Thanks to man’s wrath and woman’s pride._” +— Scott + + + + +AUTHOR’S NOTE: + + +Standing a while ago upon the flower-clad plain above Tiberius, by the +Lake of Galilee, the writer gazed at the double peaks of the Hill of +Hattin. Here, or so tradition says, Christ preached the Sermon on the +Mount—that perfect rule of gentleness and peace. Here, too—and this is +certain—after nearly twelve centuries had gone by, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, +whom we know as the Sultan Saladin, crushed the Christian power in +Palestine in perhaps the most terrible battle which that land of blood +has known. Thus the Mount of the Beatitudes became the Mount of +Massacre. + +Whilst musing on these strangely-contrasted scenes enacted in one place +there arose in his mind a desire to weave, as best he might, a tale +wherein any who are drawn to the romance of that pregnant and +mysterious epoch, when men by thousands were glad to lay down their +lives for visions and spiritual hopes, could find a picture, however +faint and broken, of the long war between Cross and Crescent waged +among the Syrian plains and deserts. Of Christian knights and ladies +also, and their loves and sufferings in England and the East; of the +fearful lord of the Assassins whom the Franks called Old Man of the +Mountain, and his fortress city, Masyaf. Of the great-hearted, if at +times cruel Saladin and his fierce Saracens; of the rout at Hattin +itself, on whose rocky height the Holy Rood was set up as a standard +and captured, to be seen no more by Christian eyes; and of the Iast +surrender, whereby the Crusaders lost Jerusalem forever. + +Of that desire this story is the fruit. + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, the king Strong to Aid, +Sovereign of the East, sat at night in his palace at Damascus and +brooded on the wonderful ways of God, by Whom he had been lifted to his +high estate. He remembered how, when he was but small in the eyes of +men, Nour-ed-din, king of Syria, forced him to accompany his uncle, +Shirkuh, to Egypt, whither he went, “like one driven to his death,” and +how, against his own will, there he rose to greatness. He thought of +his father, the wise Ayoub, and the brethren with whom he was brought +up, all of them dead now save one; and of his sisters, whom he had +cherished. Most of all did he think of her, Zobeide, who had been +stolen away by the knight whom she loved even to the loss of her own +soul—yes, by the English friend of his youth, his father’s prisoner, +Sir Andrew D’Arcy, who, led astray by passion, had done him and his +house this grievous wrong. He had sworn, he remembered, that he would +bring her back even from England, and already had planned to kill her +husband and capture her when he learned her death. She had left a +child, or so his spies told him, who, if she still lived, must be a +woman now—his own niece, though half of noble English blood. + +Then his mind wandered from this old, half-forgotten story to the woe +and blood in which his days were set, and to the last great struggle +between the followers of the prophets Jesus and Mahomet, that +_Jihad_[1] for which he made ready—and he sighed. For he was a merciful +man, who loved not slaughter, although his fierce faith drove him from +war to war. + + [1] Holy War + + +Salah-ed-din slept and dreamed of peace. In his dream a maiden stood +before him. Presently, when she lifted her veil, he saw that she was +beautiful, with features like his own, but fairer, and knew her surely +for the daughter of his sister who had fled with the English knight. +Now he wondered why she visited him thus, and in his vision prayed +Allah to make the matter clear. Then of a sudden he saw this same woman +standing before him on a Syrian plain, and on either side of her a +countless host of Saracens and Franks, of whom thousands and tens of +thousands were appointed to death. Lo! he, Salah-ed-din, charged at the +head of his squadrons, scimitar aloft, but she held up her hand and +stayed him. + +“What do you here, my niece?” he asked. + +“I am come to save the lives of men through you,” she answered; +“therefore was I born of your blood, and therefore I am sent to you. +Put up your sword, King, and spare them.” + +“Say, maiden, what ransom do you bring to buy this multitude from doom? +What ransom, and what gift?” + +“The ransom of my own blood freely offered, and Heaven’s gift of peace +to your sinful soul, O King.” And with that outstretched hand she drew +down his keen-edged scimitar until it rested on her breast. + +Salah-ed-din awoke, and marvelled on his dream, but said nothing of it +to any man. The next night it returned to him, and the memory of it +went with him all the day that followed, but still he said nothing. + +When on the third night he dreamed it yet again, even more vividly, +then he was sure that this thing was from God, and summoned his holy +Imauns and his Diviners, and took counsel with them. These, after they +had listened, prayed and consulted, spoke thus: + +“O Sultan, Allah has warned you in shadows that the woman, your niece, +who dwells far away in England, shall by her own nobleness and +sacrifice, in some time to come, save you from shedding a sea of blood, +and bring rest upon the land. We charge you, therefore, draw this lady +to your court, and keep her ever by your side, since if she escape you, +her peace goes with her.” + +Salah-ed-din said that this interpretation was wise and true, for thus +also he had read his dream. Then he summoned a certain false knight who +bore the Cross upon his breast, but in secret had accepted the Koran, a +Frankish spy of his, who came from that country where dwelt the maiden, +his niece, and from him learned about her, her father, and her home. +With him and another spy who passed as a Christian palmer, by the aid +of Prince Hassan, one of the greatest and most trusted of his Emirs, he +made a cunning plan for the capture of the maiden if she would not come +willingly, and for her bearing away to Syria. + +Moreover—that in the eyes of all men her dignity might be worthy of her +high blood and fate—by his decree he created her, the niece whom he had +never seen, Princess of Baalbec, with great possessions—a rule that her +grandfather, Ayoub, and her uncle, Izzeddin, had held before her. Also +he purchased a stout galley of war, manning it with proved sailors and +with chosen men-at-arms, under the command of the Prince Hassan, and +wrote a letter to the English lord, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, and to his +daughter, and prepared a royal gift of jewels, and sent them to the +lady, his niece, far away in England, and with it the Patent of her +rank. Her he commanded this company to win by peace, or force, or +fraud, as best they might, but that without her not one of them should +dare to look upon his face again. And with these he sent the two +Frankish spies, who knew the place where the lady lived, one of whom, +the false knight, was a skilled mariner and the captain of the ship. + +These things did Yusuf Salah-ed-din, and waited patiently till it +should please God to accomplish the vision with which God had filled +his soul in sleep. + + + + +Chapter I. +By The Waters of Death Creek + + +From the sea-wall on the coast of Essex, Rosamund looked out across the +ocean eastwards. To right and left, but a little behind her, like +guards attending the person of their sovereign, stood her cousins, the +twin brethren, Godwin and Wulf, tall and shapely men. Godwin was still +as a statue, his hands folded over the hilt of the long, scabbarded +sword, of which the point was set on the ground before him, but Wulf, +his brother, moved restlessly, and at length yawned aloud. They were +beautiful to look at, all three of them, as they appeared in the +splendour of their youth and health. The imperial Rosamund, dark-haired +and eyed, ivory skinned and slender-waisted, a posy of marsh flowers in +her hand; the pale, stately Godwin, with his dreaming face; and the +bold-fronted, blue-eyed warrior, Wulf, Saxon to his finger-tips, +notwithstanding his father’s Norman blood. + +At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned her head with the +slow grace which marked her every movement. + +“Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet down?” she asked in +her rich, low voice, which, perhaps because of its foreign accent, +seemed quite different to that of any other woman. + +“I think so, Rosamund,” he answered. “It would serve to pass the time, +and now that you have finished gathering those yellow flowers which we +rode so far to seek, the time—is somewhat long.” + +“Shame on you, Wulf,” she said, smiling. “Look upon yonder sea and sky, +at that sheet of bloom all gold and purple—” + +“I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosamund; also at your +back and at Godwin’s left arm and side-face, till in truth I thought +myself kneeling in Stangate Priory staring at my father’s effigy upon +his tomb, while Prior John pattered the Mass. Why, if you stood it on +its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands resting on the sword, +the same cold, silent face staring at the sky.” + +“Godwin as Godwin will no doubt one day be, or so he hopes—that is, if +the saints give him grace to do such deeds as did our sire,” +interrupted his brother. + +Wulf looked at him, and a curious flash of inspiration shone in his +blue eyes. + +“No, I think not,” he answered; “the deeds you may do, and greater, but +surely you will lie wrapped not in a shirt of mail, but with a monk’s +cowl at the last—unless a woman robs you of it and the quickest road to +heaven. Tell me now, what are you thinking of, you two—for I have been +wondering in my dull way, and am curious to learn how far I stand from +truth? Rosamund, speak first. Nay, not all the truth—a maid’s thoughts +are her own—but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and +should be skimmed.” + +Rosamund sighed. “I? I was thinking of the East, where the sun shines +ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men are full of +strange learning—” + +“And women are men’s slaves!” interrupted Wulf. “Still, it is natural +that you should think of the East who have that blood in your veins, +and high blood, if all tales be true. Say, Princess”—and he bowed the +knee to her with an affectation of mockery which could not hide his +earnest reverence—“say, Princess, my cousin, granddaughter of Ayoub and +niece of the mighty monarch, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave +this pale land and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?” + +She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take fire, the +stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and the thin +nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some sweet, remembered +perfume. Indeed, at that moment, standing there on the promontory above +the seas, Rosamund looked a very queen. + +Presently she answered him with another question. + +“And how would they greet me there, Wulf, who am a Norman D’Arcy and a +Christian maid?” + +“The first they would forgive you, since that blood is none so ill +either, and for the second—why, faiths can be changed.” + +Then it was that Godwin spoke for the first time. + +“Wulf, Wulf,” he said sternly, “keep watch upon your tongue, for there +are things that should not be said even as a silly jest. See you, I +love my cousin here better than aught else upon the earth—” + +“There, at least, we agree,” broke in Wulf. + +“Better than aught else on the earth,” repeated Godwin; “but, by the +Holy Blood and by St. Peter, at whose shrine we are, I would kill her +with my own hand before her lips kissed the book of the false prophet.” + +“Or any of his followers,” muttered Wulf to himself, but fortunately, +perhaps, too low for either of his companions to hear. Aloud he said, +“You understand, Rosamund, you must be careful, for Godwin ever keeps +his word, and that would be but a poor end for so much birth and beauty +and wisdom.” + +“Oh, cease mocking, Wulf,” she answered, laying her hand lightly on the +tunic that hid his shirt of mail. “Cease mocking, and pray St. Chad, +the builder of this church, that no such dreadful choice may ever be +forced upon you, or me, or your beloved brother—who, indeed, in such a +case would do right to slay me.” + +“Well, if it were,” answered Wulf, and his fair face flushed as he +spoke, “I trust that we should know how to meet it. After all, is it so +very hard to choose between death and duty?” + +“I know not,” she replied; “but oft-times sacrifice seems easy when +seen from far away; also, things may be lost that are more prized than +life.” + +“What things? Do you mean place, or wealth, or—love?” + +“Tell me,” said Rosamund, changing her tone, “what is that boat rowing +round the river’s mouth? A while ago it hung upon its oars as though +those within it watched us.” + +“Fisher-folk,” answered Wulf carelessly. “I saw their nets.” + +“Yes; but beneath them something gleamed bright, like swords.” + +“Fish,” said Wulf; “we are at peace in Essex.” Although Rosamund did +not look convinced, he went on: “Now for Godwin’s thoughts— what were +they?” + +“Brother, if you would know, of the East also—the East and its wars.” + +“Which have brought us no great luck,” answered Wulf, “seeing that our +sire was slain in them and naught of him came home again save his +heart, which lies at Stangate yonder.” + +“How better could he die,” asked Godwin, “than fighting for the Cross +of Christ? Is not that death of his at Harenc told of to this day? By +our Lady, I pray for one but half as glorious!” + +“Aye, he died well—he died well,” said Wulf, his blue eyes flashing and +his hand creeping to his sword hilt. “But, brother, there is peace at +Jerusalem, as in Essex.” + +“Peace? Yes; but soon there will be war again. The monk Peter—he whom +we saw at Stangate last Sunday, and who left Syria but six months +gone—told me that it was coming fast. Even now the Sultan Saladin, +sitting at Damascus, summons his hosts from far and wide, while his +priests preach battle amongst the tribes and barons of the East. And +when it comes, brother, shall we not be there to share it, as were our +grandfather, our father, our uncle, and so many of our kin? Shall we +rot here in this dull land, as by our uncle’s wish we have done these +many years, yes, ever since we were home from the Scottish war, and +count the kine and plough the fields like peasants, while our peers are +charging on the pagan, and the banners wave, and the blood runs red +upon the holy sands of Palestine?” + +Now it was Wulf’s turn to take fire. + +“By our Lady in Heaven, and our lady here!”—and he looked at Rosamund, +who was watching the pair of them with her quiet thoughtful eyes—“go +when you will, Godwin, and I go with you, and as our birth was one +birth, so, if it is decreed, let our death be one death.” And suddenly +his hand that had been playing with the sword-hilt gripped it fast, and +tore the long, lean blade from its scabbard and cast it high into the +air, flashing in the sunlight, to catch it as it fell again, while in a +voice that caused the wild fowl to rise in thunder from the Saltings +beneath, Wulf shouted the old war-cry that had rung on so many a +field—“_A D’Arcy! a D’Arcy! Meet D’Arcy, meet Death!_” Then he sheathed +his sword again and added in a shamed voice, “Are we children that we +fight where no foe is? Still, brother, may we find him soon!” + +Godwin smiled grimly, but answered nothing; only Rosamund said: + +“So, my cousins, you would be away, perhaps to return no more, and that +will part us. But”—and her voice broke somewhat—“such is the woman’s +lot, since men like you ever love the bare sword best of all, nor +should I think well of you were it otherwise. Yet, cousins, I know not +why”—and she shivered a little—“it comes into my heart that Heaven +often answers such prayers swiftly. Oh, Wulf! your sword looked very +red in the sunlight but now: I say that it looked very red in the +sunlight. I am afraid—of I know not what. Well, we must be going, for +we have nine miles to ride, and the dark is not so far away. But first, +my cousins, come with me into this shrine, and let us pray St. Peter +and St. Chad to guard us on our journey home.” + +“Our journey?” said Wulf anxiously. “What is there for you to fear in a +nine-mile ride along the shores of the Blackwater?” + +“I said our journey home Wulf; and home is not in the hall at Steeple, +but yonder,” and she pointed to the quiet, brooding sky. + +“Well answered,” said Godwin, “in this ancient place, whence so many +have journeyed home; all the Romans who are dead, when it was their +fortress, and the Saxons who came after them, and others without +count.” + +Then they turned and entered the old church—one of the first that ever +was in Britain, rough-built of Roman stone by the very hands of Chad, +the Saxon saint, more than five hundred years before their day. Here +they knelt a while at the rude altar and prayed, each of them in his or +her own fashion, then crossed themselves, and rose to seek their +horses, which were tied in the shed hard by. + +Now there were two roads, or rather tracks, back to the Hall at +Steeple—one a mile or so inland, that ran through the village of +Bradwell, and the other, the shorter way, along the edge of the +Saltings to the narrow water known as Death Creek, at the head of which +the traveller to Steeple must strike inland, leaving the Priory of +Stangate on his right. It was this latter path they chose, since at low +tide the going there is good for horses—which, even in the summer, that +of the inland track was not. Also they wished to be at home by +supper-time, lest the old knight, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, the father of +Rosamund and the uncle of the orphan brethren, should grow anxious, and +perhaps come out to seek them. + +For the half of an hour or more they rode along the edge of the +Saltings, for the most part in silence that was broken only by the cry +of curlew and the lap of the turning tide. No human being did they see, +indeed, for this place was very desolate and unvisited, save now and +again by fishermen. At length, just as the sun began to sink, they +approached the shore of Death Creek—a sheet of tidal water which ran a +mile or more inland, growing ever narrower, but was here some three +hundred yards in breadth. They were well mounted, all three of them. +Indeed, Rosamund’s horse, a great grey, her father’s gift to her, was +famous in that country-side for its swiftness and power, also because +it was so docile that a child could ride it; while those of the +brethren were heavy-built but well-trained war steeds, taught to stand +where they were left, and to charge when they were urged, without fear +of shouting men or flashing steel. + +Now the ground lay thus. Some seventy yards from the shore of Death +Creek and parallel to it, a tongue of land, covered with scrub and a +few oaks, ran down into the Saltings, its point ending on their path, +beyond which were a swamp and the broad river. Between this tongue and +the shore of the creek the track wended its way to the uplands. It was +an ancient track; indeed the reason of its existence was that here the +Romans or some other long dead hands had built a narrow mole or quay of +rough stone, forty or fifty yards in length, out into the water of the +creek, doubtless to serve as a convenience for fisher boats, which +could lie alongside of it even at low tide. This mole had been much +destroyed by centuries of washing, so that the end of it lay below +water, although the landward part was still almost sound and level. + +Coming over the little rise at the top of the wooded tongue, the quick +eyes of Wulf, who rode first—for here the path along the border of the +swamp was so narrow that they must go in single file—caught sight of a +large, empty boat moored to an iron ring set in the wall of the mole. + +“Your fishermen have landed, Rosamund,” he said, “and doubtless gone up +to Bradwell.” + +“That is strange,” she answered anxiously, “since here no fishermen +ever come.” And she checked her horse as though to turn. + +“Whether they come or not, certainly they have gone,” said Godwin, +craning forward to look about him; “so, as we have nothing to fear from +an empty boat, let us push on.” + +On they rode accordingly, until they came to the root of the stone quay +or pier, when a sound behind them caused them to look back. Then they +saw a sight that sent the blood to their hearts, for there behind them, +leaping down one by one on to that narrow footway, were men armed with +naked swords, six or eight of them, all of whom, they noted, had strips +of linen pierced with eyelet holes tied beneath their helms or leather +caps, so as to conceal their faces. + +“A snare! a snare!” cried Wulf, drawing his sword. “Swift! follow me up +the Bradwell path!” and he struck the spurs into his horse. It bounded +forward, to be dragged next second with all the weight of his powerful +arm almost to its haunches. “God’s mercy!” he cried, “there are more of +them!” And more there were, for another band of men armed and +linen-hooded like the first, had leapt down on to that Bradwell path, +amongst them a stout man, who seemed to be unarmed, except for a long, +crooked knife at his girdle and a coat of ringed mail, which showed +through the opening of his loose tunic. + +“To the boat!” shouted Godwin, whereat the stout man laughed—a light, +penetrating laugh, which even then all three of them heard and noted. + +Along the quay they rode, since there was nowhere else that they could +go, with both paths barred, and swamp and water on one side of them, +and a steep, wooded bank upon the other. When they reached it, they +found why the man had laughed, for the boat was made fast with a strong +chain that could not be cut; more, her sail and oars were gone. + +“Get into it,” mocked a voice; “or, at least, let the lady get in; it +will save us the trouble of carrying her there.” + +Now Rosamund turned very pale, while the face of Wulf went red and +white, and he gripped his sword-hilt. But Godwin, calm as ever, rode +forward a few paces, and said quietly: + +“Of your courtesy, say what you need of us. If it be money, we have +none—nothing but our arms and horses, which I think may cost you dear.” + +Now the man with the crooked knife advanced a little, accompanied by +another man, a tall, supple-looking knave, into whose ear he whispered. + +“My master says,” answered the tall man, “that you have with you that +which is of more value than all the king’s gold—a very fair lady, of +whom someone has urgent need. Give her up now, and go your way with +your arms and horses, for you are gallant young men, whose blood we do +not wish to shed.” + +At this it was the turn of the brethren to laugh, which both of them +did together. + +“Give her up,” answered Godwin, “and go our ways dishonoured? Aye, with +our breath, but not before. Who then has such urgent need of the lady +Rosamund?” + +Again there was whispering between the pair. + +“My master says,” was the answer, “he thinks that all who see her will +have need of her, since such loveliness is rare. But if you wish a +name, well, one comes into his mind; the name of the knight Lozelle.” + +“The knight Lozelle!” murmured Rosamund, turning even paler than +before, as well she might. For this Lozelle was a powerful man and +Essex-born. He owned ships of whose doings upon the seas and in the +East evil tales were told, and once had sought Rosamund’s hand in +marriage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which Godwin, as the +elder of the twins, had fought and wounded him. Then he vanished—none +knew where. + +“Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?” asked Godwin, “masked like you common +cowards? If so, I desire to meet him, to finish the work I began in the +snow last Christmas twelvemonths.” + +“Find that out if you can,” answered the tall man. But Wulf said, +speaking low between his clenched teeth: + +“Brother, I see but one chance. We must place Rosamund between us and +charge them.” + +The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts, for again he +whispered into the ear of his companion, who called out: + +“My master says that if you try to charge, you will be fools, since we +shall stab and ham-string your horses, which are too good to waste, and +take you quite easily as you fall. Come then, yield, as you can do +without shame, seeing there is no escape, and that two men, however +brave, cannot stand against a crowd. He gives you one minute to +surrender.” + +Now Rosamund spoke for the first time. + +“My cousins,” she said, “I pray you not to let me fall living into the +hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder men, to be taken to what fate I +know not. Let Godwin kill me, then, to save my honour, as but now he +said he would to save my soul, and strive to cut your way through, and +live to avenge me.” + +The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the water and then at +one another, and nodded. It was Godwin who spoke again, for now that it +had come to this struggle for life and their lady, Wulf, whose tongue +was commonly so ready, had grown strangely silent, and fierce-faced +also. + +“Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eyes,” said Godwin. “There is +but one chance for you, and, poor as it is, you must choose between it +and capture, since we cannot kill you. The grey horse you ride is +strong and true. Turn him now, and spur into the water of Death Creek +and swim it. It is broad, but the incoming tide will help you, and +perchance you will not drown.” + +Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards towards the boat. Then +Wulf spoke—few words and sharp: “Begone, girl! we guard the boat.” + +She heard, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and her stately head +sank for a moment almost to her horse’s mane. + +“Oh, my knights! my knights! And would you die for me? Well, if God +wills it, so it must be. But I swear that if you die, that no man shall +be aught to me who have your memory, and if you live—” And she looked +at them confusedly, then stopped. + +“Bless us, and begone,” said Godwin. + +So she blessed them in words low and holy; then of a sudden wheeled +round the great grey horse, and striking the spur into its flank, drove +straight at the deep water. A moment the stallion hung, then from the +low quay-end sprang out wide and clear. Deep it sank, but not for long, +for presently its rider’s head rose above the water, and regaining the +saddle, from which she had floated, Rosamund sat firm and headed the +horse straight for the distant bank. Now a shout of wonderment went up +from the woman thieves, for this was a deed that they had never thought +a girl would dare. But the brethren laughed as they saw that the grey +swam well, and, leaping from their saddles, ran forward a few +paces—eight or ten—along the mole to where it was narrowest, as they +went tearing the cloaks from their shoulders, and, since they had none, +throwing them over their left arms to serve as bucklers. + +The band cursed sullenly, only their captain gave an order to his +spokesman, who cried aloud: + +“Cut them down, and to the boat! We shall take her before she reaches +shore or drowns.” + +For a moment they wavered, for the tall twin warriors who barred the +way had eyes that told of wounds and death. Then with a rush they came, +scrambling over the rough stones. But here the causeway was so narrow +that while their strength lasted, two men were as good as twenty, nor, +because of the mud and water, could they be got at from either side. So +after all it was but two to two, and the brethren were the better two. +Their long swords flashed and smote, and when Wulf’s was lifted again, +once more it shone red as it had been when he tossed it high in the +sunlight, and a man fell with a heavy splash into the waters of the +creek, and wallowed there till he died. Godwin’s foe was down also, +and, as it seemed, sped. + +Then, at a muttered word, not waiting to be attacked by others, the +brethren sprang forward. The huddled mob in front of them saw them +come, and shrank back, but before they had gone a yard, the swords were +at work behind. They swore strange oaths, they caught their feet among +the rocks, and rolled upon their faces. In their confusion three of +them were pushed into the water, where two sank in the mud and were +drowned, the third only dragging himself ashore, while the rest made +good their escape from the causeway. But two had been cut down, and +three had fallen, for whom there was no escape. They strove to rise and +fight, but the linen masks flapped about their eyes, so that their +blows went wide, while the long swords of the brothers smote and smote +again upon their helms and harness as the hammers of smiths smite upon +an anvil, until they rolled over silent and stirless. + +“Back!” said Godwin; “for here the road is wide; and they will get +behind us.” + +So back they moved slowly, with their faces to the foe, stopping just +in front of the first man whom Godwin had seemed to kill, and who lay +face upwards with arms outstretched. + +“So far we have done well,” said Wulf, with a short laugh. “Are you +hurt?” + +“Nay,” answered his brother, “but do not boast till the battle is over, +for many are left and they will come on thus no more. Pray God they +have no spears or bows.” + +Then he turned and looked behind him, and there, far from the shore +now, swam the grey horse steadily, and there upon its back sat +Rosamund. Yes, and she had seen, since the horse must swim somewhat +sideways with the tide, for look, she took the kerchief from her throat +and waved it to them. Then the brethren knew that she was proud of +their great deeds, and thanked the saints that they had lived to do +even so much as this for her dear sake. + +Godwin was right. Although their leader commanded them in a stern +voice, the band sank from the reach of those awful swords, and, +instead, sought for stones to hurl at them. But here lay more mud than +pebbles, and the rocks of which the causeway was built were too heavy +for them to lift, so that they found but few, which when thrown either +missed the brethren or did them little hurt. Now, after some while, the +man called “master” spoke through his lieutenant, and certain of them +ran into the thorn thicket, and thence appeared again bearing the long +oars of the boat. + +“Their counsel is to batter us down with the oars. What shall we do +now, brother?” asked Godwin. + +“What we can,” answered Wulf. “It matters little if Rosamund is spared +by the waters, for they will scarcely take her now, who must loose the +boat and man it after we are dead.” + +As he spoke Wulf heard a sound behind him, and of a sudden Godwin threw +up his arms and sank to his knees. Round he sprang, and there upon his +feet stood that man whom they had thought dead, and in his hand a +bloody sword. At him leapt Wulf, and so fierce were the blows he smote +that the first severed his sword arm and the second shore through cloak +and mail deep into the thief’s side; so that this time he fell, never +to stir again. Then he looked at his brother and saw that the blood was +running down his face and blinding him. + +“Save yourself, Wulf, for I am sped,” murmured Godwin. + +“Nay, or you could not speak.” And he cast his arm round him and kissed +him on the brow. + +Then a thought came into his mind, and lifting Godwin as though he were +a child, he ran back to where the horses stood, and heaved him onto the +saddle. + +“Hold fast!” he cried, “by mane and pommel. Keep your mind, and hold +fast, and I will save you yet.” + +Passing the reins over his left arm, Wulf leapt upon the back of his +own horse, and turned it. Ten seconds more, and the pirates, who were +gathering with the oars where the paths joined at the root of the +causeway, saw the two great horses thundering down upon them. On one a +sore wounded man, his bright hair dabbled with blood, his hands +gripping mane and saddle, and on the other the warrior Wulf, with +starting eyes and a face like the face of a flame, shaking his red +sword, and for the second time that day shouting aloud: “_A D’Arcy! a +D’Arcy! Contre D’Arcy, contre Mort!_” + +They saw, they shouted, they massed themselves together and held up the +oars to meet them. But Wulf spurred fiercely, and, short as was the +way, the heavy horses, trained to tourney, gathered their speed. Now +they were on them. The oars were swept aside like reeds; all round them +flashed the swords, and Wulf felt that he was hurt, he knew not where. +But his sword flashed also, one blow—there was no time for more—yet the +man beneath it sank like an empty sack. + +By St. Peter! They were through, and Godwin still swayed upon the +saddle, and yonder, nearing the further shore, the grey horse with its +burden still battled in the tide. They were through! they were through! +while to Wulf’s eyes the air swam red, and the earth seemed as though +it rose up to meet them, and everywhere was flaming fire. + +But the shouts had died away behind them, and the only sound was the +sound of the galloping of their horses’ hoofs. Then that also grew +faint and died away, and silence and darkness fell upon the mind of +Wulf. + + + + +Chapter II. +Sir Andrew D’Arcy + + +Godwin dreamed that he was dead, and that beneath him floated the +world, a glowing ball, while he was borne to and fro through the +blackness, stretched upon a couch of ebony. There were bright watchers +by his couch also, watchers twain, and he knew them for his guardian +angels, given him at birth. Moreover, now and again presences would +come and question the watchers who sat at his head and foot. One asked: + +“Has this soul sinned?” And the angel at his head answered: + +“It has sinned.” + +Again the voice asked: “Did it die shriven of its sins?” + +The angel answered: “It died unshriven, red sword aloft, fighting a +good fight.” + +“Fighting for the Cross of Christ?” + +“Nay; fighting for a woman.” + +“Alas! poor soul, sinful and unshriven, who died fighting for a woman’s +love. How shall such a one find mercy?” wailed the questioning voice, +growing ever fainter, till it was lost far, far away. + +Now came another visitor. It was his father—the warrior sire whom he +had never seen, who fell in Syria. Godwin knew him well, for the face +was the face carven on the tomb in Stangate church, and he wore the +blood-red cross upon his mail, and the D’Arcy Death’s-head was on his +shield, and in his hand shone a naked sword. + +“Is this the soul of my son?” he asked of the whiterobed watchers. “If +so, how died he?” + +Then the angel at his foot answered: “He died, red sword aloft, +fighting a good fight.” + +“Fighting for the Cross of Christ?” + +“Nay; fighting for a woman.” + +“Fighting for a woman’s love who should have fallen in the Holy War? +Alas! poor son; alas! poor son! Alas! that we must part again forever!” +and his voice, too, passed away. + +Lo! a Glory advanced through the blackness, and the angels at head and +foot stood up and saluted with their flaming spears. + +“How died this child of God?” asked a voice, speaking out of the Glory, +a low and awful voice. + +“He died by the sword,” answered the angel. + +“By the sword of the children of the enemy, fighting in the war of +Heaven?” + +Then the angels were silent. + +“What has Heaven to do with him, if he fought not for Heaven?” asked +the voice again. + +“Let him be spared,” pleaded the guardians, “who was young and brave, +and knew not. Send him back to earth, there to retrieve his sins and be +our charge once more.” + +“So be it,” said the voice. “Knight, live on, but live as a knight of +Heaven if thou wouldst win Heaven.” + +“Must he then put the woman from him?” asked the angels. + +“It was not said,” answered the voice speaking from the Glory. And all +that wild vision vanished. + +Then a space of oblivion, and Godwin awoke to hear other voices around +him, voices human, well-beloved, remembered; and to see a face bending +over him—a face most human, most well-beloved, most remembered—that of +his cousin Rosamund. He babbled some questions, but they brought him +food, and told him to sleep, so he slept. Thus it went on, waking and +sleep, sleep and waking, till at length one morning he woke up truly in +the little room that opened out of the solar or sitting place of the +Hall of Steeple, where he and Wulf had slept since their uncle took +them to his home as infants. More, on the trestle bed opposite to him, +his leg and arm bandaged, and a crutch by his side, sat Wulf himself, +somewhat paler and thinner than of yore, but the same jovial, careless, +yet at times fierce-faced Wulf. + +“Do I still dream, my brother, or is it you indeed?” + +A happy smile spread upon the face of Wulf, for now he knew that Godwin +was himself again. + +“Me sure enough,” he answered. “Dream-folk don’t have lame legs; they +are the gifts of swords and men.” + +“And Rosamund? What of Rosamund? Did the grey horse swim the creek, and +how came we here? Tell me quick—I faint for news!” + +“She shall tell you herself.” And hobbling to the curtained door, he +called, “Rosamund, my—nay, our—cousin Rosamund, Godwin is himself +again. Hear you, Godwin is himself again, and would speak with you!” + +There was a swift rustle of robes and a sound of quick feet among the +rushes that strewed the floor, and then—Rosamund herself, lovely as +ever, but all her stateliness forgot in joy. She saw him, the gaunt +Godwin sitting up upon the pallet, his grey eyes shining in the white +and sunken face. For Godwin’s eyes were grey, while Wulf’s were blue, +the only difference between them which a stranger would note, although +in truth Wulf’s lips were fuller than Godwin’s, and his chin more +marked; also he was a larger man. She saw him, and with a little cry of +delight ran and cast her arms about him, and kissed him on the brow. + +“Be careful,” said Wulf roughly, turning his head aside, “or, Rosamund, +you will loose the bandages, and bring his trouble back again; he has +had enough of blood-letting.” + +“Then I will kiss him on the hand—the hand that saved me,” she said, +and did so. More, she pressed that poor, pale hand against her heart. + +“Mine had something to do with that business also but I don’t remember +that you kissed it, Rosamund. Well, I will kiss him too, and oh! God be +praised, and the holy Virgin, and the holy Peter, and the holy Chad, +and all the other holy dead folk whose names I can’t recall, who +between them, with the help of Rosamund here, and the prayers of the +Prior John and brethren at Stangate, and of Matthew, the village +priest, have given you back to us, my brother, my most beloved +brother.” And he hopped to the bedside, and throwing his long, sinewy +arms about Godwin embraced him again and again. + +“Be careful,” said Rosamund drily, “or, Wulf, you will disturb the +bandages, and he has had enough of blood-letting.” + +Then before he could answer, which he seemed minded to do, there came +the sound of a slow step, and swinging the curtain aside, a tall and +noble-looking knight entered the little place. The man was old, but +looked older than he was, for sorrow and sickness had wasted him. His +snow-white hair hung upon his shoulders, his face was pale, and his +features were pinched but finely-chiselled, and notwithstanding the +difference of their years, wonderfully like to those of the daughter +Rosamund. For this was her father, the famous lord, Sir Andrew D’Arcy. + +Rosamund turned and bent the knee to him with a strange and Eastern +grace, while Wulf bowed his head, and Godwin, since his neck was too +stiff to stir, held up his hand in greeting. The old man looked at him, +and there was pride in his eye. + +“So you will live after all, my nephew,” he said, “and for that I thank +the giver of life and death, since by God, you are a gallant man—a +worthy child of the bloods of the Norman D’Arcy and of Uluin the Saxon. +Yes, one of the best of them.” + +“Speak not so, my uncle,” said Godwin; “or at least, here is a +worthier,”—and he patted the hand of Wulf with his lean fingers. “It +was Wulf who bore me through. Oh, I remember as much as that—how he +lifted me onto the black horse and bade me to cling fast to mane and +pommel. Ay, and I remember the charge, and his cry of ‘Contre D’Arcy, +contre Mort!’ and the flashing of swords about us, and after +that—nothing.” + +“Would that I had been there to help in that fight,” said Sir Andrew +D’Arcy, tossing his white hair. “Oh, my children, it is hard to be sick +and old. A log am I—naught but a rotting log. Still, had I only known—” + +“Father, father,” said Rosamund, casting her white arm about his neck. +“You should not speak thus. You have done your share.” + +“Yes, my share; but I should like to do more. Oh, St. Andrew, ask it +for me that I may die with sword aloft and my grandsire’s cry upon my +lips. Yes, yes; thus, not like a worn-out war-horse in his stall. +There, pardon me; but in truth, my children, I am jealous of you. Why, +when I found you lying in each other’s arms I could have wept for rage +to think that such a fray had been within a league of my own doors and +I not in it.” + +“I know nothing of all that story,” said Godwin. + +“No, in truth, how can you, who have been senseless this month or more? +But Rosamund knows, and she shall tell it you. Speak on, Rosamund. Lay +you back, Godwin, and listen.” + +“The tale is yours, my cousins, and not mine,” said Rosamund. “You bade +me take the water, and into it I spurred the grey horse, and we sank +deep, so that the waves closed above my head. Then up we came, I +floating from the saddle, but I regained it, and the horse answered to +my voice and bridle, and swam out for the further shore. On it swam, +somewhat slantwise with the tide, so that by turning my head I could +see all that passed upon the mole. I saw them come at you, and men fall +before your swords; I saw you charge them, and run back again. Lastly, +after what seemed a very long while, when I was far away, I saw Wulf +lift Godwin into the saddle—I knew it must be Godwin, because he set +him on the black horse—and the pair of you galloped down the quay and +vanished. + +“By then I was near the home shore, and the grey grew very weary and +sank deep in the water. But I cheered it on with my voice, and although +twice its head went beneath the waves, in the end it found a footing, +though a soft one. After resting awhile, it plunged forward with short +rushes through the mud, and so at length came safe to land, where it +stood shaking with fear and weariness. So soon as the horse got its +breath again, I pressed on, for I saw them loosing the boat, and came +home here as the dark closed in, to meet your uncle watching for me at +the gate. Now, father, do you take up the tale.” + +“There is little more to tell,” said Sir Andrew. “You will remember, +nephews, that I was against this ride of Rosamund’s to seek flowers, or +I know not what, at St. Peter’s shrine, nine miles away, but as the +maid had set her heart on it, and there are but few pleasures here, +why, I let her go with the pair of you for escort. You will mind also +that you were starting without your mail, and how foolish you thought +me when I called you back and made you gird it on. Well, my patron +saint—or yours—put it into my head to do so, for had it not been for +those same shirts of mail, you were both of you dead men to-day. But +that morning I had been thinking of Sir Hugh Lozelle—if such a false, +pirate rogue can be called a knight, not but that he is stout and brave +enough—and his threats after he recovered from the wound you gave him, +Godwin; how that he would come back and take your cousin for all we +could do to stay him. True, we heard that he had sailed for the East to +war against Saladin—or with him, for he was ever a traitor—but even if +this were so, men return from the East. Therefore I bade you arm, +having some foresight of what was to come, for doubtless this onslaught +must have been planned by him.” + +“I think so,” said Wulf, “for, as Rosamund here knows, the tall knave +who interpreted for the foreigner whom he called his master, gave us +the name of the knight Lozelle as the man who sought to carry her off.” + +“Was this master a Saracen?” asked Sir Andrew, anxiously. + +“Nay, uncle, how can I tell, seeing that his face was masked like the +rest and he spoke through an interpreter? But I pray you go on with the +story, which Godwin has not heard.” + +“It is short. When Rosamund told her tale of which I could make little, +for the girl was crazed with grief and cold and fear, save that you had +been attacked upon the old quay, and she had escaped by swimming Death +Creek—which seemed a thing incredible—I got together what men I could. +Then bidding her stay behind, with some of them to guard her, and nurse +herself, which she was loth to do, I set out to find you or your +bodies. It was dark, but we rode hard, having lanterns with us, as we +went rousing men at every stead, until we came to where the roads join +at Moats. There we found a black horse—your horse, Godwin—so badly +wounded that he could travel no further, and I groaned, thinking that +you were dead. Still we went on, till we heard another horse whinny, +and presently found the roan also riderless, standing by the path-side +with his head down. + +“‘A man on the ground holds him!’ cried one, and I sprang from the +saddle to see who it might be, to find that it was you, the pair of +you, locked in each other’s arms and senseless, if not dead, as well +you might be from your wounds. I bade the country-folk cover you up and +carry you home, and others to run to Stangate and pray the Prior and +the monk Stephen, who is a doctor, come at once to tend you, while we +pressed onwards to take vengeance if we could. We reached the quay upon +the creek, but there we found nothing save some bloodstains and—this is +strange—your sword, Godwin, the hilt set between two stones, and on the +point a writing.” + +“What was the writing?” asked Godwin. + +“Here it is,” answered his uncle, drawing a piece of parchment from his +robe. “Read it, one of you, since all of you are scholars and my eyes +are bad.” + +Rosamund took it and read what was written, hurriedly but in a clerkly +hand, and in the French tongue. It ran thus: “The sword of a brave man. +Bury it with him if he be dead, and give it back to him if he lives, as +I hope. My master would wish me to do this honour to a gallant foe whom +in that case he still may meet. (Signed) Hugh Lozelle, or Another.” + +“Another, then; not Hugh Lozelle,” said Godwin, “since he cannot write, +and if he could, would never pen words so knightly.” + +“The words may be knightly, but the writer’s deeds were base enough,” +replied Sir Andrew; “nor, in truth do I understand this scroll.” + +“The interpreter spoke of the short man as his master,” suggested Wulf. + +“Ay, nephew; but him you met. This writing speaks of a master whom +Godwin may meet, and who would wish the writer to pay him a certain +honour.” + +“Perhaps he wrote thus to blind us.” + +“Perchance, perchance. The matter puzzles me. Moreover, of whom these +men were I have been able to learn nothing. A boat was seen passing +towards Bradwell—indeed, it seems that you saw it, and that night a +boat was seen sailing southwards down St. Peter’s sands towards a ship +that had anchored off Foulness Point. But what that ship was, whence +she came, and whither she went, none know, though the tidings of this +fray have made some stir.” + +“Well,” said Wulf, “at the least we have seen the last of her crew of +women-thieves. Had they meant more mischief, they would have shown +themselves again ere now.” + +Sir Andrew looked grave as he answered. + +“So I trust, but all the tale is very strange. How came they to know +that you and Rosamund were riding that day to St. Peter’s-on-the-Wall, +and so were able to waylay you? Surely some spy must have warned them, +since that they were no common pirates is evident, for they spoke of +Lozelle, and bade you two begone unharmed, as it was Rosamund whom they +needed. Also, there is the matter of the sword that fell from the hand +of Godwin when he was hurt, which was returned in so strange a fashion. +I have known many such deeds of chivalry done in the East by Paynim +men—” + +“Well, Rosamund is half an Eastern,” broke in Wulf carelessly; “and +perhaps that had something to do with it all.” + +Sir Andrew started, and the colour rose to his pale face. Then in a +tone in which he showed he wished to speak no more of this matter, he +said: + +“Enough, enough. Godwin is very weak, and grows weary, and before I +leave him I have a word to say that it may please you both to hear. +Young men, you are of my blood, the nearest to it except Rosamund—the +sons of that noble knight, my brother. I have ever loved you well, and +been proud of you, but if this was so in the past, how much more is it +thus to-day, when you have done such high service to my house? +Moreover, that deed was brave and great; nothing more knightly has been +told of in Essex this many a year, and those who wrought it should no +longer be simple gentlemen, but very knights. This boon it is in my +power to grant to you according to the ancient custom. Still, that none +may question it, while you lay sick, but after it was believed that +Godwin would live, which at first we scarcely dared to hope, I +journeyed to London and sought audience of our lord the king. Having +told him this tale, I prayed him that he would be pleased to grant me +his command in writing that I should name you knights. + +“My nephews, he was so pleased, and here I have the brief sealed with +the royal signet, commanding that in his name and my own I should give +you the accolade publicly in the church of the Priory at Stangate at +such season as may be convenient. Therefore, Godwin, the squire, haste +you to get well that you may become Sir Godwin the knight; for you, +Wulf, save for the hurt to your leg, are well enough already.” + +Now Godwin’s white face went red with pride, and Wulf dropped his bold +eyes and looked modest as a girl. + +“Speak you,” he said to his brother, “for my tongue is blunt and +awkward.” + +“Sir,” said Godwin in a weak voice, “we do not know how to thank you +for so great an honour, that we never thought to win till we had done +more famous deeds than the beating off of a band of robbers. Sir, we +have no more to say, save that while we live we will strive to be +worthy of our name and of you.” + +“Well spoken,” said his uncle, adding as though to himself, “this man +is courtly as he is brave.” + +Wulf looked up, a flash of merriment upon his open face. + +“I, my uncle, whose speech is, I fear me, not courtly, thank you also. +I will add that I think our lady cousin here should be knighted too, if +such a thing were possible for a woman, seeing that to swim a horse +across Death Creek was a greater deed than to fight some rascals on its +quay.” + +“Rosamund?” answered the old man in the same dreamy voice. “Her rank is +high enough—too high, far too high for safety.” And turning, he left +the little chamber. + +“Well, cousin,” said Wulf, “if you cannot be a knight, at least you can +lessen all this dangerous rank of yours by becoming a knight’s wife.” +Whereat Rosamund looked at him with indignation which struggled with a +smile in her dark eyes, and murmuring that she must see to the making +of Godwin’s broth, followed her father from the place. + +“It would have been kinder had she told us that she was glad,” said +Wulf when she was gone. + +“Perhaps she would,” answered his brother, “had it not been for your +rough jests, Wulf, which might have a meaning in them.” + +“Nay, I had no meaning. Why should she not become a knight’s wife?” + +“Ay, but what knight’s? Would it please either of us, brother, if, as +may well chance, he should be some stranger?” + +Now Wulf swore a great oath, then flushed to the roots of his fair +hair, and was silent. + +“Ah!” said Godwin; “you do not think before you speak, which it is +always well to do.” + +“She swore upon the quay yonder”—broke in Wulf. + +“Forget what she swore. Words uttered in such an hour should not be +remembered against a maid.” + +“God’s truth, brother, you are right, as ever! My tongue runs away with +me, but still I can’t put those words out of my mind, though which of +us—” + +“Wulf!” + +“I mean to say that we are in Fortune’s path to-day, Godwin. Oh, that +was a lucky ride! Such fighting as I have never seen or dreamed of. We +won it too! And now both of us are alive, and a knighthood for each!” + +“Yes, both of us alive, thanks to you, Wulf—nay, it is so, though you +would never have done less. But as for Fortune’s path, it is one that +has many rough turns, and perhaps before all is done she may lead us +round some of them.” + +“You talk like a priest, not like a squire who is to be knighted at the +cost of a scar on his head. For my part I will kiss Fortune while I +may, and if she jilts me afterwards—” + +“Wulf,” called Rosamund from without the curtain, “cease talking of +kissing at the top of your voice, I pray you, and leave Godwin to +sleep, for he needs it.” And she entered the little chamber, bearing a +bowl of broth in her hand. + +Thereon, saying that ladies should not listen to what did not concern +them, Wulf seized his crutch and hobbled from the place. + + + + +Chapter III. +The Knighting of the Brethren + + +Another month had gone by, and though Godwin was still somewhat weak +and suffered from a headache at times, the brethren had recovered from +their wounds. On the last day of November, about two o’clock in the +afternoon, a great procession might have been seen wending its way from +the old Hall at Steeple. In it rode many knights fully armed, before +whom were borne their banners. These went first. Then came old Sir +Andrew D’Arcy, also fully armed, attended by squires and retainers. He +was accompanied by his lovely daughter, the lady Rosamund, clad in +beautiful apparel under her cloak of fur, who rode at his right hand on +that same horse which had swum Death Creek. Next appeared the brethren, +modestly arrayed as simple gentlemen, followed each of them by his +squire, scions of the noble houses of Salcote and of Dengie. After them +rode yet more knights, squires, tenants of various degree, and +servants, surrounded by a great number of peasantry and villeins, who +walked and ran with their women folk and children. + +Following the road through the village, the procession turned to the +left at the great arch which marked the boundary of the monk’s lands, +and headed for Stangate Abbey, some two miles away, by the path that +ran between the arable land and the Salt marshes, which are flooded at +high tide. At length they came to the stone gate of the Abbey, that +gave the place its name of Stangate. Here they were met by a company of +the Cluniac monks, who dwelt in this wild and lonely spot upon the +water’s edge, headed by their prior, John Fitz Brien. He was a +venerable, white-haired man, clad in wide-sleeved, black robes, and +preceded by a priest carrying a silver cross. Now the procession +separated, Godwin and Wulf, with certain of the knights and their +esquires, being led to the Priory, while the main body of it entered +the church, or stood about outside its door. + +Arrived in the house, the two knights elect were taken to a room where +their hair was cut and their chins were shaved by a barber who awaited +them. Then, under the guidance of two old knights named Sir Anthony de +Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, they were conducted to baths +surrounded with rich cloths. Into these, having been undressed by the +squires, they entered and bathed themselves, while Sir Anthony and Sir +Roger spoke to them through the cloths of the high duties of their +vocation, ending by pouring water over them, and signing their bare +bodies with the sign of the Cross. Next they were dressed again, and +preceded by minstrels, led to the church, at the porch of which they +and their esquires were given wine to drink. + +Here, in the presence of all the company, they were clothed first in +white tunics, to signify the whiteness of their hearts; next in red +robes, symbolical of the blood they might be called upon to shed for +Christ; and lastly, in long black cloaks, emblems of the death that +must be endured by all. This done, their armour was brought in and +piled before them upon the steps of the altar, and the congregation +departed homeward, leaving them with their esquires and the priest to +spend the long winter night in orisons and prayers. + +Long, indeed, it was, in that lonesome, holy place, lit only by a lamp +which swung before the altar. Wulf prayed and prayed until he could +pray no more, then fell into a half dreamful state that was haunted by +the face of Rosamund, where even her face should have been forgotten. +Godwin, his elbow resting against the tomb that hid his father’s heart, +prayed also, until even his earnestness was outworn, and he began to +wonder about many things. + +That dream of his, for instance, in his sickness, when he had seemed to +be dead, and what might be the true duty of man. To be brave and +upright? Surely. To fight for the Cross of Christ against the Saracen? +Surely, if the chance came his way. What more? To abandon the world and +to spend his life muttering prayers like those priests in the darkness +behind him? Could that be needful or of service to God or man? To man, +perhaps, because such folk tended the sick and fed the poor. But to +God? Was he not sent into the world to bear his part in the world—to +live his full life? This would mean a half-life—one into which no woman +might enter, to which no child might be added, since to monks and even +to certain brotherhoods, all these things, which Nature decreed and +Heaven had sanctified, were deadly sin. + +It would mean, for instance, that he must think no more of Rosamund. +Could he do this for the sake of the welfare of his soul in some future +state? + +Why, at the thought of it even, in that solemn place and hour of +dedication, his spirit reeled, for then and there for the first time it +was borne in upon him that he loved this woman more than all the world +beside—more than his life, more, perhaps, than his soul. He loved her +with all his pure young heart—so much that it would be a joy to him to +die for her, not only in the heat of battle, as lately had almost +chanced on the Death Creek quay, but in cold blood, of set purpose, if +there came need. He loved her with body and with spirit, and, after +God, here to her he consecrated his body and his spirit. But what value +would she put upon the gift? What if some other man—? + +By his side, his elbows resting on the altar rails, his eyes fixed upon +the beaming armour that he would wear in battle, knelt Wulf, his +brother—a mighty man, a knight of knights, fearless, noble, +open-hearted; such a one as any woman might well love. And he also +loved Rosamund. Of this Godwin was sure. And, oh! did not Rosamund love +Wulf? Bitter jealousy seized upon his vitals. Yes; even then and there, +black envy got hold of Godwin, and rent him so sore that, cold as was +the place, the sweat poured from his brow and body. + +Should he abandon hope? Should he fly the battle for fear that he might +be defeated? Nay; he would fight on in all honesty and honour, and if +he were overcome, would meet his fate as a brave knight should—without +bitterness, but without shame. Let destiny direct the matter. It was in +the hands of destiny, and stretching out his arm, he threw it around +the neck of his brother, who knelt beside him, and let it rest there, +until the head of the weary Wulf sank sleepily upon his shoulder, like +the head of an infant upon its mother’s breast. + +“Oh Jesu,” Godwin moaned in his poor heart, “give me strength to fight +against this sinful passion that would lead me to hate the brother whom +I love. Oh Jesu, give me strength to bear it if he should be preferred +before me. Make me a perfect knight—strong to suffer and endure, and, +if need be, to rejoice even in the joy of my supplanter.” + +At length the grey dawn broke, and the sunlight, passing through the +eastern window, like a golden spear, pierced the dusk of the long +church, which was built to the shape of a cross, so that only its +transepts remained in shadow. Then came a sound of chanting, and at the +western door entered the Prior, wearing all his robes, attended by the +monks and acolytes, who swung censers. In the centre of the nave he +halted and passed to the confessional, calling on Godwin to follow. So +he went and knelt before the holy man, and there poured out all his +heart. He confessed his sins. They were but few. He told him of the +vision of his sickness, on which the Prior pondered long; of his deep +love, his hopes, his fears, and his desire to be a warrior who once, as +a lad, had wished to be a monk, not that he might shed blood, but to +fight for the Cross of Christ against the Paynim, ending with a cry of— + +“Give me counsel, O my father. Give me counsel.” + +“Your own heart is your best counsellor,” was the priest’s answer. “Go +as it guides you, knowing that, through it, it is God who guides. Nor +fear that you will fail. But if love and the joys of life should leave +you, then come back, and we will talk again. Go on, pure knight of +Christ, fearing nothing and sure of the reward, and take with you the +blessing of Christ and of his Church.” + +“What penance must I bear, father?” + +“Such souls as yours inflict their own penance. The saints forbid that +I should add to it,” was the gentle answer. + +Then with a lightened heart Godwin returned to the altar rails, while +his brother Wulf was summoned to take his place in the confessional. Of +the sins that he had to tell we need not speak. They were such as are +common to young men, and none of them very grievous. Still, before he +gave him absolution, the good Prior admonished him to think less of his +body and more of his spirit; less of the glory of feats of arms and +more of the true ends to which he should enter on them. He bade him, +moreover, to take his brother Godwin as an earthly guide and example, +since there lived no better or wiser man of his years, and finally +dismissed him, prophesying that if he would heed these counsels, he +would come to great glory on earth and in heaven. + +“Father, I will do my best,” answered Wulf humbly; “but there cannot be +two Godwins; and, father, sometimes I fear me that our paths will +cross, since two men cannot win one woman.” + +“I know the trouble,” answered the Prior anxiously, “and with less +noble-natured men it might be grave. But if it should come to this, +then must the lady judge according to the wishes of her own heart, and +he who loses her must be loyal in sorrow as in joy. Be sure that you +take no base advantage of your brother in the hour of temptation, and +bear him no bitterness should he win the bride.” + +“I think I can be sure of that,” said Wulf; “also that we, who have +loved each other from birth, would die before we betrayed each other.” + +“I think so also,” answered the Prior; “but Satan is very strong.” + +Then Wulf also returned to the altar rails, and the full Mass was sung, +and the Sacrament received by the two neophytes, and the offerings made +all in their appointed order. Next they were led back to the Priory to +rest and eat a little after their long night’s vigil in the cold +church, and here they abode awhile, thinking their own thoughts, seated +alone in the Prior’s chamber. At length Wulf, who seemed to be ill at +ease, rose and laid his hand upon his brother’s shoulder, saying: + +“I can be silent no more; it was ever thus: that which is in my mind +must out of it. I have words to say to you.” + +“Speak on, Wulf,” said Godwin. + +Wulf sat himself down again upon his stool, and for a while stared hard +at nothing, for he did not seem to find it easy to begin this talk. Now +Godwin could read his brother’s mind like a book, but Wulf could not +always read Godwin’s, although, being twins who had been together from +birth, their hearts were for the most part open to each other without +the need of words. + +“It is of our cousin Rosamund, is it not?” asked Godwin presently. + +“Ay. Who else?” + +“And you would tell me that you love her, and that now you are a +knight—almost—and hard on five-and twenty years of age, you would ask +her to become your affianced wife?” + +“Yes, Godwin; it came into my heart when she rode the grey horse into +the water, there upon the pier, and I thought that I should never see +her any more. I tell you it came into my heart that life was not worth +living nor death worth dying without her.” + +“Then, Wulf,” answered Godwin slowly, “what more is there to say? Ask +on, and prosper. Why not? We have some lands, if not many, and Rosamund +will not lack for them. Nor do I think that our uncle would forbid you, +if she wills it, seeing that you are the properest man and the bravest +in all this country side.” + +“Except my brother Godwin, who is all these things, and good and +learned to boot, which I am not,” replied Wulf musingly. Then there was +silence for a while, which he broke. + +“Godwin, our ill-luck is that you love her also, and that you thought +the same thoughts which I did yonder on the quay-head.” + +Godwin flushed a little, and his long fingers tightened their grip upon +his knee. + +“It is so,” he said quietly. “To my grief it is so. But Rosamund knows +nothing of this, and should never know it if you will keep a watch upon +your tongue. Moreover, you need not be jealous of me, before marriage +or after.” + +“What, then, would you have me do?” asked Wulf hotly. “Seek her heart, +and perchance—though this I doubt—let her yield it to me, she thinking +that you care naught for her?” + +“Why not?” asked Godwin again, with a sigh; “it might save her some +pain and you some doubt, and make my own path clearer. Marriage is more +to you than to me, Wulf, who think sometimes that my sword should be my +spouse and duty my only aim.” + +“Who think, having a heart of gold, that even in such a thing as this +you will not bar the path of the brother whom you love. Nay, Godwin, as +I am a sinful man, and as I desire her above all things on earth, I +will play no such coward’s game, nor conquer one who will not lift his +sword lest he should hurt me. Sooner would I bid you all farewell, and +go to seek fortune or death in the wars without word spoken.” + +“Leaving Rosamund to pine, perchance. Oh, could we be sure that she had +no mind toward either of us, that would be best—to begone together. +But, Wulf, we cannot be sure, since at times, to be honest, I have +thought she loves you.” + +“And at times, to be honest, Godwin, I have been sure that she loves +you, although I should like to try my luck and hear it from her lips, +which on such terms I will not do.” + +“What, then, is your plan, Wulf?” + +“My plan is that if our uncle gives us leave, we should both speak to +her—you first, as the elder, setting out your case as best you can, and +asking her to think of it and give you your answer within a day. Then, +before that day is done I also should speak, so that she may know all +the story, and play her part in it with opened eyes, not deeming, as +otherwise she might, that we know each other’s minds, and that you ask +because I have no will that way.” + +“It is very fair,” replied Godwin; “and worthy of you, who are the most +honest of men. Yet, Wulf, I am troubled. See you, my brother, have ever +brethren loved each other as we do? And now must the shadow of a woman +fall upon and blight that love which is so fair and precious?” + +“Why so?” asked Wulf. “Come, Godwin, let us make a pact that it shall +not be thus, and keep it by the help of heaven. Let us show the world +that two men can love one woman and still love each other, not knowing +as yet which of them she will choose—if, indeed, she chooses either. +For, Godwin, we are not the only gentlemen whose eyes have turned, or +yet may turn, towards the high-born, rich, and lovely lady Rosamund. Is +it your will that we should make such a pact?” + +Godwin thought a little, then answered: + +“Yes; but if so, it must be one so strong that for her sake and for +both our sakes we cannot break it and live with honour.” + +“So be it,” said Wulf; “this is man’s work, not child’s make-believe.” + +Then Godwin rose, and going to the door, bade his squire, who watched +without, pray the Prior John to come to them as they sought his counsel +in a matter. So he came, and, standing before him with downcast head, +Godwin told him all the tale, which, indeed, he who knew so much +already, was quick to understand, and of their purpose also; while at a +question from the prior, Wulf answered that it was well and truly said, +nothing having been kept back. Then they asked him if it was lawful +that they should take such an oath, to which he replied that he thought +it not only lawful, but very good. + +So in the end, kneeling together hand in hand before the Rood that +stood in the chamber, they repeated this oath after him, both of them +together. + +“We brethren, Godwin and Wulf D’Arcy, do swear by the holy Cross of +Christ, and by the patron saint of this place, St. Mary Magdalene, and +our own patron saints, St. Peter and St. Chad, standing in the presence +of God, of our guardian angels, and of you, John, that being both of us +enamoured of our cousin, Rosamund D’Arcy, we will ask her to wife in +the manner we have agreed, and no other. That we will abide by her +decision, should she choose either of us, nor seek to alter it by +tempting her from her troth, or in any fashion overt or covert. That he +of us whom she refuses will thenceforth be a brother to her and no +more, however Satan may tempt his heart otherwise. That so far as may +be possible to us, who are but sinful men, we will suffer neither +bitterness nor jealousy to come between our love because of this woman, +and that in war or peace we will remain faithful comrades and brethren. +Thus we swear with a true heart and purpose, and in token thereof, +knowing that he who breaks this oath will be a knight dishonoured and a +vessel fit for the wrath of God, we kiss this Rood and one another.” + +This, then, these brethren said and did, and with light minds and +joyful faces received the blessing of the Prior, who had christened +them in infancy, and went down to meet the great company that had +ridden forth to lead them back to Steeple, where their knighting should +be done. + +So to Steeple, preceded by the squires, who rode before them +bareheaded, carrying their swords by the scabbarded points, with their +gold spurs hanging from the hilts, they came at last. Here the hall was +set for a great feast, a space having been left between the tables and +the dais, to which the brethren were conducted. Then came forward Sir +Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci in full armour, and +presented to Sir Andrew D’Arcy, their uncle, who stood upon the edge of +the dais, also in his armour, their swords and spurs, of which he gave +back to them two of the latter, bidding them affix these upon the +candidates’ right heels. This done, the Prior John blessed the swords, +after which Sir Andrew girded them about the waists of his nephews, +saying: + +“Take ye back the swords that you have used so well.” + +Next, he drew his own silver-hilted blade that had been his father’s +and his grandfather’s, and whilst they knelt before him, smote each of +them three blows upon the right shoulder, crying with a loud voice: “In +the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I knight ye. Be ye good +knights.” + +Thereafter came forward Rosamund as their nearest kinswoman, and, +helped by other ladies, clad upon them their hauberks, or coats of +mail, their helms of steel, and their kite-shaped shields, emblazoned +with a skull, the cognizance of their race. This done, with the +musicians marching before them, they walked to Steeple church—a +distance of two hundred paces from the Hall, where they laid their +swords upon the altar and took them up again, swearing to be good +servants of Christ and defenders of the Church. As they left its doors, +who should meet them but the cook, carrying his chopper in his hand and +claiming as his fee the value of the spurs they wore, crying aloud at +the same time: + +“If either of you young knights should do aught in despite of your +honour and of the oaths that you have sworn—from which may God and his +saints prevent you!—then with my chopper will I hack these spurs from +off your heels.” + +Thus at last the long ceremony was ended, and after it came a very +great feast, for at the high table were entertained many noble knights +and ladies, and below, in the hall their squires, and other gentlemen, +and outside all the yeomanry and villagers, whilst the children and the +aged had food and drink given to them in the nave of the church itself. +When the eating at length was done, the centre of the hall was cleared, +and while men drank, the minstrels made music. All were very merry with +wine and strong ale, and talk arose among them as to which of these +brethren—Sir Godwin or Sir Wulf—was the more brave, the more handsome, +and the more learned and courteous. + +Now a knight—it was Sir Surin de Salcote—seeing that the argument grew +hot and might lead to blows, rose and declared that this should be +decided by beauty alone, and that none could be more fitted to judge +than the fair lady whom the two of them had saved from woman-thieves at +the Death Creek quay. They all called, “Ay, let her settle it,” and it +was agreed that she would give the kerchief from her neck to the +bravest, a beaker of wine to the handsomest, and a Book of Hours to the +most learned. + +So, seeing no help for it, since except her father, the brethren, the +most of the other ladies and herself, who drank but water, gentle and +simple alike, had begun to grow heated with wine, and were very urgent, +Rosamund took the silk kerchief from her neck. Then coming to the edge +of the dais, where they were seated in the sight of all, she stood +before her cousins, not knowing, poor maid, to which of them she should +offer it. But Godwin whispered a word to Wulf, and both of them +stretching out their right hands, snatched an end of the kerchief which +she held towards them, and rending it, twisted the severed halves round +their sword hilts. The company laughed at their wit, and cried: + +“The wine for the more handsome. They cannot serve that thus.” + +Rosamund thought a moment; then she lifted a great silver beaker, the +largest on the board, and having filled it full of wine, once more came +forward and held it before them as though pondering. Thereon the +brethren, as though by a single movement, bent forward and each of them +touched the beaker with his lips. Again a great laugh went up, and even +Rosamund smiled. + +“The book! the book!” cried the guests. “They dare not rend the holy +book!” + +So for the third time Rosamund advanced, bearing the missal. + +“Knights,” she said, “you have torn my kerchief and drunk my wine. Now +I offer this hallowed writing—to him who can read it best.” + +“Give it to Godwin,” said Wulf. “I am a swordsman, not a clerk.” + +“Well said! well said!” roared the company. “The sword for us—not the +pen!” But Rosamund turned on them and answered: + +“He who wields sword is brave, and he who wields pen is wise, but +better is he who can handle both sword and pen—like my cousin Godwin, +the brave and learned.” + +“Hear her! hear her!” cried the revellers, knocking their horns upon +the board, while in the silence that followed a woman’s voice said, +“Sir Godwin’s luck is great, but give me Sir Wulf’s strong arms.” + +Then the drinking began again, and Rosamund and the ladies slipped +away, as well they might—for the times were rough and coarse. + +On the morrow, after most of the guests were gone, many of them with +aching heads, Godwin and Wulf sought their uncle, Sir Andrew, in the +solar where he sat alone, for they knew Rosamund had walked to the +church hard by with two of the serving women to make it ready for the +Friday’s mass, after the feast of the peasants that had been held in +the nave. Coming to his oaken chair by the open hearth which had a +chimney to it—no common thing in those days—they knelt before him. + +“What is it now, my nephews?” asked the old man, smiling. “Do you wish +that I should knight you afresh?” + +“No, sir,” answered Godwin; “we seek a greater boon.” + +“Then you seek in vain, for there is none.” + +“Another sort of boon,” broke in Wulf. + +Sir Andrew pulled his beard, and looked at them. Perhaps the Prior John +had spoken a word to him, and he guessed what was coming. + +“Speak,” he said to Godwin. “The gift is great that I would not give to +either of you if it be within my power.” + +“Sir,” said Godwin, “we seek the leave to ask your daughter’s hand in +marriage.” + +“What! the two of you?” + +“Yes, sir; the two of us.” + +Then Sir Andrew, who seldom laughed, laughed outright. + +“Truly,” he said, “of all the strange things I have known, this is the +strangest—that two knights should ask one wife between them.” + +“It seems strange, sir; but when you have heard our tale you will +understand.” + +So he listened while they told him all that had passed between them and +of the solemn oath which they had sworn. + +“Noble in this as in other things,” commented Sir Andrew when they had +done; “but I fear that one of you may find that vow hard to keep. By +all the saints, nephews, you were right when you said that you asked a +great boon. Do you know, although I have told you nothing of it, that, +not to speak of the knave Lozelle, already two of the greatest men in +this land have sought my daughter Rosamund in marriage?” + +“It may well be so,” said Wulf. + +“It is so, and now I will tell you why one or other of the pair is not +her husband, which in some ways I would he were. A simple reason. I +asked her, and she had no mind to either, and as her mother married +where her heart was, so I have sworn that the daughter should do, or +not at all—for better a nunnery than a loveless bridal. + +“Now let us see what you have to give. You are of good blood—that of +Uluin by your mother, and mine, also on one side her own. As squires to +your sponsors of yesterday, the knights Sir Anthony de Mandeville and +Sir Roger de Merci, you bore yourselves bravely in the Scottish War; +indeed, your liege king Henry remembered it, and that is why he granted +my prayer so readily. Since then, although you loved the life little, +because I asked it of you, you have rested here at home with me, and +done no feats of arms, save that great one of two months gone which +made you knights, and, in truth, gives you some claim on Rosamund. + +“For the rest, your father being the younger son, your lands are small, +and you have no other gear. Outside the borders of this shire you are +unknown men, with all your deeds to do—for I will not count those +Scottish battles when you were but boys. And she whom you ask is one of +the fairest and noblest and most learned ladies in this land, for I, +who have some skill in such things, have taught her myself from +childhood. Moreover, as I have no other heir, she will be wealthy. +Well, what more have you to offer for all this?” + +“Ourselves,” answered Wulf boldly. “We are true knights of whom you +know the best and worst, and we love her. We learned it for once and +for all on Death Creek quay, for till then she was our sister and no +more.” + +“Ay,” added Godwin, “when she swore herself to us and blessed us, then +light broke on both.” + +“Stand up,” said Sir Andrew, “and let me look at you.” + +So they stood side by side in the full light of the blazing fire, for +little other came through those narrow windows. + +“Proper men; proper men,” said the old knight; “and as like to one +another as two grains of wheat from the same sample. Six feet high, +each of you, and broad chested, though Wulf is larger made and the +stronger of the two. Brown and waving-haired both, save for that line +of white where the sword hit yours, Godwin—Godwin with grey eyes that +dream and Wulf with the blue eyes that shine like swords. Ah! your +grandsire had eyes like that, Wulf; and I have been told that when he +leapt from the tower to the wall at the taking of Jerusalem, the +Saracens did not love the light which shone in them—nor, in faith, did +I, his son, when he was angry. Proper men, the pair of you; but Sir +Wulf most warriorlike, and Sir Godwin most courtly. Now which do you +think would please a woman most?” + +“That, sir, depends upon the woman,” answered Godwin, and straightway +his eyes began to dream. + +“That, sir, we seek to learn before the day is out, if you give us +leave,” added Wulf; “though, if you would know, I think my chance a +poor one.” + +“Ah, well; it is a very pretty riddle. But I do not envy her who has +its answering, for it might well trouble a maid’s mind, neither is it +certain when all is done that she will guess best for her own peace. +Would it not be wiser, then, that I should forbid them to ask this +riddle?” he added as though to himself and fell to thinking while they +trembled, seeing that he was minded to refuse their suit. + +At length he looked up again and said: “Nay, let it go as God wills Who +holds the future in His hand. Nephews, because you are good knights and +true, either of whom would ward her well—and she may need +warding—because you are my only brother’s sons, whom I have promised +him to care for; and most of all because I love you both with an equal +love, have your wish, and go try your fortunes at the hands of my +daughter Rosamund in the fashion you have agreed. Godwin, the elder, +first, as is his right; then Wulf. Nay, no thanks; but go swiftly, for +I whose hours are short wish to learn the answer to this riddle.” + +So they bowed and went, walking side by side. At the door of the hall, +Wulf stopped and said: + +“Rosamund is in the church. Seek her there, and—oh! I would that I +could wish you good fortune; but, Godwin, I cannot. I fear me that this +may be the edge of that shadow of woman’s love whereof you spoke, +falling cold upon my heart.” + +“There is no shadow; there is light, now and always, as we have sworn +that it should be,” answered Godwin. + + + + +Chapter IV. +The Letter of Saladin + + +Twas past three in the afternoon, and snow clouds were fast covering up +the last grey gleam of the December day, as Godwin, wishing that his +road was longer, walked to Steeple church across the meadow. At the +door of it he met the two serving women coming out with brooms in their +hands, and bearing between them a great basket filled with broken meats +and foul rushes. Of them he asked if the Lady Rosamund were still in +the church, to which they answered, curtseying: + +“Yes, Sir Godwin; and she bade us desire of you that you would come to +lead her to the Hall when she had finished making her prayers before +the altar.” + +“I wonder,” mused Godwin, “whether I shall ever lead her from the altar +to the Hall, or whether—I shall bide alone by the altar?” + +Still he thought it a good omen that she had bidden him thus, though +some might have read it otherwise. + +Godwin entered the church, walking softly on the rushes with which its +nave was strewn, and by the light of the lamp that burnt there always, +saw Rosamund kneeling before a little shrine, her gracious head bowed +upon her hands, praying earnestly. Of what, he wondered—of what? + +Still, she did not hear him; so, coming into the chancel, he stood +behind her and waited patiently. At length, with a deep sigh, Rosamund +rose from her knees and turned, and he noted by the light of the lamp +that there were tear-stains upon her face. Perhaps she, too, had spoken +with the Prior John, who was her confessor also. Who knows? At the +least, when her eyes fell upon Godwin standing like a statue before +her, she started, and there broke from her lips the words: + +“Oh, how swift an answer!” Then, recovering herself, added, “To my +message, I mean, cousin.” + +“I met the women at the door,” he said. + +“It is kind of you to come,” Rosamund went on; “but, in truth, since +that day on Death Creek I fear to walk a bow-shot’s length alone or in +the company of women only. With you I feel safe.” + +“Or with Wulf?” + +“Yes; or with Wulf,” she repeated; “that is, when he is not thinking of +wars and adventures far away.” + +By now they had reached the porch of the church, to find that the snow +was falling fast. + +“Let us bide here a minute,” he said; “it is but a passing cloud.” + +So they stayed there in the gloom, and for a while there was silence +between them. Then he spoke. + +“Rosamund, my cousin and lady, I come to put a question to you, but +first—why you will understand afterwards—it is my duty to ask that you +will give me no answer to that question until a full day has passed.” + +“Surely, Godwin, that is easy to promise. But what is this wonderful +question which may not be answered?” + +“One short and simple. Will you give yourself to me in marriage, +Rosamund?” + +She leaned back against the wall of the porch. + +“My father—” she began. + +“Rosamund, I have his leave.” + +“How can I answer since you yourself forbid me?” + +“Till this time to-morrow only. Meanwhile, I pray you hear me, +Rosamund. I am your cousin, and we were brought up together—indeed, +except when I was away at the Scottish war, we have never been apart. +Therefore, we know each other well, as well as any can who are not +wedded. Therefore, too, you will know that I have always loved you, +first as a brother loves his sister, and now as a man loves a woman.” + +“Nay, Godwin, I knew it not; indeed, I thought that, as it used to be, +your heart was other-where.” + +“Other-where? What lady—?” + +“Nay, no lady; but in your dreams.” + +“Dreams? Dreams of what?” + +“I cannot say. Perchance of things that are not here—things higher than +the person of a poor maid.” + +“Cousin, in part you are right, for it is not only the maid whom I +love, but her spirit also. Oh, in truth, you are to me a dream—a symbol +of all that is noble, high and pure. In you and through you, Rosamund, +I worship the heaven I hope to share with you.” + +“A dream? A symbol? Heaven? Are not these glittering garments to hang +about a woman’s shape? Why, when the truth came out you would find her +but a skull in a jewelled mask, and learn to loathe her for a deceit +that was not her own, but yours. Godwin, such trappings as your +imagination pictures could only fit an angel’s face.” + +“They fit a face that will become an angel’s.” + +“An angel’s? How know you? I am half an Eastern; the blood runs warm in +me at times. I, too, have my thoughts and visions. I think that I love +power and imagery and the delights of life—a different life from this. +Are you sure, Godwin, that this poor face will be an angel’s?” + +“I wish I were as sure of other things. At least I’ll risk it.” + +“Think of your soul, Godwin. It might be tarnished. You would not risk +that for me, would you?” + +He thought. Then answered: + +“No; since your soul is a part of mine, and I would not risk yours, +Rosamund.” + +“I like you for that answer,” she said. “Yes; more than for all you +have said before, because I know that it is true. Indeed, you are an +honourable knight, and I am proud—very proud—that you should love me, +though perhaps it would have been better otherwise.” And ever so little +she bent the knee to him. + +“Whatever chances, in life or death those words will make me happy, +Rosamund.” + +Suddenly she caught his arm. “Whatever chances? Ah! what is about to +chance? Great things, I think, for you and Wulf and me. Remember, I am +half an Eastern, and we children of the East can feel the shadow of the +future before it lays its hands upon us and becomes the present. I fear +it, Godwin—I tell you that I fear it.” + +“Fear it not, Rosamund. Why should you fear? On God’s knees lies the +scroll of our lives, and of His purposes. The words we see and the +words we guess may be terrible, but He who wrote it knows the end of +the scroll, and that it is good. Do not fear, therefore, but read on +with an untroubled heart, taking no thought for the morrow.” + +She looked at him wonderingly, and asked, + +“Are these the words of a wooer or of a saint in wooer’s weeds? I know +not, and do you know yourself? But you say you love me and that you +would wed me, and I believe it; also that the woman whom Godwin weds +will be fortunate, since such men are rare. But I am forbid to answer +till to-morrow. Well, then I will answer as I am given grace. So till +then be what you were of old, and—the snow has ceased; guide me home, +my cousin Godwin.” + +So home they went through the darkness and the cold, moaning wind, +speaking no word, and entered the wide hall, where a great fire built +in its centre roared upwards towards an opening in the roof, whence the +smoke escaped, looking very pleasant and cheerful after the winter +night without. + +There, standing in front of the fire, also pleasant and cheerful to +behold, although his brow seemed somewhat puckered, was Wulf. At the +sight of him Godwin turned back through the great door, and having, as +it were, stood for one moment in the light, vanished again into the +darkness, closing the door behind him. But Rosamund walked on towards +the fire. + +“You seem cold, cousin,” said Wulf, studying her. “Godwin has kept you +too long to pray with him in church. Well, it is his custom, from which +I myself have suffered. Be seated on this settle and warm yourself.” + +She obeyed without a word, and opening her fur cloak, stretched out her +hands towards the flame, which played upon her dark and lovely face. +Wulf looked round him. + +The hall was empty. Then he looked at Rosamund. + +“I am glad to find this chance of speaking with you alone, Cousin, +since I have a question to ask of you; but I must pray of you to give +me no answer to it until four-and-twenty hours be passed.” + +“Agreed,” she said. “I have given one such promise; let it serve for +both; now for your question.” + +“Ah!” replied Wulf cheerfully; “I am glad that Godwin went first, since +it saves me words, at which he is better than I am.” + +“I do not know that, Wulf; at least, you have more of them,” answered +Rosamund, with a little smile. + +“More perhaps, but of a different quality—that is what you mean. Well, +happily here mere words are not in question.” + +“What, then, are in question, Wulf?” + +“Hearts. Your heart and my heart—and, I suppose, Godwin’s heart, if he +has one—in that way.” + +“Why should not Godwin have a heart?” + +“Why? Well, you see just now it is my business to belittle Godwin. +Therefore I declare—which you, who know more about it, can believe or +not as it pleases you—that Godwin’s heart is like that of the old saint +in the reliquary at Stangate—a thing which may have beaten once, and +will perhaps beat again in heaven, but now is somewhat dead—to this +world.” + +Rosamund smiled, and thought to herself that this dead heart had shown +signs of life not long ago. But aloud she said: + +“If you have no more to say to me of Godwin’s heart, I will begone to +read with my father, who waits for me.” + +“Nay, I have much more to say of my own.” Then suddenly Wulf became +very earnest—so earnest that his great frame shook, and when he strove +to speak he could but stammer. At length it all came forth in a flood +of burning words. + +“I love you, Rosamund! I love you—all of you, as I have ever loved +you—though I did not know it till the other day—that of the fight, and +ever shall love you—and I seek you for my wife. I know that I am only a +rough soldier-man, full of faults, not holy and learned like Godwin. +Yet I swear that I would be a true knight to you all my life, and, if +the saints give me grace and strength, do great deeds in your honour +and watch you well. Oh! what more is there to say?” + +“Nothing, Wulf,” answered Rosamund, lifting her downcast eyes. “You do +not wish that I should answer you, so I will thank you—yes, from my +heart, though, in truth, I am grieved that we can be no more brother +and sister, as we have been this many a year—and be going.” + +“Nay, Rosamund, not yet. Although you may not speak, surely you might +give me some little sign, who am in torment, and thus must stay until +this time to-morrow. For instance, you might let me kiss your hand—the +pact said nothing about kissing.” + +“I know naught of this pact, Wulf,” answered Rosamund sternly, although +a smile crept about the corners of her mouth, “but I do know that I +shall not suffer you to touch my hand.” + +“Then I will kiss your robe,” and seizing a corner of her cloak, he +pressed it to his lips. + +“You are strong—I am weak, Wulf, and cannot wrench my garment from you, +but I tell you that this play advantages you nothing.” + +He let the cloak fall. + +“Your pardon. I should have remembered that Godwin would never have +presumed so far.” + +“Godwin,” she said, tapping her foot upon the ground, “if he gave a +promise, would keep it in the spirit as well as in the letter.” + +“I suppose so. See what it is for an erring man to have a saint for a +brother and a rival! Nay, be not angry with me, Rosamund, who cannot +tread the path of saints.” + +“That I believe, but at least, Wulf, there is no need to mock those who +can.” + +“I mock him not. I love him as well as—you do.” And he watched her +face. + +It never changed, for in Rosamund’s heart were hid the secret strength +and silence of the East, which can throw a mask impenetrable over face +and features. + +“I am glad that you love him, Wulf. See to it that you never forget +your love and duty.” + +“I will; yes—even if you reject me for him.” + +“Those are honest words, such as I looked to hear you speak,” she +replied in a gentle voice. “And now, dear Wulf, farewell, for I am +weary—” + +“To-morrow—” he broke in. + +“Ay,” she answered in a heavy voice. “To-morrow I must speak, and—you +must listen.” + +The sun had run his course again, and once more it was near four +o’clock in the afternoon. The brethren stood by the great fire in the +hall looking at each other doubtfully—as, indeed, they had looked +through all the long hours of the night, during which neither of them +had closed an eye. + +“It is time,” said Wulf, and Godwin nodded. + +As he spoke a woman was seen descending from the solar, and they knew +her errand. + +“Which?” asked Wulf, but Godwin shook his head. + +“Sir Andrew bids me say that he would speak with you both,” said the +woman, and went her way. + +“By the saints, I believe it’s neither!” exclaimed Wulf, with a little +laugh. + +“It may be thus,” said Godwin, “and perhaps that would be best for +all.” + +“I don’t think so,” answered Wulf, as he followed him up the steps of +the solar. + +Now they had passed the passage and closed the door, and before them +was Sir Andrew seated in his chair by the fire, but not alone, for at +his side, her hand resting upon his shoulder, stood Rosamund. They +noted that she was clad in her richest robes, and a bitter thought came +into their minds that this might be to show them how beautiful was the +woman whom both of them must lose. As they advanced they bowed first to +her and then to their uncle, while, lifting her eyes from the ground, +she smiled a little in greeting. + +“Speak, Rosamund,” said her father. “These knights are in doubt and +pain.” + +“Now for the _coup de grâce_,” muttered Wulf. + +“My cousins,” began Rosamund in a low, quiet voice, as though she were +saying a lesson, “as to the matter of which you spoke to me yesterday, +I have taken counsel with my father and with my own heart. You did me +great honour, both of you, in asking me to be the wife of such worthy +knights, with whom I have been brought up and have loved since +childhood as a sister loves her brothers. I will be brief as I may. +Alas! I can give to neither of you the answer which you wish.” + +“_Coup de grâce_ indeed,” muttered Wulf, “through hauberk, gambeson, +and shirt, right home to the heart.” + +But Godwin only turned a trifle paler and said nothing. + +Now there was silence for a little space, while from beneath his bushy +eyebrows the old knight watched their faces, on which the light of the +tapers fell. + +Then Godwin spoke: “We thank you, Cousin. Come, Wulf, we have our +answer; let us be going.” + +“Not all of it,” broke in Rosamund hastily, and they seemed to breathe +again. + +“Listen,” she said; “for if it pleases you, I am willing to make a +promise which my father has approved. Come to me this time two years, +and if we all three live, should both of you still wish for me to wife, +that there may be no further space of pain or waiting, I will name the +man whom I shall choose, and marry him at once.” + +“And if one of us is dead?” asked Godwin. + +“Then,” replied Rosamund, “if his name be untarnished, and he has done +no deed that is not knightly, will forthwith wed the other.” + +“Pardon me—” broke in Wulf. + +She held up her hand and stopped him, saying: “You think this a strange +saying, and so, perhaps, it is; but the matter is also strange, and for +me the case is hard. Remember, all my life is at stake, and I may +desire more time wherein to make my choice, that between two such men +no maiden would find easy. We are all of us still young for marriage, +for which, if God guards our lives, there will be time and to spare. +Also in two years I may learn which of you is in truth the worthier +knight, who to-day both seem so worthy.” + +“Then is neither of us more to you than the other?” asked Wulf +outright. + +Rosamund turned red, and her bosom heaved as she replied: + +“I will not answer that question.” + +“And Wulf should not have asked it,” said Godwin. “Brother, I read +Rosamund’s saying thus: Between us she finds not much to choose, or if +she does in her secret heart, out of her kindness—since she is +determined not to marry for a while—she will not suffer us to see it +and thereby bring grief on one of us. So she says, ‘Go forth, you +knights, and do deeds worthy of such a lady, and perchance he who does +the highest deeds shall receive the great reward.’ For my part, I find +this judgment wise and just, and I am content to abide its issue. Nay, +I am even glad of it, since it gives us time and opportunity to show +our sweet cousin here, and all our fellows, the mettle whereof we are +made, and strive to outshine each other in the achievement of great +feats which, as always, we shall attempt side by side.” + +“Well spoken,” said Sir Andrew. “And you, Wulf?” + +Then Wulf, feeling that Rosamund was watching his face beneath the +shadow of her long eyelashes, answered: + +“Before Heaven, I am content also, for whatever may be said against it, +now at least there will be two years of war in which one or both of us +well may fall, and for that while at least no woman can come between +our brotherhood. Uncle, I crave your leave to go serve my liege in +Normandy.” + +“And I also,” said Godwin. + +“In the spring; in the spring,” replied Sir Andrew hastily; “when King +Henry moves his power. Meanwhile, bide you here in all good fellowship, +for, who knows—much may happen between now and then, and perhaps your +strong arms will be needed as they were not long ago. Moreover, I look +to all three of you to hear no more of this talk of love and marriage, +which, in truth, disturbs my mind and house. For good or ill, the +matter is now settled for two years to come, by which time it is likely +I shall be in my grave and beyond all troubling. + +“I do not say that things have gone altogether as I could have wished, +but they are as Rosamund wishes, and that is enough for me. On which of +you she looks with the more favour I do not know, and be you content to +remain in ignorance of what a father does not think it wise to seek to +learn. A maid’s heart is her own, and her future lies in the hand of +God and His saints, where let it bide, say I. Now we have done with all +this business. Rosamund, dismiss your knights, and be you all three +brothers and sister once more till this time two years, when those who +live will find an answer to the riddle.” + +So Rosamund came forward, and without a word gave her right hand to +Godwin and her left to Wulf, and suffered that they should press their +lips upon them. So for a while this was the end of their asking of her +in marriage. + +The brethren left the solar side by side as they had come into it, but +changed men in a sense, for now their lives were afire with a great +purpose, which bade them dare and do and win. Yet they were +lighter-hearted than when they entered there, since at least neither +had been scorned, while both had hope, and all the future, which the +young so seldom fear, lay before them. + +As they descended the steps their eyes fell upon the figure of a tall +man clad in a pilgrim’s cape, hood and low-crowned hat, of which the +front was bent upwards and laced, who carried in his hand a palmer’s +staff, and about his waist the scrip and water-bottle. + +“What do you seek, holy palmer?” asked Godwin, coming towards him. “A +night’s lodging in my uncle’s house?” + +The man bowed; then, fixing on him a pair of beadlike brown eyes, which +reminded Godwin of some he had seen, he knew not when or where, +answered in the humble voice affected by his class: + +“Even so, most noble knight. Shelter for man and beast, for my mule is +held without. Also—a word with the lord, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, for whom I +have a message.” + +“A mule?” said Wulf. “I thought that palmers always went afoot?” + +“True, Sir Knight; but, as it chances, I have baggage. Nay, not my own, +whose earthly gear is all upon my back—but a chest, that contains I +know not what, which I am charged to deliver to Sir Andrew D’Arcy, the +owner of this hall, or should he be dead, then to the lady Rosamund, +his daughter.” + +“Charged? By whom?” asked Wulf. + +“That, sir,” said the palmer, bowing, “I will tell to Sir Andrew, who, +I understand, still lives. Have I your leave to bring in the chest, and +if so, will one of your servants help me, for it is heavy?” + +“We will help you,” said Godwin. And they went with him into the +courtyard, where by the scant light of the stars they saw a fine mule +in charge of one of the serving men, and bound upon its back a +long-shaped package sewn over with sacking. This the palmer unloosed, +and taking one end, while Wulf, after bidding the man stable the mule, +took the other, they bore it into the hall, Godwin going before them to +summon his uncle. Presently he came and the palmer bowed to him. + +“What is your name, palmer, and whence is this box?” asked the old +knight, looking at him keenly. + +“My name, Sir Andrew, is Nicholas of Salisbury, and as to who sent me, +with your leave I will whisper in your ear.” And, leaning forward, he +did so. + +Sir Andrew heard and staggered back as though a dart had pierced him. + +“What?” he said. “Are you, a holy palmer, the messenger of—” and he +stopped suddenly. + +“I was his prisoner,” answered the man, “and he—who at least ever keeps +his word—gave me my life—for I had been condemned to die—at the price +that I brought this to you, and took back your answer, or hers, which I +have sworn to do.” + +“Answer? To what?” + +“Nay, I know nothing save that there is a writing in the chest. Its +purport I am not told, who am but a messenger bound by oath to do +certain things. Open the chest, lord, and meanwhile, if you have food, +I have travelled far and fast.” + +Sir Andrew went to a door, and called to his men-servants, whom he bade +give meat to the palmer and stay with him while he ate. Then he told +Godwin and Wulf to lift the box and bring it to the solar, and with it +hammer and chisel, in case they should be needed, which they did, +setting it upon the oaken table. + +“Open,” said Sir Andrew. So they ripped off the canvas, two folds of +it, revealing within a box of dark, foreign looking wood bound with +iron bands, at which they laboured long before they could break them. +At length it was done, and there within was another box beautifully +made of polished ebony, and sealed at the front and ends with a strange +device. This box had a lock of silver, to which was tied a silver key. + +“At least it has not been tampered with,” said Wulf, examining the +unbroken seals, but Sir Andrew only repeated: + +“Open, and be swift. Here, Godwin, take the key, for my hand shakes +with cold.” + +The lock turned easily, and the seals being broken, the lid rose upon +its hinges, while, as it did so, a scent of precious odours filled the +place. Beneath, covering the contents of the chest, was an oblong piece +of worked silk, and lying on it a parchment. + +Sir Andrew broke the thread and seal, and unrolled the parchment. +Within it was written over in strange characters. Also, there was a +second unsealed roll, written in a clerkly hand in Norman French, and +headed, “Translation of this letter, in case the knight, Sir Andrew +D’Arcy, has forgotten the Arabic tongue, or that his daughter, the lady +Rosamund, has not yet learned the same.” + +Sir Andrew glanced at both headings, then said: + +“Nay, I have not forgotten Arabic, who, while my lady lived, spoke +little else with her, and who taught it to our daughter. But the light +is bad, and, Godwin, you are scholarly; read me the French. We can +compare them afterwards.” + +At this moment Rosamund entered the solar from her chamber, and seeing +the three of them so strangely employed, said: + +“Is it your will that I go, father?” + +“No, daughter. Since you are here, stay here. I think that this matter +concerns you as well as me. Read on, Godwin.” + +So Godwin read: + +“In the Name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate! I, Salah-ed-din, +Yusuf ibn Ayoub, Commander of the Faithful, cause these words to be +written, and seal them with my own hand, to the Frankish lord, Sir +Andrew D’Arcy, husband of my sister by another mother, Sitt Zobeide, +the beautiful and faithless, on whom Allah has taken vengeance for her +sin. Or if he be dead also, then to his daughter and hers, my niece, +and by blood a princess of Syria and Egypt, who among the English is +named the lady Rose of the World. + +“You, Sir Andrew, will remember how, many years ago, when we were +friends, you, by an evil chance, became acquainted with my sister +Zobeide, while you were a prisoner and sick in my father’s house. How, +too, Satan put it into her heart to listen to your words of love, so +that she became a Cross-worshipper, and was married to you after the +Frankish custom, and fled with you to England. You will remember also, +although at the time we could not recapture her from your vessel, how I +sent a messenger to you, saying that soon or late I would yet tear her +from your arms and deal with her as we deal with faithless women. But +within six years of that time sure news reached me that Allah had taken +her, therefore I mourned for my sister and her fate awhile, and forgot +her and you. + +“Know that a certain knight named Lozelle, who dwelt in the part of +England where you have your castle, has told me that Zobeide left a +daughter, who is very beautiful. Now my heart, which loved her mother, +goes out towards this niece whom I have never seen, for although she is +your child and a Cross-worshipper at least—save in the matter of her +mother’s theft—you were a brave and noble knight, of good blood, as, +indeed, I remember your brother was also, he who fell in the fight at +Harenc. + +“Learn now that, having by the will of Allah come to great estate here +at Damascus and throughout the East, I desire to lift your daughter up +to be a princess of my house. Therefore I invite her to journey to +Damascus, and you with her, if you live. Moreover, lest you should fear +some trap, on behalf of myself, my successors and councillors, I +promise in the Name of God, and by the word of Salah-ed-din, which +never yet was broken, that although I trust the merciful God may change +her heart so that she enters it of her own will, I will not force her +to accept the Faith or to bind herself in any marriage which she does +not desire. Nor will I take vengeance upon you, Sir Andrew, for what +you have done in the past, or suffer others to do so, but will rather +raise you to great honour and live with you in friendship as of yore. + +“But if my messenger returns and tells me that my niece refuses this, +my loving offer, then I warn her that my arm is long, and I will surely +take her as I can. + +“Therefore, within a year of the day that I receive the answer of the +lady, my niece, who is named Rose of the World, my emissaries will +appear wherever she may be, married or single, to lead her to me, with +honour if she be willing, but still to lead her to me if she be +unwilling. Meanwhile, in token of my love, I send certain gifts of +precious things, and with them my patent of her title as Princess, and +Lady of the City of Baalbec, which title, with its revenue and +prerogatives, are registered in the archives of my empire in favour of +her and her lawful heirs, and declared to be binding upon me and my +successors forever. + +“The bearer of this letter and of my gifts is a certain +Cross-worshipper named Nicholas, to whom let your answer be handed for +delivery to me. This devoir he is under oath to perform and will +perform it, for he knows that if he fails therein, then that he must +die. + +“Signed by Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, at Damascus, and +sealed with his seal, in the spring season of the year of the Hegira +581. + +“Take note also that this writing having been read to me by my +secretary before I set my name and seal thereunto, I perceive that you, +Sir Andrew, or you, Lady Rose of the World, may think it strange that I +should be at such pains and cost over a maid who is not of my religion +and whom I never saw, and may therefore doubt my honesty in the matter. +Know then the true reason. Since I heard that you, Lady Rose of the +World, lived, I have thrice been visited by a dream sent from God +concerning you, and in it I saw your face. + +“Now this was the dream—that the oath I made as regards your mother is +binding as regards you also; further, that in some way which is not +revealed to me, your presence here will withhold me from the shedding +of a sea of blood, and save the whole world much misery. Therefore it +is decreed that you must come and bide in my house. That these things +are so, Allah and His Prophet be my witnesses.” + + + + +Chapter V. +The Wine Merchant + + +Godwin laid down the letter, and all of them stared at one another in +amazement. + +“Surely,” said Wulf, “this is some fool’s trick played off upon our +uncle as an evil jest.” + +By way of answer Sir Andrew bade him lift the silk that hid the +contents of the coffer and see what lay there. Wulf did so, and next +moment threw back his head like a man whom some sudden light had +blinded, as well he might, for from it came such a flare of gems as +Essex had rarely seen before. Red, green and blue they sparkled; and +among them were the dull glow of gold and the white sheen of pearls. + +“Oh, how beautiful! how beautiful!” said Rosamund. + +“Ay,” muttered Godwin; “beautiful enough to maze a woman’s mind till +she knows not right from wrong.” + +Wulf said nothing, but one by one drew its treasures from the +chest—coronet, necklace of pearls, breast ornaments of rubies, girdle +of sapphires, jewelled anklets, and with them veil, sandals, robes and +other garments of gold-embroidered purple silk. Moreover, among these, +also sealed with the seals of Salah-ed-din, his viziers, officers of +state, and secretaries, was that patent of which the letter spoke, +setting out the full titles of the Princess of Baalbec; the extent and +boundaries of her great estates, and the amount of her annual revenue, +which seemed more money than they had ever heard of. + +“I was wrong,” said Wulf. “Even the Sultan of the East could not afford +a jest so costly.” + +“Jest?” broke in Sir Andrew; “it is no jest, as I was sure from the +first line of that letter. It breathes the very spirit of Saladin, +though he be a Saracen, the greatest man on all the earth, as I, who +was a friend of his youth, know well. Ay, and he is right. In a sense I +sinned against him as his sister sinned, our love compelling us. Jest? +Nay, no jest, but because a vision of the night, which he believes the +voice of God, or perhaps some oracle of the magicians has deeply +stirred that great soul of his and led him on to this wild adventure.” + +He paused awhile, then looked up and said, “Girl, do you know what +Saladin has made of you? Why, there are queens in Europe who would be +glad to own that rank and those estates in the rich lands above +Damascus. I know the city and the castle of which he speaks. It is a +mighty place upon the banks of Litani and Orontes, and after its +military governor—for that rule he would not give a Christian—you will +be first in it, beneath the seal of Saladin—the surest title in all the +earth. Say, will you go and queen it there?” + +Rosamund gazed at the gleaming gems and the writings that made her +royal, and her eyes flashed and her breast heaved, as they had done by +the church of St. Peter on the Essex coast. Thrice she looked while +they watched her, then turned her head as from the bait of some great +temptation and answered one word only—“Nay.” + +“Well spoken,” said her father, who knew her blood and its longings. +“At least, had the ‘nay’ been ‘yea,’ you must have gone alone. Give me +ink and parchment, Godwin.” + +They were brought, and he wrote: + +“To the Sultan Saladin, from Andrew D’Arcy and his daughter Rosamund. + +“We have received your letter, and we answer that where we are there we +will bide in such state as God has given us. Nevertheless, we thank +you, Sultan, since we believe you honest, and we wish you well, except +in your wars against the Cross. As for your threats, we will do our +best to bring them to nothing. Knowing the customs of the East, we do +not send back your gifts to you, since to do so would be to offer +insult to one of the greatest men in all the world; but if you choose +to ask for them, they are yours—not ours. Of your dream we say that it +was but an empty vision of the night which a wise man should +forget.—Your servant and your niece.” + +Then he signed, and Rosamund signed after him, and the writing was done +up, wrapped in silk, and sealed. + +“Now,” said Sir Andrew, “hide away this wealth, since were it known +that we had such treasures in the place, every thief in England would +be our visitor, some of them bearing high names, I think.” + +So they laid the gold-embroidered robes and the priceless sets of gems +back in their coffer, and having locked it, hid it away in the great +iron-bound chest that stood in Sir Andrew’s sleeping chamber. + +When everything was finished, Sir Andrew said: “Listen now, Rosamund, +and you also, my nephews. I have never told you the true tale of how +the sister of Saladin, who was known as Zobeide, daughter of Ayoub, and +afterwards christened into our faith by the name of Mary, came to be my +wife. Yet you should learn it, if only to show how evil returns upon a +man. After the great Nur-ed-din took Damascus, Ayoub was made its +governor; then some three-and-twenty years ago came the capture of +Harenc, in which my brother fell. Here I was wounded and taken +prisoner. They bore me to Damascus, where I was lodged in the palace of +Ayoub and kindly treated. Here too it was, while I lay sick, that I +made friends with the young Saladin, and with his sister Zobeide, whom +I met secretly in the gardens of the palace. The rest may be guessed. +Although she numbered but half my years, she loved me as I loved her, +and for my sake offered to change her faith and fly with me to England +if opportunity could be found, which was hard. + +“Now, as it chanced, I had a friend, a dark and secret man named Jebal, +the young sheik of a terrible people, whose cruel rites no Christian +understands. They are the subjects of one Mahomet, in Persia, and live +in castles at Masyaf, on Lebanon. This man had been in alliance with +the Franks, and once in a battle I saved his life from the Saracens at +the risk of my own, whereon he swore that did I summon him from the +ends of the earth he would come to me if I needed help. Moreover, he +gave me his signet-ring as a token, and, by virtue of it, so he said, +power in his dominions equal to his own, though these I never visited. +You know it,” and holding up his hand, Sir Andrew showed them a heavy +gold ring, in which was set a black stone, with red veins running +across the stone in the exact shape of a dagger, and beneath the dagger +words cut in unknown characters. + +“So in my plight I bethought me of Jebal, and found means to send him a +letter sealed with his ring. Nor did he forget his promise, for within +twelve days Zobeide and I were galloping for Beirut on two horses so +swift that all the cavalry of Ayoub could not overtake them. We reached +the city, and there were married, Rosamund. There too your mother was +baptised a Christian. Thence, since it was not safe for us to stay in +the East, we took ship and came safe home, bearing this ring of Jebal +with us, for I would not give it up, as his servants demanded that I +should do, except to him alone. But before that vessel sailed, a man +disguised as a fisherman brought me a message from Ayoub and his son +Saladin, swearing that they would yet recapture Zobeide, the daughter +of one of them and sister of the other. + +“That is the story, and you see that their oath has not been forgotten, +though when in after years they learned of my wife’s death, they let +the matter lie. But since then Saladin, who in those days was but a +noble youth, has become the greatest sultan that the East has ever +known, and having been told of you, Rosamund, by that traitor Lozelle, +he seeks to take you in your mother’s place, and, daughter, I tell you +that I fear him.” + +“At least we have a year or longer in which to prepare ourselves, or to +hide,” said Rosamund. “His palmer must travel back to the East before +my uncle Saladin can have our answer.” + +“Ay,” said Sir Andrew; “perhaps we have a year.” + +“What of the attack on the quay?” asked Godwin, who had been thinking. +“The knight Lozelle was named there. Yet if Saladin had to do with it, +it seems strange that the blow should have come before the word.” + +Sir Andrew brooded a while, then said: + +“Bring in this palmer. I will question him.” + +So the man Nicholas, who was found still eating as though his hunger +would never be satisfied, was brought in by Wulf. He bowed low before +the old knight and Rosamund, studying them the while with his sharp +eyes, and the roof and the floor, and every other detail of the +chamber. For those eyes of his seemed to miss nothing. + +“You have brought me a letter from far away, Sir Palmer, who are named +Nicholas,” said Sir Andrew. + +“I have brought you a chest from Damascus, Sir Knight, but of its +contents I know nothing. At least you will bear me witness that it has +not been tampered with,” answered Nicholas. + +“I find it strange,” went on the old knight, “that one in your holy +garb should be chosen as the messenger of Saladin, with whom Christian +men have little to do.” + +“But Saladin has much to do with Christian men, Sir Andrew. Thus he +takes them prisoner even in times of peace, as he did me.” + +“Did he, then, take the knight Lozelle prisoner?” + +“The knight Lozelle?” repeated the palmer. “Was he a big, red-faced +man, with a scar upon his forehead, who always wore a black cloak over +his mail?” + +“That might be he.” + +“Then he was not taken prisoner, but he came to visit the Sultan at +Damascus while I lay in bonds there, for I saw him twice or thrice, +though what his business was I do not know. Afterwards he left, and at +Jaffa I heard that he had sailed for Europe three months before I did.” + +Now the brethren looked at each other. So Lozelle was in England. But +Sir Andrew made no comment, only he said: “Tell me your story, and be +careful that you speak the truth.” + +“Why should I not, who have nothing to hide?” answered Nicholas. “I was +captured by some Arabs as I journeyed to the Jordan upon a pilgrimage, +who, when they found that I had no goods to be robbed of, would have +killed me. This, indeed, they were about to do, had not some of +Saladin’s soldiers come by and commanded them to hold their hands and +give me over to them. They did so, and the soldiers took me to +Damascus. There I was imprisoned, but not close, and then it was that I +saw Lozelle, or, at least, a Christian man who had some such name, and, +as he seemed to be in favour with the Saracens, I begged him to +intercede for me. Afterwards I was brought before the court of Saladin, +and having questioned me, the Sultan himself told me that I must either +worship the false prophet or die, to which you can guess my answer. So +they led me away, as I thought, to death, but none offered to do me +hurt. + +“Three days later Saladin sent for me again, and offered to spare my +life if I would swear an oath, which oath was that I should take a +certain package and deliver it to you, or to your daughter named the +Lady Rosamund here at your hall of Steeple, in Essex, and bring back +the answer to Damascus. Not wishing to die, I said that I would do +this, if the Sultan passed his word, which he never breaks, that I +should be set free afterwards.” + +“And now you are safe in England, do you purpose to return to Damascus +with the answer, and, if so, why?” + +“For two reasons, Sir Andrew. First, because I have sworn to do so, and +I do not break my word any more than does Saladin. Secondly, because I +continue to wish to live, and the Sultan promised me that if I failed +in my mission, he would bring about my death wherever I might be, which +I am sure he has the power to do by magic or otherwise. Well, the rest +of the tale is short. The chest was handed over to me as you see it, +and with it money sufficient for my faring to and fro and something to +spare. Then I was escorted to Joppa, where I took passage on a ship +bound to Italy, where I found another ship named the Holy Mary sailing +for Calais, which we reached after being nearly cast away. Thence I +came to Dover in a fishing boat, landing there eight days ago, and +having bought a mule, joined some travellers to London, and so on +here.” + +“And how will you return?” + +The palmer shrugged his shoulders. + +“As best I may, and as quickly. Is your answer ready, Sir Andrew?” + +“Yes; it is here,” and he handed him the roll, which Nicholas hid away +in the folds of his great cloak. Then Sir Andrew added, “You say you +know nothing of all the business in which you play this part?” + +“Nothing; or, rather, only this—the officer who escorted me to Jaffa +told me that there was a stir among the learned doctors and diviners at +the court because of a certain dream which the Sultan had dreamed three +times. It had to do with a lady who was half of the blood of Ayoub and +half English, and they said that my mission was mixed up with this +matter. Now I see that the noble lady before me has eyes strangely like +those of the Sultan Saladin.” And he spread out his hands and ceased. + +“You seem to see a good deal, friend Nicholas.” + +“Sir Andrew, a poor palmer who wishes to preserve his throat unslit +must keep his eyes open. Now I have eaten well, and I am weary. Is +there any place where I may sleep? I must be gone at daybreak, for +those who do Saladin’s business dare not tarry, and I have your +letter.” + +“There is a place,” answered Sir Andrew. “Wulf, take him to it, and +to-morrow, before he leaves, we will speak again. Till then, farewell, +holy Nicholas.” + +With one more searching glance the palmer bowed and went. When the door +closed behind him Sir Andrew beckoned Godwin to him, and whispered: + +“To-morrow, Godwin, you must take some men and follow this Nicholas to +see where he goes and what he does, for I tell you I do not trust +him—ay, I fear him much! These embassies to and from Saracens are +strange traffic for a Christian man. Also, though he says his life +hangs on it, I think that were he honest, once safe in England here he +would stop, since the first priest would absolve him of an oath forced +from him by the infidel.” + +“Were he dishonest would he not have stolen those jewels?” asked +Godwin. “They are worth some risk. What do you think, Rosamund?” + +“I?” she answered. “Oh, I think there is more in this than any of us +dream. + +“I think,” she added in a voice of distress and with an involuntary +wringing motion of the hands, “that for this house and those who dwell +in it time is big with death, and that sharp-eyed palmer is its +midwife. How strange is the destiny that wraps us all about! And now +comes the sword of Saladin to shape it, and the hand of Saladin to drag +me from my peaceful state to a dignity which I do not seek; and the +dreams of Saladin, of whose kin I am, to interweave my life with the +bloody policies of Syria and the unending war between Cross and +Crescent, that are, both of them, my heritage.” Then, with a woeful +gesture, Rosamund turned and left them. + +Her father watched her go, and said: + +“The maid is right. Great business is afoot in which all of us must +bear our parts. For no little thing would Saladin stir thus—he who +braces himself as I know well, for the last struggle in which Christ or +Mahomet must go down. Rosamund is right. On her brow shines the +crescent diadem of the house of Ayoub, and at her heart hangs the black +cross of the Christian and round her struggle creeds and nations. What, +Wulf, does the man sleep already?” + +“Like a dog, for he seems outworn with travel.” + +“Like a dog with one eye open, perhaps. I do not wish that he should +give us the slip during the night, as I want more talk with him and +other things, of which I have spoken to Godwin.” + +“No fear of that, uncle. I have locked the stable door, and a sainted +palmer will scarcely leave us the present of such a mule.” + +“Not he, if I know his tribe,” answered Sir Andrew. “Now let us sup and +afterwards take counsel together, for we shall need it before all is +done.” + +An hour before the dawn next morning Godwin and Wulf were up, and with +them certain trusted men who had been warned that their services would +be needed. Presently Wulf, bearing a lantern in his hand, came to where +his brother stood by the fire in the hall. + +“Where have you been?” Godwin asked. “To wake the palmer?” + +“No. To place a man to watch the road to Steeple Hill, and another at +the Creek path; also to feed his mule, which is a very fine beast—too +good for a palmer. Doubtless he will be stirring soon, as he said that +he must be up early.” + +Godwin nodded, and they sat together on the bench beside the fire, for +the weather was bitter, and dozed till the dawn began to break. Then +Wulf rose and shook himself, saying: + +“He will not think it uncourteous if we rouse him now,” and walking to +the far end of the hall, he drew a curtain and called out, “Awake, holy +Nicholas! awake! It is time for you to say your prayers, and breakfast +will soon be cooking.” + +But no Nicholas answered. + +“Of a truth,” grumbled Wulf, as he came back for his lantern, “that +palmer sleeps as though Saladin had already cut his throat.” Then +having lit it, he returned to the guest place. + +“Godwin,” he called presently, “come here. The man has gone!” + +“Gone?” said Godwin as he ran to the curtain. “Gone where?” + +“Back to his friend Saladin, I think,” answered Wulf. “Look, that is +how he went.” And he pointed to the shutter of the sleeping-place, that +stood wide open, and to an oaken stool beneath, by means of which the +sainted Nicholas had climbed up to and through the narrow window slit. + +“He must be without, grooming the mule which he would never have left,” +said Godwin. + +“Honest guests do not part from their hosts thus,” answered Wulf; “but +let us go and see.” + +So they ran to the stable and found it locked and the mule safe enough +within. Nor—though they looked—could they find any trace of the +palmer—not even a footstep, since the ground was frostbound. Only on +examining the door of the stable they discovered that an attempt had +been made to lift the lock with some sharp instrument. + +“It seems that he was determined to be gone, either with or without the +beast,” said Wulf. “Well, perhaps we can catch him yet,” and he called +to the men to saddle up and ride with him to search the country. + +For three hours they hunted far and wide, but nothing did they see of +Nicholas. + +“The knave has slipped away like a night hawk, and left as little +trace,” reported Wulf. “Now, my uncle, what does this mean?” + +“I do not know, save that it is of a piece with the rest, and that I +like it little,” answered the old knight anxiously. “Here the value of +the beast was of no account, that is plain. What the man held of +account was that he should be gone in such a fashion that none could +follow him or know whither he went. The net is about us, my nephews, +and I think that Saladin draws its string.” + +Still less pleased would Sir Andrew have been, could he have seen the +palmer Nicholas creeping round the hall while all men slept, ere he +girded up his long gown and ran like a hare for London. Yet he had done +this by the light of the bright stars, taking note of every window slit +in it, more especially of those of the solar; of the plan of the +outbuildings also, and of the path that ran to Steeple Creek some five +hundred yards away. + +From that day forward fear settled on the place—fear of some blow that +none were able to foresee, and against which they could not guard. Sir +Andrew even talked of leaving Steeple and of taking up his abode in +London, where he thought that they might be safer, but such foul +weather set in that it was impossible to travel the roads, and still +less to sail the sea. So it was arranged that if they moved at all—and +there were many things against it, not the least of which were Sir +Andrew’s weak health and the lack of a house to go to—it should not be +till after New Year’s Day. + +Thus the time went on, and nothing happened to disturb them. The +friends of whom the old knight took counsel laughed at his forebodings. +They said that so long as they did not wander about unguarded, there +was little danger of any fresh attack upon them, and if one should by +chance be made, with the aid of the men they had they could hold the +Hall against a company until help was summoned. Moreover, at heart, +none of them believed that Saladin or his emissaries would stir in this +business before the spring, or more probably until another year had +passed. Still, they always set guards at night, and, besides +themselves, kept twenty men sleeping at the Hall. Also they arranged +that on the lighting of a signal fire upon the tower of Steeple Church +their neighbours should come to succour them. + +So the time went on towards Christmas, before which the weather changed +and became calm, with sharp frost. + +It was on the shortest day that Prior John rode up to the Hall and told +them that he was going to Southminster to buy some wine for the +Christmas feast. Sir Andrew asked what wine there was at Southminster. +The Prior answered that he had heard that a ship, laden amongst other +things with wine of Cyprus of wonderful quality, had come into the +river Crouch with her rudder broken. He added that as no shipwrights +could be found in London to repair it till after Christmas, the +chapman, a Cypriote, who was in charge of the wine, was selling as much +as he could in Southminster and to the houses about at a cheap rate, +and delivering it by means of a wain that he had hired. + +Sir Andrew replied that this seemed a fair chance to get fine liquor, +which was hard to come by in Essex in those times. The end of it was +that he bade Wulf, whose taste in strong drink was nice, to ride with +the Prior into Southminster, and if he liked the stuff to buy a few +casks of it for them to make merry with at Christmas—although he +himself, because of his ailments, now drank only water. + +So Wulf went, nothing loth. In this dark season of the year when there +was no fishing, it grew very dull loitering about the Hall, and since +he did not read much, like Godwin, sitting for long hours by the fire +at night watching Rosamund going to and fro upon her tasks, but not +speaking with her overmuch. For notwithstanding all their pretense of +forgetfulness, some sort of veil had fallen between the brethren and +Rosamund, and their intercourse was not so open and familiar as of old. +She could not but remember that they were no more her cousins only, but +her lovers also, and that she must guard herself lest she seemed to +show preference to one above the other. The brethren for their part +must always bear in mind also that they were bound not to show their +love, and that their cousin Rosamund was no longer a simple English +lady, but also by creation, as by blood, a princess of the East, whom +destiny might yet lift beyond the reach of either of them. + +Moreover, as has been said, dread sat upon that rooftree like a +croaking raven, nor could they escape from the shadow of its wing. Far +away in the East a mighty monarch had turned his thoughts towards this +English home and the maid of his royal blood who dwelt there, and who +was mingled with his visions of conquest and of the triumph of his +faith. Driven on by no dead oath, by no mere fancy or imperial desire, +but by some spiritual hope or need, he had determined to draw her to +him, by fair means if he could; if not, by foul. Already means both +foul and fair had failed, for that the attack at Death Creek quay had +to do with this matter they could no longer doubt. It was certain also +that others would be tried again and again till his end was won or +Rosamund was dead—for here, if even she would go back upon her word, +marriage itself could not shield her. + +So the house was sad, and saddest of all seemed the face of the old +knight, Sir Andrew, oppressed as he was with sickness, with memories +and fears. Therefore, Wulf could find pleasure even in an errand to +Southminster to buy wine, of which, in truth, he would have been glad +to drink deeply, if only to drown his thoughts awhile. + +So away he rode up Steeple Hill with the Prior, laughing as he used to +do before Rosamund led him to gather flowers at St. +Peter’s-on-the-Wall. + +Asking where the foreign merchant dwelt who had wine to sell, they were +directed to an inn near the minster. Here in a back room they found a +short, stout man, wearing a red cloth cap, who was seated on a pillow +between two kegs. In front of him stood a number of folk, gentry and +others, who bargained with him for his wine and the silks and +embroideries that he had to sell, giving the latter to be handled and +samples of the drink to all who asked for them. + +“Clean cups,” he said, speaking in bad French, to the drawer who stood +beside him. “Clean cups, for here come a holy man and a gallant knight +who wish to taste my liquor. Nay, fellow, fill them up, for the top of +Mount Trooidos in winter is not so cold as this cursed place, to say +nothing of its damp, which is that of a dungeon,” and he shivered, +drawing his costly shawl closer round him. + +“Sir Abbot, which will you taste first—the red wine or the yellow? The +red is the stronger but the yellow is the more costly and a drink for +saints in Paradise and abbots upon earth. The yellow from Kyrenia? +Well, you are wise. They say it was my patron St. Helena’s favourite +vintage when she visited Cyprus, bringing with her Disma’s cross.” + +“Are you a Christian then?” asked the Prior. “I took you for a Paynim.” + +“Were I not a Christian would I visit this foggy land of yours to trade +in wine—a liquor forbidden to the Moslems?” answered the man, drawing +aside the folds of his shawl and revealing a silver crucifix upon his +broad breast. “I am a merchant of Famagusta in Cyprus, Georgios by +name, and of the Greek Church which you Westerners hold to be +heretical. But what do you think of that wine, holy Abbot?” + +The Prior smacked his lips. + +“Friend Georgios, it is indeed a drink for the saints,” he answered. + +“Ay, and has been a drink for sinners ere now—for this is the very +tipple that Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, drank with her Roman lover +Antony, of whom you, being a learned man, may have heard. And you, Sir +Knight, what say you of the black stuff—‘Mavro,’ we call it—not the +common, but that which has been twenty years in cask?” + +“I have tasted worse,” said Wulf, holding out his horn to be filled +again. + +“Ay, and will never taste better if you live as long as the Wandering +Jew. Well, sirs, may I take your orders? If you are wise you will make +them large, since no such chance is likely to come your way again, and +that wine, yellow or red, will keep a century.” + +Then the chaffering began, and it was long and keen. Indeed, at one +time they nearly left the place without purchasing, but the merchant +Georgios called them back and offered to come to their terms if they +would take double the quantity, so as to make up a cartload between +them, which he said he would deliver before Christmas Day. To this they +consented at length, and departed homewards made happy by the gifts +with which the chapman clinched his bargain, after the Eastern fashion. +To the Prior he gave a roll of worked silk to be used as an edging to +an altar cloth or banner, and to Wulf a dagger handle, quaintly carved +in olive wood to the fashion of a rampant lion. Wulf thanked him, and +then asked him with a somewhat shamed face if he had more embroidery +for sale, whereat the Prior smiled. The quick-eyed Cypriote saw the +smile, and inquired if it might be needed for a lady’s wear, at which +some neighbours present in the room laughed outright. + +“Do not laugh at me, gentlemen,” said the Eastern; “for how can I, a +stranger, know this young knight’s affairs, and whether he has mother, +or sisters, or wife, or lover? Well here are broideries fit for any of +them.” Then bidding his servant bring a bale, he opened it, and began +to show his goods, which, indeed, were very beautiful. In the end Wulf +purchased a veil of gauze-like silk worked with golden stars as a +Christmas gift for Rosamund. Afterwards, remembering that even in such +a matter he must take no advantage of his brother, he added to it a +tunic broidered with gold and silver flowers such as he had never +seen—for they were Eastern tulips and anemones, which Godwin would give +her also if he wished. + +These silks were costly, and Wulf turned to the Prior to borrow money, +but he had no more upon him. Georgios said, however, that it mattered +nothing, as he would take a guide from the town and bring the wine in +person, when he could receive payment for the broideries, of which he +hoped to sell more to the ladies of the house. + +He offered also to go with the Prior and Wulf to where his ship lay in +the river, and show them many other goods aboard of her, which, he +explained to them, were the property of a company of Cyprian merchants +who had embarked upon this venture jointly with himself. This they +declined, however, as the darkness was not far off; but Wulf added that +he would come after Christmas with his brother to see the vessel that +had made so great a voyage. Georgios replied that they would be very +welcome, but if he could make shift to finish the repairs to his +rudder, he was anxious to sail for London while the weather held calm, +for there he looked to sell the bulk of his cargo. He added that he had +expected to spend Christmas at that city, but their helm having gone +wrong in the rough weather, they were driven past the mouth of the +Thames, and had they not drifted into that of the Crouch, would, he +thought, have foundered. So he bade them farewell for that time, but +not before he had asked and received the blessing of the Prior. + +Thus the pair of them departed, well pleased with their purchases and +the Cypriote Georgios, whom they found a very pleasant merchant. Prior +John stopped to eat at the Hall that night, when he and Wulf told of +all their dealings with this man. Sir Andrew laughed at the story, +showing them how they had been persuaded by the Eastern to buy a great +deal more wine than they needed, so that it was he and not they who had +the best of the bargain. Then he went on to tell tales of the rich +island of Cyprus, where he had landed many years before and stayed +awhile, and of the gorgeous court of its emperor, and of its +inhabitants. These were, he said, the cunningest traders in the +world—so cunning, indeed, that no Jew could overmatch them; bold +sailors, also, which they had from the Phoenicians of Holy Writ, who, +with the Greeks, were their forefathers, adding that what they told him +of this Georgios accorded well with the character of that people. + +Thus it came to pass that no suspicion of Georgios or his ship entered +the mind of any one of them, which, indeed, was scarcely strange, +seeing how well his tale held together, and how plain were the reasons +of his presence and the purpose of his dealings in wines and silks. + + + + +Chapter VI. +The Christmas Feast at Steeple + + +The fourth day after Wulf’s visit to Southminster was Christmas +morning, and the weather being bad, Sir Andrew and his household did +not ride to Stangate, but attended mass in Steeple Church. Here, after +service, according to his custom on this day, he gave a largesse to his +tenants and villeins, and with it his good wishes and a caution that +they should not become drunk at their Yuletide feast, as was the common +habit of the time. + +“We shall not get the chance,” said Wulf, as they walked to the Hall, +“since that merchant Georgios has not delivered the wine, of which I +hoped to drink a cup to-night.” + +“Perhaps he has sold it at a better price to someone else; it would be +like a Cypriote,” answered Sir Andrew, smiling. + +Then they went into the hall, and as had been agreed between them, +together the brethren gave their Christmas gifts to Rosamund. She +thanked them prettily enough, and much admired the beauty of the work. +When they told her that it had not yet been paid for, she laughed and +said that, however they were come by, she would wear both tunic and +veil at their feast, which was to be held at nightfall. + +About two o’clock in the afternoon a servant came into the hall to say +that a wain drawn by three horses and accompanied by two men, one of +whom led the horses, was coming down the road from Steeple village. + +“Our merchant—and in time after all,” said Wulf, and, followed by the +others, he went out to meet them. + +Georgios it was, sure enough, wrapped in a great sheepskin cloak such +as Cypriotes wear in winter, and seated on the head of one of his own +barrels. + +“Your pardon, knights,” he said as he scrambled nimbly to the ground. +“The roads in this country are such that, although I have left nearly +half my load at Stangate, it has taken me four long hours to come from +the Abbey here, most of which time we spent in mud-holes that have +wearied the horses and, as I fear, strained the wheels of this crazy +wagon. Still, here we are at last, and, noble sir,” he added, bowing to +Sir Andrew, “here too is the wine that your son bought of me.” + +“My nephew,” interrupted Sir Andrew. + +“Once more your pardon. I thought from their likeness to you that these +knights were your sons.” + +“Has he bought all that stuff?” asked Sir Andrew—for there were five +tubs on the wagon, besides one or two smaller kegs and some packages +wrapped in sheepskin. + +“No, alas!” answered the Cypriote ruefully, and shrugging his +shoulders. “Only two of the Mavro. The rest I took to the Abbey, for I +understood the holy Prior to say he would purchase six casks, but it +seems that it was but three he needed.” + +“He said three,” put in Wulf. + +“Did he, sir? Then doubtless the error was mine, who speak your tongue +but ill. So I must drag the rest back again over those accursed roads,” +and he made another grimace. “Yet I will ask you, sir,” he added to Sir +Andrew, “to lighten the load a little by accepting this small keg of +the old sweet vintage that grows on the slopes of Trooidos.” + +“I remember it well,” said Sir Andrew, with a smile; “but, friend, I do +not wish to take your wine for nothing.” + +At these words the face of Georgios beamed. + +“What, noble sir,” he exclaimed, “do you know my land of Cyprus? Oh, +then indeed I kiss your hands, and surely you will not affront me by +refusing this little present? Indeed, to be frank, I can afford to lose +its price, who have done a good trade, even here in Essex.” + +“As you will,” said Sir Andrew. “I thank you, and perhaps you have +other things to sell.” + +“I have indeed; a few embroideries if this most gracious lady would be +pleased to look at them. Some carpets also, such as the Moslems used to +pray on in the name of their false prophet, Mahomet,” and, turning, he +spat upon the ground. + +“I see that you are a Christian,” said Sir Andrew. “Yet, although I +fought against them, I have known many a good Mussulman. Nor do I think +it necessary to spit at the name of Mahomet, who to my mind was a great +man deceived by the artifice of Satan.” + +“Neither do I,” said Godwin reflectively. “Its true servants should +fight the enemies of the Cross and pray for their souls, not spit at +them.” + +The merchant looked at them curiously, fingering the silver crucifix +that hung upon his breast. “The captors of the Holy City thought +otherwise,” he said, “when they rode into the Mosque El Aksa up to +their horses’ knees in blood, and I have been taught otherwise. But the +times grow liberal, and, after all, what right has a poor trader whose +mind, alas! is set more on gain than on the sufferings of the blessed +Son of Mary,” and he crossed himself, “to form a judgment upon such +high matters? Pardon me, I accept your reproof, who perhaps am +bigoted.” + +Yet, had they but known it, this “reproof” was to save the life of many +a man that night. + +“May I ask help with these packages?” he went on, “as I cannot open +them here, and to move the casks? Nay, the little keg I will carry +myself, as I hope that you will taste of it at your Christmas feast. It +must be gently handled, though I fear me that those roads of yours will +not improve its quality.” Then twisting the tub from the end of the +wain onto his shoulder in such a fashion that it remained upright, he +walked off lightly towards the open door of the hall. + +“For one not tall that man is strangely strong,” thought Wulf, who +followed with a bale of carpets. + +Then the other casks of wine were stowed away in the stone cellar +beneath the hall. + +Leaving his servant—a silent, stupid-looking, dark-eyed fellow named +Petros—to bait the horses, Georgios entered the hall and began to +unpack his carpets and embroideries with all the skill of one who had +been trained in the bazaars of Cairo, Damascus, or Nicosia. Beautiful +things they were which he had to show; broideries that dazzled the eye, +and rugs of many hues, yet soft and bright as an otter’s pelt. As Sir +Andrew looked at them, remembering long dead days, his face softened. + +“I will buy that rug,” he said, “for of a truth it might be one on +which I lay sick many a year ago in the house of Ayoub at Damascus. +Nay, I haggle not at the price. I will buy it.” Then he fell to +thinking how, whilst lying on such a rug (indeed, although he knew it +not, it was the same), looking through the rounded beads of the wooden +lattice-work of his window, he had first seen his Eastern wife walking +in the orange garden with her father Ayoub. Afterwards, still recalling +his youth, he began to talk of Cyprus, and so time went on until the +dark was falling. + +Now Georgios said that he must be going, as he had sent back his guide +to Southminster, where the man desired to eat his Christmas feast. So +the reckoning was paid—it was a long one—and while the horses were +harnessed to the wain the merchant bored holes in the little cask of +wine and set spigots in them, bidding them all be sure to drink of it +that night. Then calling down good fortune on them for their kindness +and liberality, he made his salaams in the Eastern fashion, and +departed, accompanied by Wulf. + +Within five minutes there was a sound of shouting, and Wulf was back +again saying that the wheel of the wain had broken at the first turn, +so that now it was lying upon its side in the courtyard. Sir Andrew and +Godwin went out to see to the matter, and there they found Georgios +wringing his hands, as only an Eastern merchant can, and cursing in +some foreign tongue. + +“Noble knights,” he said, “what am I to do? Already it is nearly dark, +and how I shall find my way up yonder steep hill I know not. As for the +priceless broideries, I suppose they must stay here for the night, +since that wheel cannot be mended till to-morrow—” + +“As you had best do also,” said Sir Andrew kindly. “Come, man, do not +grieve; we are used to broken axles here in Essex, and you and your +servant may as well eat your Christmas dinners at Steeple as in +Southminster.” + +“I thank you, Sir Knight; I thank you. But why should I, who am but a +merchant, thrust myself upon your noble company? Let me stop outside +with my man, Petros, and dine with your people in that barn, where I +see they are making ready their food.” + +“By no means,” answered Sir Andrew. “Leave your servant with my people, +who will look after him, and come you into the hall, and tell me some +more of Cyprus till our food is ready, which will be soon. Do not fear +for your goods; they shall be placed under cover.” + +“All unworthy as I am, I obey,” answered the obsequious Georgios. +“Petros, do you understand? This noble lord gives us hospitality for +the night. His people will show you where to eat and sleep, and help +you with your horses.” + +This man, who, he explained, was a Cypriote—a fisherman in summer and a +muleteer in winter—bowed, and fixing his dark eyes upon those of his +master, spoke in some foreign tongue. + +“You hear what he says, the silly fellow?” said Georgios. “What? You do +not understand Greek—only Arabic? Well, he asks me to give him money to +pay for his dinner and his night’s lodging. You must forgive him, for +he is but a simple peasant, and cannot believe that anyone may be +lodged and fed without payment. I will explain to him, the pig!” And +explain he did in shrill, high notes, of which no one else could +understand a word. + +“There, Sir Knight, I do not think he will offend you so again. Ah! +look. He is walking off—he is sulky. Well, let him alone; he will be +back for his dinner, the pig! Oh, the wet and the wind! A Cypriote does +not mind them in his sheepskins, in which he will sleep even in the +snow.” + +So, Georgios still declaiming upon the shortcomings of his servant, +they went back into the hall. Here the conversation soon turned upon +other matters, such as the differences between the creeds of the Greek +and Latin churches—a subject upon which he seemed to be an expert—and +the fear of the Christians in Cyprus lest Saladin should attempt to +capture that island. + +At length five o’clock came, and Georgios having first been taken to +the lavatory—it was but a stone trough—to wash his hands, was led to +the dinner, or rather to the supper-table, which stood upon a dais in +front of the entrance to the solar. Here places were laid for six—Sir +Andrew, his nephews, Rosamund, the chaplain, Matthew, who celebrated +masses in the church and ate at the hall on feast-days, and the +Cypriote merchant, Georgios himself. Below the dais, and between it and +the fire, was another table, at which were already gathered twelve +guests, being the chief tenants of Sir Andrew and the reeves of his +outlying lands. On most days the servants of the house, with the +huntsmen, swineherds, and others, sat at a third table beyond the fire. +But as nothing would stop these from growing drunken on the good ale at +a feast, and though many ladies thought little of it, there was no sin +that Rosamund hated so much as this, now their lord sent them to eat +and drink at their ease in the barn which stood in the courtyard with +its back to the moat. + +When all had taken their seats, the chaplain said grace, and the meal +began. It was rude but very plentiful. First, borne in by the cook on a +wooden platter, came a great codfish, whereof he helped portions to +each in turn, laying them on their “trenchers”—that is, large slices of +bread—whence they ate them with the spoons that were given to each. +After the fish appeared the meats, of which there were many sorts, +served on silver spits. These included fowls, partridges, duck, and, +chief of all, a great swan, that the tenants greeted by knocking their +horn mugs upon the table; after which came the pastries, and with them +nuts and apples. For drink, ale was served at the lower table. On the +dais however, they drank some of the black wine which Wulf had +bought—that is, except Sir Andrew and Rosamund, the former because he +dared not, and the latter because she had always hated any drink but +water—a dislike that came to her, doubtless, with her Eastern blood. + +Thus they grew merry since their guest proved himself a cheerful +fellow, who told them many stories of love and war, for he seemed to +know much of loves, and to have been in sundry wars. At these even Sir +Andrew, forgetting his ailments and forebodings, laughed well, while +Rosamund, looking more beautiful than ever in the gold-starred veil and +the broidered tunic which the brethren had given her, listened to them, +smiling somewhat absently. At last the feast drew towards its end, when +suddenly, as though struck by a sudden recollection, Georgios +exclaimed: + +“The wine! The liquid amber from Trooidos! I had forgotten it. Noble +knight, have I your leave to draw?” + +“Ay, excellent merchant,” answered Sir Andrew. “Certainly you can draw +your own wine.” + +So Georgios rose, and took a large jug and a silver tankard from the +sideboard where such things were displayed. With these he went to the +little keg which, it will be remembered, had been stood ready upon the +trestles, and, bending over it while he drew the spigots, filled the +vessels to the brim. Then he beckoned to a reeve sitting at the lower +table to bring him a leather jack that stood upon the board. Having +rinsed it out with wine, he filled that also, handing it with the jug +to the reeve to drink their lord’s health on this Yule night. The +silver vessel he bore back to the high table, and with his own hand +filled the horn cups of all present, Rosamund alone excepted, for she +would touch none, although he pressed her hard and looked vexed at her +refusal. Indeed, it was because it seemed to pain the man that Sir +Andrew, ever courteous, took a little himself, although, when his back +was turned, he filled the goblet up with water. At length, when all was +ready, Georgios charged, or seemed to charge, his own horn, and, +lifting it, said: + +“Let us drink, every one of us here, to the noble knight, Sir Andrew +D’Arcy, to whom I wish, in the phrase of my own people, that he may +live for ever. Drink, friends, drink deep, for never will wine such as +this pass your lips again.” + +Then, lifting his beaker, he appeared to drain it in great gulps—an +example which all followed, even Sir Andrew drinking a little from his +cup, which was three parts filled with water. There followed a long +murmur of satisfaction. + +“Wine! It is nectar!” said Wulf. + +“Ay,” put in the chaplain, Matthew; “Adam might have drunk this in the +Garden,” while from the lower table came jovial shouts of praise of +this smooth, creamlike vintage. + +Certainly that wine was both rich and strong. Thus, after his sup of +it, a veil as it were seemed to fall on the mind of Sir Andrew and to +cover it up. It lifted again, and lo! his brain was full of memories +and foresights. Circumstances which he had forgotten for many years +came back to him altogether, like a crowd of children tumbling out to +play. These passed, and he grew suddenly afraid. Yet what had he to +fear that night? The gates across the moat were locked and guarded. +Trusty men, a score or more of them, ate in his outbuildings within +those gates; while others, still more trusted, sat in his hall; and on +his right hand and on his left were those two strong and valiant +knights, Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf. No, there was nothing to fear—and yet +he felt afraid. Suddenly he heard a voice speak. It was Rosamund’s; and +she said: + +“Why is there such silence, father? A while ago I heard the servants +and bondsmen carousing in the barn; now they are still as death. Oh, +and look! Are all here drunken? Godwin—” + +But as she spoke Godwin’s head fell forward on the board, while Wulf +rose, half drew his sword, then threw his arm about the neck of the +priest, and sank with him to the ground. As it was with these, so it +seemed with all, for folk rocked to and fro, then sank to sleep, +everyone of them, save the merchant Georgios, who rose to call another +toast. + +“Stranger,” said Sir Andrew, in a heavy voice, “your wine is very +strong.” + +“It would seem so, Sir Knight,” he answered; “but I will wake them from +their wassail.” Springing from the dais lightly as a cat, he ran down +the hall crying, “Air is what they need. Air!” Now coming to the door, +he threw it wide open, and drawing a silver whistle from his robe, blew +it long and loud. “What,” he laughed, “do they still sleep? Why, then, +I must give a toast that will rouse them all,” and seizing a horn mug, +he waved it and shouted: + +“Arouse you, ye drunkards, and drink to the lady Rose of the World, +princess of Baalbec, and niece to my royal master, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, +who sends me to lead her to him!” + +“Oh, father,” shrieked Rosamund, “the wine was drugged and we are +betrayed!” + +As the words passed her lips there rose a sound of running feet, and +through the open door at the far end of the hall burst in a score or +over of armed men. Then at last Sir Andrew saw and understood. + +With a roar of rage like that of a wounded lion, he seized his daughter +and dragged her back with him down the passage into the solar where a +fire burned and lights had been lit ready for their retiring, flinging +to and bolting the door behind them. + +“Swift!” he said, as he tore his gown from him, “there is no escape, +but at least I can die fighting for you. Give me my mail.” + +She snatched his hauberk from the wall, and while they thundered at the +door, did it on to him—ay, and his steel helm also, and gave him his +long sword and his shield. + +“Now,” he said, “help me.” And they thrust the oak table forward, and +overset it in front of the door, throwing the chairs and stools on +either side, that men might stumble on them. + +“There is a bow,” he said, “and you can use it as I have taught you. +Get to one side and out of reach of the sword sweeps, and shoot past me +as they rush; it may stay one of them. Oh, that Godwin and Wulf were +here, and we would still teach these Paynim dogs a lesson!” + +Rosamund made no answer but there came into her mind a vision of the +agony of Godwin and of Wulf should they ever wake again to learn what +had chanced to her and them. She looked round. Against the wall stood a +little desk, at which Godwin was wont to write, and on it lay pen and +parchment. She seized them, and as the door gave slowly inwards, +scrawled: + +“Follow me to Saladin. In that hope I live on.—Rosamund.” + +Then as the stout door at length crashed in Rosamund turned what she +had written face downwards on the desk, and seizing the bow, set an +arrow to its string. Now it was down and on rushed the mob up the six +feet of narrow passage. At the end of it, in front of the overturned +table, they halted suddenly. For there before them, skull-emblazoned, +shield on arm, his long sword lifted, and a terrible wrath burning in +his eyes, stood the old knight, like a wolf at bay, and by his side, +bow in hand, the beauteous lady Rosamund, clad in all her festal +broideries. + +“Yield you!” cried a voice. By way of answer the bowstring twanged, and +an arrow sped home to its feathers through the throat of the speaker, +so that he went down, grabbing at it, and spoke no more for ever. + +As he fell clattering to the floor, Sir Andrew cried in a great voice: + +“We yield not to pagan dogs and poisoners. _A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy! Meet +D’Arcy, meet Death!_” + +Thus for the last time did old Sir Andrew utter the warcry of his race, +which he had feared would never pass his lips again. His prayer had +been heard, and he was to die as he had desired. + +“Down with him! seize the Princess!” said a voice. It was that of +Georgios, no longer humble with a merchant’s obsequious whine, but +speaking in tones of cold command and in Arabic. For a moment the +swarthy mob hung back, as well they might in face of that glittering +sword. Then with a cry of “_Salah-ed-din! Salah-ed-din!_” on they +surged, with flashing spears and scimitars. The overthrown table was in +front of them, and one leapt upon its edge, but as he leapt, the old +knight, all his years and sickness forgotten now, sprang forward and +struck downwards, so heavy a blow that in the darkling mouth of the +passage the sparks streamed out, and where the Saracen’s head had been, +appeared his heels. Back Sir Andrew stepped again to win space for his +sword-play, while round the ends of the table broke two fierce-faced +men. At one of them Rosamund shot with her bow, and the arrow pierced +his thigh, but as he fell he struck with his keen scimitar and shore +the end off the bow, so that it was useless. The second man caught his +foot in the bar of the oak chair which he did not see, and went down +prone, while Sir Andrew, taking no heed of him, rushed with a shout at +the crowd who followed, and catching their blows upon his shield, +rained down others so desperate that, being hampered by their very +number, they gave before him, and staggered back along the passage. + +“Guard your right, father!” cried Rosamund. He sprang round, to see the +Saracen, who had fallen, on his feet again. At him he went, nor did the +man wait the onset, but turned to fly, only to find his death, for the +great sword caught him between neck and shoulders. Now a voice cried: +“We make poor sport with this old lion, and lose men. Keep clear of his +claws, and whelm him with spear casts.” + +But Rosamund, who understood their tongue, sprang in front of him, and +answered in Arabic: + +“Ay, through my breast; and go, tell that tale to Saladin!” + +Then, clear and calm was heard the command of Georgios. “He who harms a +hair of the Princess dies. Take them both living if you may, but lay no +hand on her. Stay, let us talk.” + +So they ceased from their onslaught and began to consult together. + +Rosamund touched her father and pointed to the man who lay upon the +floor with an arrow through his thigh. He was struggling to his knee, +raising the heavy scimitar in his hand. Sir Andrew lifted his sword as +a husbandman lifts a stick to kill a rat, then let it fall again, +saying: + +“I fight not with the wounded. Drop that steel, and get you back to +your own folk.” + +The fellow obeyed him—yes, and even touched the floor with his forehead +in salaam as he crawled away, for he knew that he had been given his +life, and that the deed was noble towards him who had planned a +coward’s stroke. Then Georgios stepped forward, no longer the same +Georgios who had sold poisoned wine and Eastern broideries, but a +proud-looking, high-browed Saracen clad in the mail which he wore +beneath his merchant’s robe, and in place of the crucifix wearing on +his breast a great star-shaped jewel, the emblem of his house and rank. + +“Sir Andrew,” he said, “hearken to me, I pray you. Noble was that act,” +and he pointed to the wounded man being dragged away by his fellows, +“and noble has been your defence—well worthy of your lineage and your +knighthood. It is a tale that my master,” and he bowed as he said the +word, “will love to hear if it pleases Allah that we return to him in +safety. Also you will think that I have played a knave’s trick upon +you, overcoming the might of those gallant knights, Sir Godwin and Sir +Wulf, not with sword blows but with drugged wine, and treating all your +servants in like fashion, since not one of them can shake off its fumes +before to-morrow’s light. So indeed it is—a very scurvy trick which I +shall remember with shame to my life’s end, and that perchance may yet +fall back upon my head in blood and vengeance. Yet bethink you how we +stand, and forgive us. We are but a little company of men in your great +country, hidden, as it were, in a den of lions, who, if they saw us, +would slay us without mercy. That, indeed, is a small thing, for what +are our lives, of which your sword has taken tithe, and not only yours, +but those of the twin brethren on the quay by the water?” + +“I thought it,” broke in Sir Andrew contemptuously. “Indeed, that deed +was worthy of you—twenty or more men against two.” + +Georgios held up his hand. + +“Judge us not harshly,” he said, speaking slowly, who, for his own ends +wished to gain time, “you who have read the letter of our lord. See +you, these were my commands: To secure the lady Rose of the World as +best I might, but if possible without bloodshed. Now I was +reconnoitring the country with a troop of the sailors from my ship who +are but poor fighters, and a few of my own people, when my spies +brought me word that she had ridden out attended by only two men, and +surely I thought that already she was in my hands. But the knights +foiled me by strategy and strength, and you know the end of it. So +afterwards my messenger presented the letter, which, indeed, should +have been done at first. The letter failed also, for neither you, nor +the Princess”—and he bowed to Rosamund—“could be bought. More, the +whole country was awakened; you were surrounded with armed men, the +knightly brethren kept watch and ward over you, and you were about to +fly to London, where it would have been hard to snare you. Therefore, +because I must, I—who am a prince and an emir, who also, although you +remember it not, have crossed swords with you in my youth; yes, at +Harenc—became a dealer in drugged wine. + +“Now hearken. Yield you, Sir Andrew, who have done enough to make your +name a song for generations, and accept the love of Salah-ed-din, whose +word you have, the word that, as you know well, cannot be broken, which +I, the lord El-Hassan—for no meaner man has been sent upon this +errand—plight to you afresh. Yield you, and save your life, and live on +in honour, clinging to your own faith, till Azrael takes you from the +pleasant fields of Baalbec to the waters of Paradise—if such there be +for infidels, however gallant. + +“For know, this deed must be done. Did we return without the princess +Rose of the World, we should die, every one of us, and did we offer her +harm or insult, then more horribly than I can tell you. This is no +fancy of a great king that drives him on to the stealing of a woman, +although she be of his own high blood. The voice of God has spoken to +Salah-ed-din by the mouth of his angel Sleep. Thrice has Allah spoken +in dreams, telling him who is merciful, that through your daughter and +her nobleness alone can countless lives be saved; therefore, sooner +than she should escape him, he would lose even the half of all his +empire. Outwit us, defeat us now, capture us, cause us to be tortured +and destroyed, and other messengers would come to do his bidding— +indeed, they are already on the way. Moreover, it is useless to shed +more blood, seeing it is written in the Books that this lady, Rose of +the World, must return to the East where she was begot, there to fulfil +her destiny and save the lives of men.” + +“Then, emir El-Hassan, I shall return as a spirit,” said Rosamund +proudly. + +“Not so, Princess,” he answered, bowing, “for Allah alone has power +over your life, and it is otherwise decreed. Sir Andrew, the time grows +short, and I must fulfil my mission. Will you take the peace of +Salah-ed-din, or force his servants to take your life?” + +The old knight listened, resting on his reddened sword; then he lifted +his head, and spoke: + +“I am aged and near my death, wine-seller Georgios, or prince +El-Hassan, whichever you may be. In my youth I swore to make no pact +with Paynims, and in my eld I will not break that vow. While I can lift +sword I will defend my daughter, even against the might of Saladin. Get +to your coward’s work again, and let things go as God has willed them.” + +“Then, Princess,” answered El-Hassan, “bear me witness throughout the +East that I am innocent of your father’s blood. On his own head be it, +and on yours,” and for the second time he blew upon the whistle that +hung around his neck. + + + + +Chapter VII. +The Banner of Saladin + + +As the echoes of Hassan’s whistle died away there was a crash amongst +the wooden shutters of the window behind them, and down into the room +leaped a long, lithe figure, holding an axe aloft. Before Sir Andrew +could turn to see whence the sound came, that axe dealt him a fearful +blow between the shoulders which, although the ringed mail remained +unshorn, shattered his spine beneath. Down he fell, rolled on to his +back, and lay there, still able to speak and without pain, but helpless +as a child. For he was paralysed, and never more would move hand or +foot or head. + +In the silence that followed he spoke in a heavy voice, letting his +eyes rest upon the man who had struck him down. + +“A knightly blow, truly; one worthy of a Christian born who does murder +for Paynim pay! Traitor to God and man, who have eaten my bread and now +slaughter me like an ox on my hearth-stone, may your own end be even +worse, and at the hands of those you serve.” + +The palmer Nicholas, for it was he, although he no longer wore the +palmer’s robe, slunk away muttering, and was lost among the crowd in +the passage. Then, with a sudden and a bitter cry, Rosamund swooped +forward, as a bird swoops, snatched up the sword her sire would never +lift again, and setting its hilt upon the floor, cast herself forward. +But its point never touched her breast, for the emir sprang swiftly and +struck the steel aside; then, as she fell, caught her in his arms. +“Lady,” he said, loosing her very gently. “Allah does not need you yet. +I have told you that it is not fated. Now will you pass me your +word—for being of the blood of Salah-ed-din and D’Arcy, you, too, +cannot lie—that neither now nor afterwards you will attempt to harm +yourself? If not, I must bind you, which I am loth to do—it is a +sacrilege to which I pray you will not force me.” + +“Promise, Rosamund,” said the hollow voice of her father, “and go to +fulfil your fate. Self-murder is a crime, and the man is right; it is +decreed. I bid you promise.” + +“I obey and promise,” said Rosamund. “It is your hour, my lord Hassan.” + +He bowed deeply and answered: + +“I am satisfied, and henceforth we are your servants. Princess, the +night air is bitter; you cannot travel thus. In which chamber are your +garments?” + +She pointed with her finger. A man took a taper, and, accompanied by +two others, entered the place, to return presently with their arms full +of all the apparel they could find. Indeed, they even brought her +missal and the silver crucifix which hung above her bed and with it her +leathern case of trinkets. + +“Keep out the warmest cloak,” said Hassan, “and tie the rest up in +those carpets.” + +So the rugs that Sir Andrew had bought that day from the merchant +Georgios were made to serve as travelling bags to hold his daughter’s +gear. Thus even in this hour of haste and danger thought was taken for +her comfort. + +“Princess,” said Hassan, bowing, “my master, your uncle, sent you +certain jewels of no mean value. Is it your wish that they should +accompany you?” + +Without lifting her eyes from her dying father’s face, Rosamund +answered heavily: + +“Where they are, there let them bide. What have I to do with jewels?” + +“Your will is my law,” he said, “and others will be found for you. +Princess, all is ready; we wait your pleasure.” + +“My pleasure? Oh, God, my pleasure?” exclaimed Rosamund in the same +drear voice, still staring at her father, who lay before her on the +ground. + +“I cannot help it,” said Hassan, answering the question in her eyes, +and there was grief in his tone. “He would not come, he brought it on +himself; though in truth I wish that accursed Frank had not struck so +shrewdly. If you ask it, we will bear him with you; but, lady, it is +idle to hide the truth—he is sped. I have studied medicine, and I +know.” + +“Nay,” said Sir Andrew from the floor, “leave me here. Daughter, we +must part awhile. As I stole his child from Ayoub, so Ayoub’s son +steals my child from me. Daughter, cling to the faith—that we may meet +again.” + +“To the death,” she answered. + +“Be comforted,” said Hassan. “Has not Salah-ed-din passed his word that +except her own will or that of Allah should change her heart, a +Cross-worshipper she may live and die? Lady, for your own sake as well +as ours, let this sad farewell be brief. Begone, my servants, taking +these dead and wounded with you. There are things it is not fitting +that common eyes should see.” + +They obeyed, and the three of them remained alone together. Then +Rosamund knelt down beside her father, and they whispered into each +other’s ears. Hassan turned his back upon them, and threw the corner of +his cloak over his head and eyes that he might neither see nor hear +their voices in this dread and holy hour of parting. + +It would seem that they found some kind of hope and consolation in +it—at least when Rosamund kissed him for the last time, Sir Andrew +smiled and said: + +“Yes, yes; it may all be for the best. God will guard you, and His will +be done. But I forgot. Tell me, daughter, which?” + +Again she whispered into his ear, and when he had thought a moment, he +answered: + +“Maybe you are right. I think that is wisest for all. And now on the +three of you—aye, and on your children’s children’s children—let my +blessing rest, as rest it shall. Come hither, Emir.” + +Hassan heard him through his cloak, and, uncovering, came. + +“Say to Saladin, your master, that he has been too strong for me, and +paid me back in my own coin. Well, had it been otherwise, my daughter +and I must soon have parted, for death drew near to me. At least it is +the decree of God, to which I bow my head, trusting there may be truth +in that dream of his, and that our sorrows, in some way unforeseen, +will bring blessings to our brethren in the East. But to Saladin say +also that whatever his bigot faith may teach, for Christian and for +Paynim there is a meeting-place beyond the grave. Say that if aught of +wrong or insult is done towards this maiden, I swear by the God who +made us both that there I will hold him to account. Now, since it must +be so, take her and go your way, knowing that my spirit follows after +you and her; yes, and that even in this world she will find avengers.” + +“I hear your words, and I will deliver them,” answered Hassan. “More, I +believe that they are true, and for the rest you have the oath of +Salah-ed-din—ay, and my oath while she is in my charge. Therefore, Sir +Andrew D’Arcy, forgive us, who are but the instruments of Allah, and +die in peace.” + +“I, who have so much to be forgiven, forgive you,” answered the old +knight slowly. + +Then his eyes fixed themselves upon his daughter’s face with one long, +searching look, and closed. + +“I think that he is dead,” said Hassan. “May God, the Merciful and +Compassionate, rest his soul!” And taking a white garment from the +wall, he flung it over him, adding, “Lady, come.” + +Thrice Rosamund looked at the shrouded figure on the floor; once she +wrung her hands and seemed about to fall. Then, as though a thought +struck her, she lifted her father’s sword from where it lay, and +gathering her strength, drew herself up and passed like a queen down +the blood-stained passage and the steps of the solar. In the hall +beneath waited the band of Hassan, who bowed as she came—a vision of +despairing loveliness, that held aloft a red and naked sword. There, +too, lay the drugged men fallen this way and that, and among them Wulf +across the table, and Godwin on the dais. Rosamund spoke. + +“Are these dead or sleeping?” + +“Have no fear,” answered Hassan. “By my hope of paradise, they do but +sleep, and will awake ere morning.” + +Rosamund pointed to the renegade Nicholas—he that had struck down her +father from behind—who, an evil look upon his face, stood apart from +the Saracens, holding in his hand a lighted torch. + +“What does this man with the torch?” she asked. + +“If you would know, lady,” Nicholas answered with a sneer, “I wait till +you are out of it to fire the hall.” + +“Prince Hassan,” said Rosamund, “is this a deed that great Saladin +would wish, to burn drugged men beneath their own roof? Now, as you +shall answer to him, in the name of Saladin I, a daughter of his House, +command you, strike the fire from that man’s hand, and in my hearing +give your order that none should even think of such an act of shame.” + +“What?” broke in Nicholas, “and leave knights like these, whose quality +you know”—and he pointed to the brethren—“to follow in our path, and +take our lives in vengeance? Why, it is madness!” + +“Are you master here, traitor, or am I?” asked Hassan in cold contempt. +“Let them follow if they will, and I for one shall rejoice to meet foes +so brave in open battle, and there give them their revenge. Ali,” he +added, addressing the man who had been disguised as a merchant’s +underling, and who had drugged the men in the barn as his master had +drugged those in the hall, and opened the moat gate to the band, “Ali, +stamp upon the torch and guard that Frank till we reach the boat lest +the fool should raise the country on us with his fires. Now, Princess, +are you satisfied?” + +“Ay, having your word,” she answered. “One moment, I pray you. I would +leave a token to my knights.” + +Then, while they watched her with wondering eyes, she unfastened the +gold cross and chain that hung upon her bosom, and slipping the cross +from the chain, went to where Godwin lay, and placed it on his breast. +Next, with a swift movement, she wound the chain about the silver hilt +of Sir Andrew’s sword, and passing to Wulf, with one strong thrust, +drove the point between the oak boards of the table, so that it stood +before him—at once a cross, a brand of battle, and a lady’s token. + +“His grandsire bore it,” she said in Arabic, “when he leapt on to the +walls of Jerusalem. It is my last gift to him.” But the Saracens +muttered and turned pale at these words of evil omen. + +Then taking the hand of Hassan, who stood searching her white, +inscrutable face, with never a word or a backward look, she swept down +the length of the long hall, and out into the night beyond. + +“It would have been well to take my counsel and fire the place, or at +least to cut the throats of all within it,” said the man Nicholas to +his guard Ali as they followed with the rest. “If I know aught of these +brethren, cross and sword will soon be hard upon our track, and men’s +lives must pay the price of such soft folly.” And he shivered as though +in fear. + +“It may be so, Spy,” answered the Saracen, looking at him with sombre, +contemptuous eyes. “It may be that your life will pay the price.” + +Wulf was dreaming, dreaming that he stood on his head upon a wooden +plank, as once he had seen a juggler do, which turned round one way +while he turned round the other, till at length some one shouted at +him, and he tumbled off the board and hurt himself. Then he awoke to +hear a voice shouting surely enough—the voice of Matthew, the chaplain +of Steeple Church. + +“Awake!” said the voice. “In God’s name, I conjure you, awake!” + +“What is it?” he said, lifting his head sleepily, and becoming +conscious of a dull pain across his forehead. + +“It is that death and the devil have been here, Sir Wulf.” + +“Well, they are often near together. But I thirst. Give me water.” + +A serving-woman, pallid, dishevelled, heavy-eyed, who was stumbling to +and fro, lighting torches and tapers, for it was still dark, brought it +to him in a leathern jack, from which he drank deeply. + +“That is better,” he said. Then his eye fell upon the bloody sword set +point downwards in the wood of the table before him, and he exclaimed, +“Mother of God! what is that? My uncle’s silver-hilted sword, red with +blood, and Rosamund’s gold chain upon the hilt! Priest, where is the +lady Rosamund?” + +“Gone,” answered the chaplain in a voice that sounded like a groan. +“The women woke and found her gone, and Sir Andrew lies dead or dying +in the solar—but now I have shriven him—and oh! we have all been +drugged. Look at them!” and he waved his hand towards the recumbent +forms. “I say that the devil has been here.” + +Wulf sprang to his feet with an oath. + +“The devil? Ah! I have it now. You mean the Cyprian chapman Georgios. +He who sold wine.” + +“He who sold drugged wine,” echoed the chaplain, “and has stolen away +the lady Rosamund.” + +Then Wulf seemed to go mad. + +“Stolen Rosamund over our sleeping carcases! Stolen Rosamund with never +a blow struck by us to save her! O, Christ, that such a thing should +be! O, Christ, that I should live to hear it!” And he, the mighty man, +the knight of skill and strength, broke down and wept like a very +child. But not for long, for presently he shouted in a voice of +thunder: + +“Awake, ye drunkards! Awake, and learn what has chanced to us. Your +lady Rosamund has been raped away while we were lost in sleep!” + +At the sound of that great voice a tall form arose from the floor, and +staggered towards him, holding a gold cross in its hand. + +“What awful words are those, my brother?” asked Godwin, who, pale and +dull-eyed, rocked to and fro before him. Then he, too, saw the red +sword and stared, first at it and next at the gold cross in his hand. +“My uncle’s sword, Rosamund’s chain, Rosamund’s cross! Where, then, is +Rosamund?” + +“Gone! gone! gone!” cried Wulf. “Tell him, priest.” + +So the chaplain told him all he knew. + +“Thus have we kept our oaths,” went on Wulf. “Oh, what can we do now, +save die for very shame?” + +“Nay,” answered Godwin, dreamingly; “we can live on to save her. See, +these are her tokens—the cross for me, the blood-stained sword for you, +and about its hilt the chain, a symbol of her slavery. Now both of us +must bear the cross; both of us must wield the sword, and both of us +must cut the chain, or if we fail, then die.” + +“You rave,” said Wulf; “and little wonder. Here, drink water. Would +that we had never touched aught else, as she did, and desired that we +should do. What said you of my uncle, priest? Dead, or only dying? Nay, +answer not, let us see. Come, brother.” + +Now together they ran, or rather reeled, torch in hand, along the +passage. + +Wulf saw the bloodstains on the floor and laughed savagely. + +“The old man made a good fight,” he said, “while, like drunken brutes, +we slept.” + +They were there, and before them, beneath the white, shroud-like cloak, +lay Sir Andrew, the steel helm on his head, and his face beneath it +even whiter than the cloak. + +At the sound of their footsteps he opened his eyes. “At length, at +length,” he muttered. “Oh, how many years have I waited for you? Nay, +be silent, for I do not know how long my strength will last, but +listen—kneel down and listen.” + +So they knelt on either side of him, and in quick, fierce words he told +them all—of the drugging, of the fight, of the long parley carried on +to give the palmer knave time to climb to the window; of his cowardly +blow, and of what chanced afterwards. Then his strength seemed to fail +him, but they poured drink down his throat, and it came back again. + +“Take horse swiftly,” he gasped, pausing now and again to rest, “and +rouse the countryside. There is still a chance. Nay, seven hours have +gone by; there is no chance. Their plans were too well laid; by now +they will be at sea. So hear me. Go to Palestine. There is money for +your faring in my chest, but go alone, with no company, for in time of +peace these would betray you. Godwin, draw off this ring from my +finger, and with it as a token, find out Jebal, the black sheik of the +Mountain Tribe at Masyaf on Lebanon. Bid him remember the vow he made +to Andrew D’Arcy, the English knight. If any can aid you, it will be +Jebal, who hates the Houses of Nur-ed-din and of Ayoub. So, I charge +you, let nothing—I say nothing—turn you aside from seeking him. + +“Afterwards act as God shall guide you. If they still live, kill that +traitor Nicholas and Hugh Lozelle, but, save in open war, spare the +Emir Hassan, who did but do his duty as an Eastern reads it, and showed +some mercy, for he could have slain or burnt us all. This riddle has +been hard for me; yet now, in my dying hour, I seem to see its answer. +I think that Saladin did not dream in vain. Keep brave hearts, for I +think also that at Masyaf you will find friends, and that things will +yet go well, and our sorrows bear good fruit. + +“What is that you said? She left you my father’s sword, Wulf? Then +wield it bravely, winning honour for our name. She left you the cross, +Godwin? Wear it worthily, winning glory for the Lord, and salvation to +your soul. Remember what you have sworn. Whate’er befall, bear no +bitterness to one another. Be true to one another, and to her, your +lady, so that when at the last you make your report to me before high +Heaven, I may have no cause to be ashamed of you, my nephews, Godwin +and Wulf.” + +For a moment the dying man was silent, until his face lit up as with a +great gladness, and he cried in a loud, clear voice, “Beloved wife, I +hear you! O, God, I come!” + +Then though his eyes stayed open, and the smile still rested on his +face, his jaw fell. + +Thus died Sir Andrew D’Arcy. + +Still kneeling on either side of him, the brethren watched the end, +and, as his spirit passed, bowed their heads in prayer. + +“We have seen a great death,” said Godwin presently. “Let us learn a +lesson from it, that when our time comes we may die like him.” + +“Ay,” answered Wulf, springing to his feet, “but first let us take +vengeance for it. Why, what is this? Rosamund’s writing! Read it, +Godwin.” + +Godwin took the parchment and read: “_Follow me to Saladin. In that +hope I live on._” + +“Surely we will follow you, Rosamund,” he cried aloud. “Follow you +through life to death or victory.” + +Then he threw down the paper, and calling for the chaplain to come to +watch the body, they ran into the hall. By this time about half of the +folk were awake from their drugged sleep, whilst others who had been +doctored by the man Ali in the barn staggered into the hall—wild-eyed, +white-faced, and holding their hands to their heads and hearts. They +were so sick and bewildered, indeed, that it was difficult to make them +understand what had chanced, and when they learned the truth, the most +of them could only groan. Still, a few were found strong enough in wit +and body to grope their way through the darkness and the falling snow +to Stangate Abbey, to Southminster, and to the houses of their +neighbours, although of these there were none near, praying that every +true man would arm and ride to help them in the hunt. Also Wulf, +cursing the priest Matthew and himself that he had not thought of it +before, called him from his prayers by their dead uncle, and charged +him to climb the church tower as swiftly as he could, and set light to +the beacon that was laid ready there. + +Away he went, taking flint, steel, and tinder with him, and ten minutes +later the blaze was flaring furiously above the roof of Steeple Church, +warning all men of the need for help. Then they armed, saddled such +horses as they had, amongst them the three that had been left there by +the merchant Georgios, and gathered all of them who were not too sick +to ride or run, in the courtyard of the Hall. But as yet their haste +availed them little, for the moon was down. Snow fell also, and the +night was still black as death—so black that a man could scarcely see +the hand he held before his face. So they must wait, and wait they did, +eating their hearts out with grief and rage, and bathing their aching +brows in icy water. + +At length the dawn began to break, and by its first grey light they saw +men mounted and afoot feeling their way through the snow, shouting to +each other as they came to know what dreadful thing had happened at +Steeple. Quickly the tidings spread among them that Sir Andrew was +slain, and the lady Rosamund snatched away by Paynims, while all who +feasted in the place had been drugged with poisoned wine by a man whom +they believed to be a merchant. So soon as a band was got +together—perhaps thirty men in all—and there was light to stir by, they +set out and began to search, though where to look they knew not, for +the snow had covered up all traces of their foes. + +“One thing is certain,” said Godwin, “they must have come by water.” + +“Ay,” answered Wulf, “and landed near by, since, had they far to go, +they would have taken the horses, and must run the risk also of losing +their path in the darkness. To the Staithe! Let us try Steeple +Staithe.” + +So on they went across the meadow to the creek. It lay but three +bow-shots distant. At first they could see nothing, for the snow +covered the stones of the little pier, but presently a man cried out +that the lock of the water house, in which the brethren kept their +fishing-boat, was broken, and next minute, that the boat was gone. + +“She was small; she would hold but six men,” cried a voice. “So great a +company could never have crowded into her.” + +“Fool!” one answered, “there may have been other boats.” + +So they looked again, and beneath the thin coating of rime, found a +mark in the mud by the Staithe, made by the prow of a large boat, and +not far from it a hole in the earth into which a peg had been driven to +make her fast. + +Now the thing seemed clear enough, but it was to be made yet clearer, +for presently, even through the driving snow, the quick eye of Wulf +caught sight of some glittering thing which hung to the edge of a clump +of dead reeds. A man with a lance lifted it out at his command, and +gave it to him. + +“I thought so,” he said in a heavy voice; “it is a fragment of that +star-wrought veil which was my Christmas gift to Rosamund, and she has +torn it off and left it here to show us her road. To St. +Peter’s-on-the-Wall! To St. Peter’s, I say, for there the boats or ship +must pass, and maybe that in the darkness they have not yet won out to +sea.” + +So they turned their horses’ heads, and those of them that were mounted +rode for St. Peter’s by the inland path that runs through Steeple St. +Lawrence and Bradwell town, while those who were not, started to search +along the Saltings and the river bank. On they galloped through the +falling snow, Godwin and Wulf leading the way, whilst behind them +thundered an ever-gathering train of knights, squires and yeomen, who +had seen the beacon flare on Steeple tower, or learned the tale from +messengers—yes, and even of monks from Stangate and traders from +Southminster. + +Hard they rode, but the lanes were heavy with fallen snow and mud +beneath, and the way was far, so that an hour had gone by before +Bradwell was left behind, and the shrine of St. Chad lay but half a +mile in front. Now of a sudden the snow ceased, and a strong northerly +wind springing up, drove the thick mist before it and left the sky hard +and blue behind. Still riding in this mist, they pressed on to where +the old tower loomed in front of them, then drew rein and waited. + +“What is that?” said Godwin presently, pointing to a great, dim thing +upon the vapour-hidden sea. + +As he spoke a strong gust of wind tore away the last veils of mist, +revealing the red face of the risen sun, and not a hundred yards away +from them—for the tide was high—the tall masts of a galley creeping out +to sea beneath her banks of oars. As they stared the wind caught her, +and on the main-mast rose her bellying sail, while a shout of laughter +told them that they themselves were seen. They shook their swords in +the madness of their rage, knowing well who was aboard that galley; +while to the fore peak ran up the yellow flag of Saladin, streaming +there like gold in the golden sunlight. + +Nor was this all, for on the high poop appeared the tall shape of +Rosamund herself, and on one side of her, clad now in coat of mail and +turban, the emir Hassan, whom they had known as the merchant Georgios, +and on the other, a stout man, also clad in mail, who at that distance +looked like a Christian knight. Rosamund stretched out her arms towards +them. Then suddenly she sprang forward as though she would throw +herself into the sea, had not Hassan caught her by the arm and held her +back, whilst the other man who was watching slipped between her and the +bulwark. + +In his fury and despair Wulf drove his horse into the water till the +waves broke about his middle, and there, since he could go no further, +sat shaking his sword and shouting: + +“Fear not! We follow! we follow!” in such a voice of thunder, that even +through the wind and across the everwidening space of foam his words +may have reached the ship. At least Rosamund seemed to hear them, for +she tossed up her arms as though in token. + +But Hassan, one hand pressed upon his heart and the other on his +forehead, only bowed thrice in courteous farewell. + +Then the great sail filled, the oars were drawn in, and the vessel +swept away swiftly across the dancing waves, till at length she +vanished, and they could only see the sunlight playing on the golden +banner of Saladin which floated from her truck. + + + + +Chapter VIII. +The Widow Masouda + + +Many months had gone by since the brethren sat upon their horses that +winter morning, and from the shrine of St. Peter’s-on-the-Wall, at the +mouth of the Blackwater in Essex, watched with anguished hearts the +galley of Saladin sailing southwards; their love and cousin, Rosamund, +standing a prisoner on the deck. Having no ship in which to follow +her—and this, indeed, it would have been too late to do—they thanked +those who had come to aid them, and returned home to Steeple, where +they had matters to arrange. As they went they gathered from this man +and that tidings which made the whole tale clear to them. + +They learned, for instance, then and afterwards, that the galley which +had been thought to be a merchantman put into the river Crouch by +design, feigning an injury to her rudder, and that on Christmas eve she +had moved up with the tide, and anchored in the Blackwater about three +miles from its mouth. Thence a great boat, which she towed behind her, +and which was afterwards found abandoned, had rowed in the dusk, +keeping along the further shore to avoid observation, to the mouth of +Steeple Creek, which she descended at dark, making fast to the Staithe, +unseen of any. Her crew of thirty men or more, guided by the false +palmer Nicholas, next hid themselves in the grove of trees about fifty +yards from the house, where traces of them were found afterwards, +waiting for the signal, and, if that were necessary, ready to attack +and burn the Hall while all men feasted there. But it was not +necessary, since the cunning scheme of the drugged wine, which only an +Eastern could have devised, succeeded. So it happened that the one man +they had to meet in arms was an old knight, of which doubtless they +were glad, as their numbers being few, they wished to avoid a desperate +battle, wherein many must fall, and, if help came, they might be all +destroyed. + +When it was over they led Rosamund to the boat, felt their way down the +creek, towing behind them the little skiff which they had taken from +the water-house—laden with their dead and wounded. This, indeed, proved +the most perilous part of their adventures, since it was very dark, and +came on to snow; also twice they grounded upon mud banks. Still guided +by Nicholas, who had studied the river, they reached the galley before +dawn, and with the first light weighed anchor, and very cautiously +rowed out to sea. The rest is known. + +Two days later, since there was no time to spare, Sir Andrew was buried +with great pomp at Stangate Abbey, in the same tomb where lay the heart +of his brother, the father of the brethren, who had fallen in the +Eastern wars. After he had been laid to rest amidst much lamentation +and in the presence of a great concourse of people, for the fame of +these strange happenings had travelled far and wide, his will was +opened. Then it was found that with the exception of certain sums of +money left to his nephews, a legacy to Stangate Abbey, and another to +be devoted to masses for the repose of his soul, with some gifts to his +servants and the poor, all his estate was devised to his daughter +Rosamund. The brethren, or the survivor of them, however, held it in +trust on her behalf, with the charge that they should keep watch and +ward over her, and manage her lands till she took a husband. + +These lands, together with their own, the brethren placed in the hands +of Prior John of Stangate, in the presence of witnesses, to administer +for them subject to the provisions of the will, taking a tithe of the +rents and profits for his pains. The priceless jewels also that had +been sent by Saladin were given into his keeping, and a receipt with a +list of the same signed in duplicate, deposited with a clerk at +Southminster. This, indeed, was necessary, seeing that none save the +brethren and the Prior knew of these jewels, of which, being of so +great a value, it was not safe to speak. Their affairs arranged, having +first made their wills in favour of each other with remainder to their +heirs-at-law, since it was scarcely to be hoped that both of them would +return alive from such a quest, they received the Communion, and with +it his blessing from the hands of the Prior John. Then early one +morning, before any were astir, they rode quietly away to London. + +On the top of Steeple Hill, sending forward the servant who led the +mule laden with their baggage—that same mule which had been left by the +spy Nicholas—the brethren turned their horses’ heads to look in +farewell on their home. There to the north of them lay the Blackwater, +and to the west the parish of Mayland, towards which the laden barges +crept along the stream of Steeple Creek. Below was the wide flat plain, +outlined with trees, and in it, marked by the plantation where the +Saracens had hid, the Hall and church of Steeple, the home in which +they had grown from childhood to youth, and from youth to man’s estate +in the company of the fair, lost Rosamund, who was the love of both, +and whom both went forth to seek. That past was all behind them, and in +front a dark and troublous future, of which they could not read the +mystery nor guess the end. + +Would they ever look on Steeple Hall again? Were they who stood there +about to match their strength and courage against all the might of +Saladin, doomed to fail or gloriously to succeed? + +Through the darkness that shrouded their forward path shone one bright +star of love—but for which of them did that star shine, or was it +perchance for neither? They knew not. How could they know aught save +that the venture seemed very desperate? Indeed, the few to whom they +had spoken of it thought them mad. Yet they remembered the last words +of Sir Andrew, bidding them keep a high heart, since he believed that +things would yet go well. It seemed to them, in truth, that they were +not quite alone—as though his brave spirit companioned them on their +search, guiding their feet, with ghostly counsel which they could not +hear. + +They remembered also their oaths to him, to one another, and to +Rosamund; and in silent token that they would keep them to the death, +pressed each other’s hands. Then, turning their horses southwards, they +rode forward with light hearts, not caring what befell, if only at the +last, living or dead, Rosamund and her father should, in his own words, +find no cause to be ashamed of them. + +Through the hot haze of a July morning a dromon, as certain merchant +vessels of that time were called, might have been seen drifting before +a light breeze into St. George’s Bay at Beirut, on the coast of Syria. +Cyprus, whence she had sailed last, was not a hundred miles away, yet +she had taken six days to do the journey, not on account of storms—of +which there were none at this time of year, but through lack of wind to +move her. Still, her captain and the motley crowd of passengers—for the +most part Eastern merchants and their servants, together with a number +of pilgrims of all nations—thanked God for so prosperous a voyage—for +in those times he who crossed the seas without shipwreck was very +fortunate. + +Among these passengers were Godwin and Wulf, travelling, as their uncle +had bidden them, unattended by squires or by servants. Upon the ship +they passed themselves off as brothers named Peter and John of Lincoln, +a town of which they knew something, having stayed there on their way +to the Scottish wars; simple gentlemen of small estate, making a +pilgrimage to the Holy Land in penitence for their sins and for the +repose of the souls of their father and mother. At this tale their +fellow-passengers, with whom they had sailed from Genoa, to which place +they travelled overland, shrugged their shoulders. For these brethren +looked what they were, knights of high degree; and considering their +great stature, long swords, and the coats of mail they always wore +beneath their gambesons, none believed them but plain gentlefolk bent +on a pious errand. Indeed, they nicknamed them Sir Peter and Sir John, +and as such they were known throughout the voyage. + +The brethren were seated together in a little place apart in the bow of +the ship, and engaged, Godwin in reading from an Arabic translation of +the Gospels made by some Egyptian monk, and Wulf in following it with +little ease in the Latin version. Of the former tongue, indeed, they +had acquired much in their youth, since they learned it from Sir Andrew +with Rosamund, although they could not talk it as she did, who had been +taught to lisp it as an infant by her mother. Knowing, too, that much +might hang upon a knowledge of this tongue, they occupied their long +journey in studying it from such books as they could get; also in +speaking it with a priest, who had spent many years in the East, and +instructed them for a fee, and with certain Syrian merchants and +sailors. + +“Shut the book, brother,” said Wulf; “there is Lebanon at last,” and he +pointed to the great line of mountains revealing themselves dimly +through their wrappings of mist. “Glad I am to see them, who have had +enough of these crooked scrolls and learnings.” + +“Ay,” said Godwin, “the Promised Land.” + +“And the Land of Promise for us,” answered his brother. “Well, thank +God that the time has come to act, though how we are to set about it is +more than I can say.” + +“Doubtless time will show. As our uncle bade, we will seek out this +Sheik Jebal—-” + +“Hush!” said Wulf, for just then some merchants, and with them a number +of pilgrims, their travel-worn faces full of rapture at the thought +that the terrors of the voyage were done, and that they were about to +set foot upon the ground their Lord had trodden, crowded forward to the +bow to obtain their first view of it, and there burst into prayers and +songs of thanksgiving. Indeed, one of these men—a trader known as +Thomas of Ipswich—was, they found, standing close to them, and seemed +as though he listened to their talk. + +The brethren mingled with them while this same Thomas of Ipswich, who +had visited the place before, or so it seemed, pointed out the beauties +of the city, of the fertile country by which it was surrounded, and of +the distant cedar-clad mountains where, as he said, Hiram, King of +Tyre, had cut the timber for Solomon’s Temple. + +“Have you been on them?” asked Wulf. + +“Ay, following my business,” he answered, “so far.” And he showed them +a great snow-capped peak to the north. “Few ever go further.” + +“Why not?” asked Godwin. + +“Because there begins the territory of the Sheik Al-je-bal”—and he +looked at them meaningly—“whom,” he added, “neither Christian nor +Saracen visit without an invitation, which is seldom given.” + +Again they inquired why not. + +“Because,” answered the trader, still watching them, “most men love +their lives, and that man is the lord of death and magic. Strange +things are to be seen in his castle, and about it lie wonderful gardens +inhabited by lovely women that are evil spirits, who bring the souls of +men to ruin. Also, this Old Man of the Mountain is a great murderer, of +whom even all the princes of the East are terrified, for he speaks a +word to his _fedaïs_—or servants—who are initiated, and they go forth +and bring to death any whom he hates. Young men, I like you well, and I +say to you, be warned. In this Syria there are many wonders to be seen; +leave those of Masyaf and its fearful lord alone if you desire to look +again upon—the towers of Lincoln.” + +“Fear not; we will,” answered Godwin, “who come to seek holy places—not +haunts of devils.” + +“Of course we will,” added Wulf. “Still, that country must be worth +travelling in.” + +Then boats came out to greet them from the shore—for at that time +Beirut was in the hands of the Franks—and in the shouting and confusion +which followed they saw no more of this merchant Thomas. Nor did they +seek him out again, since they thought it unwise to show themselves too +curious about the Sheik Al-je-bal. Indeed, it would have been useless, +since that trader was ashore two full hours before they were suffered +to leave the ship, from which he departed alone in a private boat. + +At length they stood in the motley Eastern crowd upon the quay, +wondering where they could find an inn that was quiet and of cheap +charges, since they did not wish to be considered persons of wealth or +importance. As they lingered here, somewhat bewildered, a tall, veiled +woman whom they had noted watching them, drew near, accompanied by a +porter, who led a donkey. This man, without more ado, seized their +baggage, and helped by other porters began to fasten it upon the back +of the donkey with great rapidity, and when they would have forbidden +him, pointed to the veiled woman. + +“Your pardon,” said Godwin to her at length and speaking in French, +“but this man—” + +“Loads up your baggage to take it to my inn. It is cheap, quiet and +comfortable—things which I heard you say you required just now, did I +not?” she answered in a sweet voice, also speaking in good French. + +Godwin looked at Wulf, and Wulf at Godwin, and they began to discuss +together what they should do. When they had agreed that it seemed not +wise to trust themselves to the care of a strange woman in this +fashion, they looked up to see the donkey laden with their trunks being +led away by the porter. + +“Too late to say no, I fear me,” said the woman with a laugh, “so you +must be my guests awhile if you would not lose your baggage. Come, +after so long a journey you need to wash and eat. Follow me, sirs, I +pray you.” + +Then she walked through the crowd, which, they noted, parted for her as +she went, to a post where a fine mule was tied. Loosing it, she leaped +to the saddle without help, and began to ride away, looking back from +time to time to see that they were following her, as, indeed, they +must. + +“Whither go we, I wonder,” said Godwin, as they trudged through the +sands of Beirut, with the hot sun striking on their heads. + +“Who can tell when a strange woman leads?” replied Wulf, with a laugh. + +At last the woman on the mule turned through a doorway in a wall of +unburnt brick, and they found themselves before the porch of a white, +rambling house which stood in a large garden planted with mulberries, +oranges and other fruit trees that were strange to them, and was +situated on the borders of the city. + +Here the woman dismounted and gave the mule to a Nubian who was +waiting. Then, with a quick movement she unveiled herself, and turned +towards them as though to show her beauty. Beautiful she was, of that +there could be no doubt, with her graceful, swaying shape, her dark and +liquid eyes, her rounded features and strangely impassive countenance. +She was young also—perhaps twenty-five, no more—and very fair-skinned +for an Eastern. + +“My poor house is for pilgrims and merchants, not for famous knights; +yet, sirs, I welcome you to it,” she said presently, scanning them out +of the corners of her eyes. + +“We are but squires in our own country, who make the pilgrimage,” +replied Godwin. “For what sum each day will you give us board and a +good room to sleep in?” + +“These strangers,” she said in Arabic to the porter, “do not speak the +truth.” + +“What is that to you?” he answered, as he busied himself in loosening +the baggage. “They will pay their score, and all sorts of mad folk come +to this country, pretending to be what they are not. Also you sought +them—why, I know not—not they you.” + +“Mad or sane, they are proper men,” said the impassive woman, as though +to herself, then added in French, “Sirs, I repeat, this is but a humble +place, scarce fit for knights like you, but if you will honour it, the +charge is—so much.” + +“We are satisfied,” said Godwin, “especially,” he added, with a bow and +removing the cap from his head, “as, having brought us here without +leave asked, we are sure that you will treat us who are strangers +kindly.” + +“As kindly as you wish—I mean as you can pay for,” said the woman. +“Nay, I will settle with the porter; he would cheat you.” + +Then followed a wrangle five minutes long between this curious, +handsome, still-faced woman and the porter who, after the eastern +fashion, lashed himself into a frenzy over the sum she offered, and at +length began to call her by ill names. + +She stood looking at him quite unmoved, although Godwin, who understood +all, but pretended to understand nothing, wondered at her patience. +Presently, however, in a perfect foam of passion he said, or rather +spat out: “No wonder, Masouda the Spy, that after hiring me to do your +evil work, you take the part of these Christian dogs against a true +believer, you child of Al-je-bal!” + +Instantly the woman seemed to stiffen like a snake about to strike. + +“Who is he?” she said coldly. “Do you mean the lord—who kills?” And she +looked at him—a terrible look. + +At that glance all the anger seemed to go out of the man. + +“Your pardon, widow Masouda,” he said. “I forgot that you are a +Christian, and naturally side with Christians. The money will not pay +for the wear of my ass’s hoofs, but give it me, and let me go to +pilgrims who will reward me better.” + +She gave him the sum, adding in her quiet voice: “Go; and if you love +life, keep better watch over your words.” + +Then the porter went, and now so humble was his mien that in his dirty +turban and long, tattered robe he looked, Wulf thought, more like a +bundle of rags than a man mounted on the donkey’s back. Also it came +into his mind that their strange hostess had powers not possessed by +innkeepers in England. When she had watched him through the gate, +Masouda turned to them and said in French: + +“Forgive me, but here in Beirut these Saracen porters are extortionate, +especially towards us Christians. He was deceived by your appearance. +He thought that you were knights, not simple pilgrims as you avow +yourselves, who happen to be dressed and armed like knights beneath +your gambesons; and,” she added, fixing her eyes upon the line of white +hair on Godwin’s head where the sword had struck him in the fray on +Death Creek quay, “show the wounds of knights, though it is true that a +man might come by such in any brawl in a tavern. Well, you are to pay +me a good price, and you shall have my best room while it pleases you +to honour me with your company. Ah! your baggage. You do not wish to +leave it. Slave, come here.” + +With startling suddenness the Nubian who had led away the mule +appeared, and took up some of the packages. Then she led them down a +passage into a large, sparsely-furnished room with high windows, in +which were two beds laid on the cement floor, and asked them if it +pleased them. + +They said: “Yes; it will serve.” Reading what passed in their minds, +she added: “Have no fear for your baggage. Were you as rich as you say +you are poor, and as noble as you say you are humble, both it and you +are safe in the inn of the widow Masouda, O my guests—but how are you +named?” + +“Peter and John.” + +“O, my guests, Peter and John, who have come to visit the land of Peter +and John and other holy founders of our faith—” + +“And have been so fortunate as to be captured on its shore by the widow +Masouda,” answered Godwin, bowing again. + +“Wait to speak of the fortune until you have done with her, Sir—is it +Peter, or John?” she replied, with something like a smile upon her +handsome face. + +“Peter,” answered Godwin. “Remember the pilgrim with the line of white +hair is Peter.” + +“You need it to distinguish you apart, who, I suppose, are twins. Let +me see—Peter has a line of white hair and grey eyes. John has blue +eyes. John also is the greater warrior, if a pilgrim can be a +warrior—look at his muscles; but Peter thinks the more. It would be +hard for a woman to choose between Peter and John, who must both of +them be hungry, so I go to prepare their food.” + +“A strange hostess,” said Wulf, laughing, when she had left the room; +“but I like her, though she netted us so finely. I wonder why? What is +more, brother Godwin, she likes you, which is as well, since she may be +useful. But, friend Peter, do not let it go too far, since, like that +porter, I think also that she may be dangerous. Remember, he called her +a spy, and probably she is one.” + +Godwin turned to reprove him, when the voice of the widow Masouda was +heard without saying: + +“Brothers Peter and John, I forgot to caution you to speak low in this +house, as there is lattice-work over the doors to let in the air. Do +not be afraid. I only heard the voice of John, not what he said.” + +“I hope not,” muttered Wulf, and this time he spoke very low indeed. + +Then they undid their baggage, and having taken from it clean garments, +washed themselves after their long journey with the water that had been +placed ready for them in great jars. This, indeed, they needed, for on +that crowded dromon there was little chance of washing. By the time +they had clothed themselves afresh, putting on their shirts of mail +beneath their tunics, the Nubian came and led them to another room, +large and lighted with high-set lattices, where cushions were piled +upon the floor round a rug that also was laid upon the floor. Motioning +them to be seated on the cushions, he went away, to return again +presently, accompanied by Masouda bearing dishes upon brass platters. +These she placed before them, bidding them eat. What that food was they +did not know, because of the sauces with which it had been covered, +until she told them that it was fish. + +After the fish came flesh, and after the flesh fowls, and after the +fowls cakes and sweetmeats and fruits, until, ravenous as they were, +who for days had fed upon salted pork and biscuits full of worms washed +down with bad water, they were forced to beg her to bring no more. + +“Drink another cup of wine at least,” she said, smiling and filling +their mugs with the sweet vintage of Lebanon—for it seemed to please +her to see them eat so heartily of her fare. + +They obeyed, mixing the wine with water. While they drank she asked +them suddenly what were their plans, and how long they wished to stay +in Beirut. They answered that for the next few days they had none, as +they needed to rest, to see the town and its neighbourhood, and to buy +good horses—a matter in which perhaps she could help them. Masouda +nodded again, and asked whither they wished to ride on horses. + +“Out yonder,” said Wulf, waving his hand towards the mountains. “We +desire to look upon the cedars of Lebanon and its great hills before we +go on towards Jerusalem.” + +“Cedars of Lebanon?” she replied. “That is scarcely safe for two men +alone, for in those mountains are many wild beasts and wilder people +who rob and kill. Moreover, the lord of those mountains has just now a +quarrel with the Christians, and would take any whom he found +prisoners.” + +“How is that lord named?” asked Godwin. + +“Sinan,” she answered, and they noted that she looked round quickly as +she spoke the word. + +“Oh,” he said, “we thought the name was Jebal.” + +Now she stared at him with wide, wondering eyes, and replied: + +“He is so called also; but, Sir Pilgrims, what know you of the dread +lord Al-je-bal?” + +“Only that he lives at a place called Masyaf, which we wish to visit.” + +Again she stared. + +“Are you mad?” she queried, then checked herself, and clapped her hands +for the slave to remove the dishes. While this was being done they said +they would like to walk abroad. + +“Good,” answered Masouda, “the man shall accompany you—nay, it is best +that you do not go alone, as you might lose your way. Also, the place +is not always safe for strangers, however humble they may seem,” she +added with meaning. “Would you wish to visit the governor at the +castle, where there are a few English knights, also some priests who +give advice to pilgrims?” + +“We think not,” answered Godwin; “we are not worthy of such high +company. But, lady, why do you look at us so strangely?” + +“I am wondering, Sir Peter and Sir John, why you think it worth while +to tell lies to a poor widow? Say, in your own country did you ever +hear of certain twin brethren named—oh, how are they named?—Sir Godwin +and Sir Wulf, of the house of D’Arcy, which has been told of in this +land?” + +Now Godwin’s jaw dropped, but Wulf laughed out loud, and seeing that +they were alone in the room, for the slave had departed, asked in his +turn: + +“Surely those twins would be pleased to find themselves so famous. But +how did you chance to hear of them, O widowed hostess of a Syrian inn?” + +“I? Oh, from a man on the dromon who called here while I made ready +your food, and told me a strange story that he had learned in England +of a band sent by Salah-ed-din—may his name be accursed!—to capture a +certain lady. Of how the brethren named Godwin and Wulf fought all that +band also—ay, and held them off—a very knightly deed he said it +was—while the lady escaped; and of how afterwards they were taken in a +snare, as those are apt to be who deal with the Sultan, and this time +the lady was snatched away.” + +“A wild tale truly,” said Godwin. “But did this man tell you further +whether that lady has chanced to come to Palestine?” + +She shook her head. + +“Of that he told me nothing, and I have heard nothing. Now listen, my +guests. You think it strange that I should know so much, but it is not +strange, since here in Syria, knowledge is the business of some of us. +Did you then believe, O foolish children, that two knights like you, +who have played a part in a very great story, whereof already whispers +run throughout the East, could travel by land and sea and not be known? +Did you then think that none were left behind to watch your movements +and to make report of them to that mighty one who sent out the ship of +war, charged with a certain mission? Well, what he knows I know. Have I +not said it is my business to know? Now, why do I tell you this? Well, +perhaps because I like such knights as you are, and I like that tale of +two men who stood side by side upon a pier while a woman swam the +stream behind them, and afterwards, sore wounded, charged their way +through a host of foes. In the East we love such deeds of chivalry. +Perhaps also because I would warn you not to throw away lives so +gallant by attempting to win through the guarded gates of Damascus upon +the maddest of all quests. + +“What, you still stare at me and doubt? Good, I have been telling you +lies. I was not awaiting you upon the quay, and that porter with whom I +seemed to quarrel was not charged to seize your baggage and bring it to +my house. No spies watched your movements from England to Beirut. Only +since you have been at dinner I visited your room and read some +writings which, foolishly, you and John have left among your baggage, +and opened some books in which other names than Peter and John were +written, and drew a great sword from its scabbard on which was engraved +a motto: ‘Meet D’Arcy, meet Death!’ and heard Peter call John Wulf, and +John call Peter Godwin, and so forth.” + +“It seems,” said Wulf in English, “that we are flies in a web, and that +the spider is called the widow Masouda, though of what use we are to +her I know not. Now, brother, what is to be done? Make friends with the +spider?” + +“An ill ally,” answered Godwin. Then looking her straight in the face +he asked, “Hostess, who know so much, tell me why, amongst other names, +did that donkey driver call you ‘daughter of Al-je-bal’?” + +She started, and answered: + +“So you understand Arabic? I thought it. Why do you ask? What does it +matter to you?” + +“Not much, except that, as we are going to visit Al-je-bal, of course +we think ourselves fortunate to have met his daughter.” + +“Going to visit Al-je-bal? Yes, you hinted as much upon the ship, did +you not? Perhaps that is why I came to meet you. Well, your throats +will be cut before ever you reach the first of his castles.” + +“I think not,” said Godwin, and, putting his hand into his breast, he +drew thence a ring, with which he began to play carelessly. + +“Whence that ring?” she said, with fear and wonder in her eyes. “It +is—” and she ceased. + +“From one to whom it was given and who has charged us with a message. +Now, hostess, let us be plain with one another. You know a great deal +about us, but although it has suited us to call ourselves the pilgrims +Peter and John, in all this there is nothing of which we need be +ashamed, especially as you say that our secret is no secret, which I +can well believe. Now, this secret being out, I propose that we remove +ourselves from your roof, and go to stay with our own people at the +castle, where, I doubt not, we shall be welcome, telling them that we +would bide no longer with one who is called a spy, whom we have +discovered also to be a ‘daughter of Al-je-bal.’ After which, perhaps, +you will bide no longer in Beirut, where, as we gather, spies and the +‘daughters of Al-je-bal’ are not welcome.” + +She listened with an impassive face, and answered: “Doubtless you have +heard that one of us who was so named was burned here recently as a +witch?” + +“Yes,” broke in Wulf, who now learned this fact for the first time, “we +heard that.” + +“And think to bring a like fate upon me. Why, foolish men, I can lay +you both dead before ever those words pass your lips.” + +“You think you can,” said Godwin, “but for my part I am sure that this +is not fated, and am sure also that you do not wish to harm us any more +than we wish to harm you. To be plain, then, it is necessary for us to +visit Al-je-bal. As chance has brought us together—if it be chance—will +you aid us in this, as I think you can, or must we seek other help?” + +“I do not know. I will tell you after four days. If you are not +satisfied with that, go, denounce me, do your worst, and I will do +mine, for which I should be sorry.” + +“Where is the security that you will not do it if we are satisfied?” +asked Wulf bluntly. + +“You must take the word of a ‘daughter of Al-je-bal.’ I have none other +to offer,” she replied. + +“That may mean death,” said Wulf. + +“You said just now that was not fated, and although I have sought your +company for my own reasons, I have no quarrel with you—as yet. Choose +your own path. Still, I tell you that if you go, who, chancing to know +Arabic, have learned my secret, you die, and that if you stay you are +safe—at least while you are in this house. I swear it on the token of +Al-je-bal,” and bending forward she touched the ring in Godwin’s hand, +“but remember that for the future I cannot answer.” + +Godwin and Wulf looked at each other. Then Godwin replied: + +“I think that we will trust you, and stay,” words at which she smiled a +little as though she were pleased, then said: + +“Now, if you wish to walk abroad, guests Peter and John, I will summon +the slave to guide you, and in four days we will talk more of this +matter of your journey, which, until then, had best be forgotten.” + +So the man came, armed with a sword, and led them out, clad in their +pilgrims’ robes, through the streets of this Eastern town, where +everything was so strange, that for awhile they forgot their troubles +in studying the new life about them. They noted, moreover, that though +they went into quarters where no Franks were to be seen, and where +fierce-looking servants of the Prophet stared at them sourly, the +presence of this slave of Masouda seemed to be sufficient to protect +them from affront, since on seeing him even the turbaned Saracens +nudged each other and turned aside. In due course they came to the inn +again, having met no one whom they knew, except two pilgrims who had +been their fellow-passengers on the dromon. These men were astonished +when they said that they had been through the Saracen quarter of the +city, where, although this town was in the hands of the Christians, it +was scarcely thought safe for Franks to venture without a strong guard. + +When the brethren were back in their chamber, seated at the far end of +it, and speaking very low, lest they should be overheard, they +consulted together long and earnestly as to what they should do. This +was clear—they and something of their mission were known, and doubtless +notice of their coming would soon be given to the Sultan Saladin. From +the king and great Christian lords in Jerusalem they could expect +little help, since to give it might be to bring about an open rupture +with Saladin, such as the Franks dreaded, and for which they were ill +prepared. Indeed, if they went to them, it seemed likely that they +would be prevented from stirring in this dangerous search for a woman +who was the niece of Saladin, and for aught they knew thrown into +prison, or shipped back to Europe. True, they might try to find their +way to Damascus alone, but if the Sultan was warned of their coming, +would he not cause them to be killed upon the road, or cast into some +dungeon where they would languish out their lives? The more they spoke +of these matters the more they were perplexed, till at length Godwin +said: + +“Brother, our uncle bade us earnestly to seek out this Al-je-bal, and +though it seems that to do so is very dangerous, I think that we had +best obey him who may have been given foresight at the last. When all +paths are full of thorns what matter which you tread?” + +“A good saying,” answered Wulf. “I am weary of doubts and troublings. +Let us follow our uncle’s will, and visit this Old Man of the +Mountains, to do which I think the widow Masouda is the woman to help +us. If we die on that journey, well, at least we shall have done our +best.” + + + + +Chapter IX. +The Horses Flame and Smoke + + +On the following morning, when they came into the eating-room of the +inn, Godwin and Wulf found they were no longer alone in the house, for +sundry other guests sat there partaking of their morning meal. Among +them were a grave merchant of Damascus, another from Alexandria in +Egypt, a man who seemed to be an Arab chief, a Jew of Jerusalem, and +none other than the English trader Thomas of Ipswich, their +fellow-passenger, who greeted them warmly. + +Truly they seemed a strange and motley set of men. Considering them as +the young and stately widow Masouda moved from one to the other, +talking to each in turn while she attended to their wants, it came into +Godwin’s mind that they might be spies meeting there to gain or +exchange information, or even to make report to their hostess, in whose +pay perhaps they were. Still if so, of this they showed no sign. +Indeed, for the most part they spoke in French, which all of them +understood, on general matters, such as the heat of the weather, the +price of transport animals or merchandise, and the cities whither they +purposed to travel. + +The trader Thomas, it appeared, had intended to start for Jerusalem +that morning with his goods. But the riding mule he had bought proved +to be lame from a prick in the hoof, nor were all his hired camels come +down from the mountains, so that he must wait a few days, or so he +said. + +Under these circumstances, he offered the brethren his company in their +ramblings about the town. This they thought it wise not to refuse, +although they felt little confidence in the man, believing that it was +he who had found out their story and true names and revealed them to +Masouda, either through talkativeness or with a purpose. + +However these things might be, this Thomas proved of service to them, +since, although he was but just landed, he seemed to know all that had +passed in Syria since he left it, and all that was passing then. Thus +he told them how Guy of Lusignan had just made himself king in +Jerusalem on the death of the child Baldwin, and how Raymond of Tripoli +refused to acknowledge him and was about to be besieged in Tiberias. +How Saladin also was gathering a great host at Damascus to make war +upon the Christians, and many other things, false and true. + +In his company, then, and sometimes in that of the other guests— none +of whom showed any curiosity concerning them, though whether this was +from good manners or for other reasons they could not be sure—the +brethren passed the hours profitably enough. + +It was on the third morning of their stay that their hostess Masouda, +with whom as yet they had no further private talk, asked them if they +had not said that they wished to buy horses. On their answering “Yes,” +she added that she had told a certain man to bring two for them to look +at, which were now in the stable beyond the garden. Thither they went, +accompanied by Masouda, to find a grave Arab, wrapped in a garment of +camel’s hair and carrying a spear in his hand, standing at the door of +the cave which served the purpose of a stable, as is common in the East +where the heat is so great. As they advanced towards him, Masouda said: + +“If you like the horses, leave me to bargain, and seem to understand +nothing of my talk.” + +The Arab, who took no notice of them, saluted Masouda, and said to her +in Arabic: + +“Is it then for Franks that I have been ordered to bring the two +priceless ones?” + +“What is that to you, my Uncle, Son of the Sand?” she asked. “Let them +be led forth that I may know whether they are those for which I sent.” + +The man turned and called into the door of the cave. + +“Flame, come hither!” As he spoke, there was a sound of hoofs, and +through the low archway leapt the most beautiful horse that ever their +eyes had seen. It was grey in colour, with flowing mane and tail, and +on its forehead was a black star; not over tall, but with a barrel-like +shape of great strength, small-headed, large-eyed; wide-nostriled, +big-boned, but fine beneath the knee, and round-hoofed. Out it sprang +snorting; then seeing its master, the Arab, checked itself and stood +still by him as though it had been turned to stone. + +“Come hither, Smoke,” called the Arab again, and another horse appeared +and ranged itself by the first. In size and shape it was the same, but +the colour was coal-black and the star upon its forehead white. Also +the eye was more fiery. + +“These are the horses,” said the Arab, Masouda translating. “They are +twins, seven years old and never backed until they were rising six, +cast at a birth by the swiftest mare in Syria, and of a pedigree that +can be counted for a hundred years.” + +“Horses indeed!” said Wulf. “Horses indeed! But what is the price of +them?” + +Masouda repeated the question in Arabic, whereon the man replied in the +same tongue with a slight shrug of the shoulders. + +“Be not foolish. You know this is no question of price, for they are +beyond price. Say what you will.” + +“He says,” said Masouda, “that it is a hundred gold pieces for the +pair. Can you pay as much?” + +The brethren looked at each other. The sum was large. + +“Such horses have saved men’s lives ere now,” added Masouda, “and I do +not think that I can ask him to take less, seeing that, did he but know +it, in Jerusalem they could be sold for thrice as much. But if you +wish, I could lend you money, since doubtless you have jewels or other +articles of value you could give as security—that ring in your breast, +for instance, Peter.” + +“We have the gold itself,” answered Wulf, who would have paid to his +last piece for those horses. + +“They buy,” said Masouda. + +“They buy, but can they ride?” asked the Arab. “These horses are not +for children or pilgrims. Unless they can ride well they shall not have +them—no, not even if you ask it of me.” + +Godwin said that he thought so—at least, they would try. Then the Arab, +leaving the horses standing there, went into the stable, and with the +help of two of the inn servants, brought out bridles and saddles unlike +any they had seen. They were but thickly-quilted pads stretching far +back upon the horses’ loins, with strong hide girths strapped with wool +and chased stirrups fashioned like half hoofs. The bits also were only +snaffles without curbs. + +When all was ready and the stirrups had been let down to the length +they desired, the Arab motioned to them to mount. As they prepared to +do so, however, he spoke some word, and suddenly those meek, quiet +horses were turned into two devils, which reared up on their hind legs +and threatened them with their teeth and their front hoofs, that were +shod with thin plates of iron. Godwin stood wondering, but Wulf, who +was angry at the trick, got behind the horses, and watching his chance, +put his hands upon the flanks of the stallion named Smoke, and with one +spring leapt into the saddle. Masouda smiled, and even the Arab +muttered “Good,” while Smoke, feeling himself backed, came to the +ground again and became quiet as a sheep. Then the Arab spoke to the +horse Flame, and Godwin was allowed to vault into the saddle also. + +“Where shall we go?” he asked. + +Masouda said they would show them, and, accompanied by her and the +Arab, they walked the horses until they were quite clear of the town, +to find themselves on a road that had the sea to the left, and to the +right a stretch of flat land, some of it cultivated, above which rose +the steep and stony sides of hills. Here on this road the brethren +trotted and cantered the horses to and fro, till they began to be at +home in their strange saddles who from childhood had ridden barebacked +in the Essex marshes, and to learn what pressure on the bit was needed +to check or turn them. When they came back to where the pair stood, +Masouda said that if they were not afraid the seller wished to show +them that the horses were both strong and swift. + +“We fear no ride that he dares to take himself,” answered Wulf angrily, +whereon the Arab smiled grimly and said something in a low voice to +Masouda. Then, placing his hand upon Smoke’s flank, he leapt up behind +Wulf, the horse never stirring. + +“Say, Peter, are you minded to take a companion for this ride?” asked +Masouda; and as she spoke a strange look came into her eyes, a wild +look that was new to the brethren. + +“Surely,” answered Godwin, “but where is the companion?” + +Her reply was to do as the Arab had done, and seating herself +straddle-legged behind Godwin, to clasp him around the middle. + +“Truly you look a pretty pilgrim now, brother,” said Wulf, laughing +aloud, while even the grave Arab smiled and Godwin muttered between his +teeth the old proverb “Woman on croup, devil on bow.” But aloud he +said, “I am indeed honoured; yet, friend Masouda, if harm should come +of this, do not blame me.” + +“No harm will come—to you, friend Peter; and I have been so long cooped +in an inn that I, who am desert-born, wish for a gallop on the +mountains with a good horse beneath me and a brave knight in front. +Listen, you brethren; you say you do not fear; then leave your bridles +loose, and where’er we go and whate’er we meet seek not to check or +turn the horses Flame and Smoke. Now, Son of the Sand, we will test +these nags of which you sing so loud a song. Away, and let the ride be +fast and far!” + +“On your head be it then, daughter,” answered the old Arab. “Pray Allah +that these Franks can sit a horse!” + +Then his sombre eyes seemed to take fire, and gripping the encircling +saddle girth, he uttered some word of command, at which the stallions +threw up their heads and began to move at a long, swinging gallop +towards the mountains a mile away. At first they went over cultivated +land off which the crops had been already cut, taking two or three +ditches and a low wall in their stride so smoothly that the brethren +felt as though they were seated upon swallows. Then came a space of +sandy sward, half a mile or more, where their pace quickened, after +which they began to breast the long slope of a hill, picking their way +amongst its stones like cats. + +Ever steeper it grew, till in places it was so sheer that Godwin must +clutch the mane of Flame, and Masouda must cling close to Godwin’s +middle to save themselves from slipping off behind. Yet, +notwithstanding the double weights they bore, those gallant steeds +never seemed to falter or to tire. At one spot they plunged through a +mountain stream. Godwin noted that not fifty yards to their right this +stream fell over a little precipice cutting its way between cliffs +which were full eighteen feet from bank to bank, and thought to himself +that had they struck it lower down, that ride must have ended. Beyond +the stream lay a hundred yards or so of level ground, and above it +still steeper country, up which they pushed their way through bushes, +till at length they came to the top of the mountain and saw the plain +they had left lying two miles or more below them. + +“These horses climb hills like goats,” Wulf said; “but one thing is +certain: we must lead them down.” + +Now on the top of the mountain was a stretch of land almost flat and +stoneless, over which they cantered forward, gathering speed as the +horses recovered their wind till the pace grew fast. Suddenly the +stallions threw themselves on to their haunches and stopped, as well +they might, for they were on the verge of a chasm, at whose far foot a +river brawled in foam. For a moment they stood; then, at some word from +the Arab, wheeled round, and, bearing to the left, began to gallop back +across the tableland, until they approached the edge of the +mountainside, where the brethren thought that they would stop. + +But Masouda cried to the Arab, and the Arab cried to the horses, and +Wulf cried to Godwin in the English tongue, “Show no fear, brother. +Where they go, we can go.” + +“Pray God that the girths may hold,” answered Godwin, leaning back +against the breast of Masouda behind him. As he spoke they began to +descend the hill, slowly at first, afterwards faster and yet more fast, +till they rushed downwards like a whirlwind. + +How did those horses keep their footing? They never knew, and certainly +none that were bred in England could have done so. Yet never falling, +never stumbling even, on they sped, taking great rocks in their stride, +till at length they reached the level piece of land above the stream, +or rather above the cleft full eighteen feet in width at the foot of +which that stream ran. Godwin saw and turned cold. Were these folk mad +that they would put double-laden horses at such a jump? If they hung +back, if they missed their stride, if they caught hoof or sprang short, +swift death was their portion. + +But the old Arab seated behind Wulf only shouted aloud, and Masouda +only tightened her round arms about Godwin’s middle and laughed in his +ear. The horses heard the shout, and seeming to see what was before +them, stretched out their long necks and rushed forward over the flat +ground. + +Now they were on the edge of the terrible place, and, like a man in a +dream, Godwin noted the sharp, sheer lips of the cliff, the gulf +between them, and the white foam of the stream a score of yards +beneath. Then he felt the brave horse Flame gather itself together and +next instant fly into the air like a bird. Also—and was this dream +indeed, or even as they sped over that horrible pit did he feel a +woman’s lips pressed upon his cheek? He was not sure. Who could have +been at such a time, with death beneath them? Perchance it was the wind +that kissed him, or a lock of her loose hair which struck across his +face. + +Indeed, at the moment he thought of other things than women’s +lips—those of the black and yawning gulf, for instance. + +They swooped through the air, the white foam vanished, they were safe. +No; the hind feet of Flame had missed their footing, they fell, they +were lost. A struggle. How tight those arms clung about him. How close +that face was pressed against his own. Lo! it was over. They were +speeding down the hill, and alongside of the grey horse Flame raced the +black horse Smoke. Wulf on its back, with eyes that seemed to be +starting from his head, was shouting, “A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!” and behind +him, turban gone, and white burnous floating like a pennon on the air, +the grim-visaged Arab, who also shouted. + +Swifter and yet swifter. Did ever horses gallop so fast? Swifter and +yet swifter, till the air sang past them and the ground seemed to fly +away beneath. The slope was done. They were on the flat; the flat was +past, they were in the fields; the fields were left behind; and, +behold! side by side, with hanging heads and panting flanks, the horses +Smoke and Flame stood still upon the road, their sweating hides dyed +red in the light of the sinking sun. + +The grip loosened from about Godwin’s middle. It had been close; on +Masouda’s round and naked arms were the prints of the steel shirt +beneath his tunic, for she slipped to the ground and stood looking at +them. Then she smiled one of her slow, thrilling smiles, gasped and +said: “You ride well, pilgrim Peter, and pilgrim John rides well also, +and these are good horses; and, oh! that ride was worth the riding, +even though death had been its end. Son of the Sand, my Uncle, what say +you?” + +“That I grow old for such gallops—two on one horse, with nothing to +win.” + +“Nothing to win?” said Masouda. “I am not so sure!” and she looked at +Godwin. “Well, you have sold your horses to pilgrims who can ride, and +they have proved them, and I have had a change from my cooking in the +inn, to which I must now get me back again.” + +Wulf wiped the sweat from his brow, shook his head, and muttered: + +“I always heard the East was full of madmen and devils; now I know that +it is true.” + +But Godwin said nothing. + +They led the horses back to the inn, where the brethren groomed them +down under the direction of the Arab, that the gallant beasts might get +used to them, which, after carrying them upon that fearful ride, they +did readily enough. Then they fed them with chopped barley, ear and +straw together, and gave them water to drink that had stood in the sun +all day to warm, in which the Arab mixed flour and some white wine. + +Next morning at the dawn they rose to see how Flame and Smoke fared +after that journey. Entering the stable, they heard the sound of a man +weeping, and hidden in the shadow, saw by the low light of the morning +that it was the old Arab, who stood with his back to them, an arm +around the neck of each horse, which he kissed from time to time. +Moreover, he talked aloud in his own tongue to them, calling them his +children, and saying that rather would he sell his wife and his sister +to the Franks. + +“But,” he added, “she has spoken—why, I know not—and I must obey. Well, +at least they are gallant men and worthy of such steeds. Half I hoped +that you and the three of us and my niece Masouda, the woman with the +secret face and eyes that have looked on fear, might perish in the +cleft of the stream; but it was not willed of Allah. So farewell, +Flame, and farewell, Smoke, children of the desert, who are swifter +than arrows, for never more shall I ride you in battle. Well, at least +I have others of your matchless blood.” + +Then Godwin touched Wulf on the shoulder, and they crept away from the +stable without the Arab knowing that they had been there, for it seemed +shameful to pry upon his grief. When they reached their room again +Godwin asked Wulf: + +“Why does this man sell us those noble steeds?” + +“Because his niece Masouda has bid him so to do,” he answered. + +“And why has she bidden him?” + +“Ah!” replied Wulf. “He called her ‘the woman with the secret face and +eyes that have looked on fear,’ didn’t he? Well, for reasons that have +to do with his family perhaps, or with her secrets, or us, with whom +she plays some game of which we know neither the beginning nor the end. +But, Brother Godwin, you are wiser than I. Why do you ask me these +riddles? For my part, I do not wish to trouble my head about them. All +I know is that the game is a brave one, and I mean to go through with +it, especially as I believe that this playing will lead us to +Rosamund.” + +“May it lead us nowhere worse,” answered Godwin with something like a +groan, for he remembered that dream of his which he dreamed in mid-air +between the edges of black rock with the bubbling foam beneath. + +But to Wulf he said nothing of this dream. + +When the sun was fully up they prepared to go out again, taking with +them the gold to pay the Arab; but on opening the door of their room +they met Masouda, apparently about to knock upon it. + +“Whither go you, friends Peter and John, and so early?” she asked, +looking at them with a smile upon her beautiful face that was so +thrilling and seemed to hide so much mystery. + +Godwin thought to himself that it was like another smile, that on the +face of the woman-headed, stone sphinx which they had seen set up in +the market place of Beirut. + +“To visit our horses and pay your uncle, the Arab, his money,” answered +Wulf. + +“Indeed! I thought I saw you do the first an hour ago, and as for the +second, it is useless; Son of the Sand has gone.” + +“Gone! With the horses?” + +“Nay, he has left them behind.” + +“Did you pay him, then, lady?” asked Godwin. + +It was easy to see that Masouda was pleased at this courteous word, for +her voice, which in general seemed a little hard, softened as she +answered, for the first time giving him his own title. + +“Why do you call me ‘lady,’ Sir Godwin D’Arcy, who am but an +inn-keeper, for whom sometimes men find hard names? Well, perhaps I was +a lady once before I became an inn-keeper; but now I am—the widow +Masouda, as you are the pilgrim Peter. Still, I thank you for this—bad +guess of yours.” Then stepping back a foot or two towards the door, +which she had closed behind her, she made him a curtsey so full of +dignity and grace that any who saw it must be sure that, wherever she +might dwell, Masouda was not bred in inns. + +Godwin returned the bow, doffing his cap. Their eyes met and in hers he +learned that he had no treachery to fear from this woman, whatever else +he might have to fear. Indeed, from that moment, however black and +doubtful seemed the road, he would have trusted his life to her; for +this was the message written there, a message which she meant that he +should read. Yet at his heart he felt terribly afraid. + +Wulf, who saw something of all this and guessed more, also was afraid. +He wondered what Rosamund would have thought of it, if she had seen +that strange and turbulent look in the eyes of this woman who had been +a lady and was an inn-keeper; of one whom men called Spy, and daughter +of Satan, and child of Al-je-bal. To his fancy that look was like a +flash of lightning upon a dark night, which for a second illumines some +magical, unguessed landscape, after which comes the night again, +blacker than before. + +Now the widow Masouda was saying in her usual somewhat hard voice: + +“No; I did not pay him. At the last he would take no money; but, having +passed it, neither would he break his word to knights who ride so well +and boldly. So I made a bargain with him on behalf of both of you, +which I expect that you will keep, since my good faith is pledged, and +this Arab is a chief and my kinsman. It is this, that if you and these +horses should live, and the time comes when you have no more need of +them, you will cause it to be cried in the market-place of whatever +town is nearest to you, by the voice of the public crier, that for six +days they stand to be returned to him who lent them. Then if he comes +not they can be sold, which must not be sold or given away to any one +without this proclamation. Do you consent?” + +“Aye,” answered both of them, but Wulf added: “Only we should like to +know why the Arab, Son-of-the-Sand, who is your kinsman, trusts his +glorious horses to us in this fashion.” + +“Your breakfast is served, my guests,” answered Masouda in tones that +rang like the clash of metal, so steely were they. Whereon Wulf shook +his head and followed her into the eating-room, which was now empty +again as it had been on the afternoon of their arrival. + +Most of that day they spent with their horses. In the evening, this +time unaccompanied by Masouda, they rode out for a little way, though +rather doubtfully, since they were not sure that these beasts which +seemed to be almost human would not take the bits between their teeth +and rush with them back to the desert whence they came. But although +from time to time they looked about them for their master, the Arab, +whinnying as they looked, this they did not do, or show vice of any +kind; indeed, two Iadies’ palfreys could not have been more quiet. So +the brethren brought them home again, groomed, fed and fondled them, +while they pricked their ears, sniffing them all over, as though they +knew that these were their new lords and wished to make friends of +them. + +The morrow was a Sunday, and, attended by Masouda’s slave, without whom +she would not suffer them to walk in the town, the brethren went to +mass in the big church which once had been a mosque, wearing pilgrim’s +robes over their mail. + +“Do you not accompany us, who are of the faith?” asked Wulf. + +“Nay,” answered Masouda, “I am in no mood to make confession. This day +I count my beads at home.” + +So they went alone, and mingling with a crowd of humble persons at the +back of the church, which was large and dim, watched the knights and +priests of various nations struggling for precedence of place beneath +the dome. Also they heard the bishop of the town preach a sermon from +which they learnt much. He spoke at length of the great coming war with +Saladin, whom he named Anti-Christ. Moreover, he prayed them all to +compose their differences and prepare for that awful struggle, lest in +the end the Cross of their Master should be trampled under foot of the +Saracen, His soldiers slain, His fanes desecrated, and His people +slaughtered or driven into the sea—words of warning that were received +in heavy silence. + +“Four full days have gone by. Let us ask our hostess if she has any +news for us,” said Wulf as they walked back to the inn. + +“Ay, we will ask her,” answered Godwin. + +As it chanced, there was no need, for when they entered their chamber +they found Masouda standing in the centre of it, apparently lost in +thought. + +“I have come to speak with you,” she said, looking up. “Do you still +wish to visit the Sheik Al-je-bal?” + +They answered “Yes.” + +“Good. I have leave for you to go; but I counsel you not to go, since +it is dangerous. Let us be open with one another. I know your object. I +knew it an hour before ever you set foot upon this shore, and that is +why you were brought to my house. You would seek the help of the lord +Sinan against Salah-ed-din, from whom you hope to rescue a certain +great lady of his blood who is your kinswoman and whom both of +you—desire in marriage. You see, I have learned that also. Well, this +land is full of spies, who travel to and from Europe and make report of +all things to those who pay them enough. For instance—I can say it, as +you will not see him again—the trader Thomas, with whom you stayed in +this house, is such a spy. To him your story has been passed on by +other spies in England, and he passed it on to me.” + +“Are then you a spy also, as the porter called you?” asked Wulf +outright. + +“I am what I am,” she answered coldly. “Perhaps I also have sworn oaths +and serve as you serve. Who my master is or why I do so is naught to +you. But I like you well, and we have ridden together— a wild ride. +Therefore I warn you, though perhaps I should not say so much, that the +lord Al-je-bal is one who takes payment for what he gives, and that +this business may cost you your lives.” + +“You warned us against Saladin also,” said Godwin, “so what is left to +us if we may dare a visit to neither?” + +She shrugged her shoulders. “To take service under one of the great +Frankish lords and wait a chance that will never come. Or, better +still, to sew some cockle shells into your hats, go home as holy men +who have made the pilgrimage, marry the richest wives that you can +find, and forget Masouda the widow, and Al-je-bal and Salah-ed-din and +the lady about whom he has dreamed a dream. Only then,” she added in a +changed voice, “remember, you must leave the horses Flame and Smoke +behind you.” + +“We wish to ride those horses,” said Wulf lightly, and Godwin turned on +her with anger in his eyes. + +“You seem to know our story,” he said, “and the mission to which we are +sworn. What sort of knights do you think us, then, that you offer us +counsel which is fitter for those spies from whom you learn your +tidings? You talk of our lives. Well, we hold our lives in trust, and +when they are asked of us we will yield them up, having done all that +we may do.” + +“Well spoken,” answered Masouda. “Ill should I have thought of you had +you said otherwise. But why would you go to Al-je-bal?” + +“Because our uncle at his death bade us so to do without fail, and +having no other counsel we will take that of his spirit, let come what +may.” + +“Well spoken again! Then to Al-je-bal you shall go, and let come what +may—to all three of us!” + +“To all three of us?” said Wulf. “What, then, is your part in this +matter?” + +“I do not know, but perhaps more than you think. At least, I must be +your guide.” + +“Do you mean to betray us?” asked Wulf bluntly. + +She drew herself up and looked him in the eyes till he grew red, then +said: + +“Ask your brother if he thinks that I mean to betray you. No; I mean to +save you, if I can, and it comes into my mind that before all is done +you will need saving, who speak so roughly to those who would befriend +you. Nay, answer not; it is not strange that you should doubt. Pilgrims +to the fearful shrine of Al-je-bal, if it pleases you, we will ride at +nightfall. Do not trouble about food and such matters. I will make +preparation, but we go alone and secretly. Take only your arms and what +garments you may need; the rest I will store, and for it give you my +receipt. Now I go to make things ready. See, I pray of you, that the +horses Flame and Smoke are saddled by sunset.” + +At sundown, accordingly, the brethren stood waiting in their room. They +were fully armed beneath their rough pilgrims’ robes, even to the +bucklers which had been hidden in their baggage. Also the saddle-bags +of carpet which Masouda had given them were packed with such things as +they must take, the rest having been handed over to her keeping. + +Presently the door opened, and a young man stood before them clothed in +the rough camel-hair garment, or burnous, which is common in the East. + +“What do you want?” asked Godwin. + +“I want you, brothers Peter and John,” was the reply, and they saw that +the slim young man was Masouda. “What! you English innocents, do you +not know a woman through a camel-hair cloak?” she added as she led the +way to the stable. “Well, so much the better, for it shows that my +disguise is good. Henceforth be pleased to forget the widow Masouda +and, until we reach the land of Al-je-bal, to remember that I am your +servant, a halfbreed from Jaffa named David, of no religion—or of all.” + +In the stable the horses stood saddled, and near to them another—a good +Arab—and two laden Cyprian mules, but no attendant was to be seen. They +brought them out and mounted, Masouda riding like a man and leading the +mules, of which the head of one was tied to the tail of the other. Five +minutes later they were clear of Beirut, and through the solemn +twilight hush, followed the road whereon they had tried the horses, +towards the Dog River, three leagues away, which Masouda said they +would reach by moonrise. + +Soon it grew very dark, and she rode alongside of them to show them the +path, but they did not talk much. Wulf asked her who would take care of +the inn while she was absent, to which she answered sharply that the +inn would take care of itself, and no more. Picking their way along the +stony road at a slow amble, they crossed the bed of two streams then +almost dry, till at length they heard running water sounding above that +of the slow wash of the sea to their left, and Masouda bade them halt. +So they waited, until presently the moon rose in a clear sky, revealing +a wide river in front, the pale ocean a hundred feet beneath them to +the left, and to the right great mountains, along the face of which +their path was cut. So bright was it that Godwin could see strange +shapes carven on the sheer face of the rock, and beneath them writing +which he could not read. + +“What are these?” he asked Masouda. + +“The tablets of kings,” she answered, “whose names are written in your +holy book, who ruled Syria and Egypt thousands of years ago. They were +great in their day when they took this land, greater even than +Salah-ed-din, and now these seals which they set upon this rock are all +that is left of them.” + +Godwin and Wulf stared at the weather-worn sculptures, and in the +silence of that moonlit place there arose in their minds a vision of +the mighty armies of different tongues and peoples who had stood in +their pride on this road and looked upon yonder river and the great +stone wolf that guarded it, which wolf, so said the legend, howled at +the approach of foes. But now he howled no more, for he lay headless +beneath the waters, and there he lies to this day. Well, they were +dead, everyone of them, and even their deeds were forgotten; and oh! +how small the thought of it made them feel, these two young men bent +upon a desperate quest in a strange and dangerous land. Masouda read +what was passing in their hearts, and as they came to the brink of the +river, pointed to the bubbles that chased each other towards the sea, +bursting and forming again before their eyes. + +“Such are we,” she said briefly; “but the ocean is always yonder, and +the river is always here, and of fresh bubbles there will always be a +plenty. So dance on life’s water while you may, in the sunlight, in the +moonlight, beneath the storm, beneath the stars, for ocean calls and +bubbles burst. Now follow me, for I know the ford, and at this season +the stream is not deep. Pilgrim Peter, ride you at my side in case I +should be washed from the saddle; and pilgrim John, come you behind, +and if they hang back, prick the mules with your sword point.” + +Thus, then, they entered the river, which many might have feared to do +at night, and, although once or twice the water rose to their saddles +and the mules were stubborn in the swift stream, in the end gained the +further bank in safety. Thence they pursued their path through +mountains till at length the sun rose and they found themselves in a +lonely land where no one was to be seen. Here they halted in a grove of +oaks, off-saddled their animals, tethered and fed them with barley +which they had brought upon a mule, and ate of the food that Masouda +had provided. Then, having secured the beasts, they lay down to sleep, +all three of them, since Masouda said that here there was nothing to +fear; and being weary, slept on till the heat of noon was past, when +once more they fed the horses and mules, and having dined themselves, +set forward upon their way. + +Now their road—if road it could be called, for they could see none—ran +ever upwards through rough, mountainous country, where seemed to dwell +neither man nor beast. At sunset they halted again, and at moonrise +went forward till the night turned towards morning, when they came to a +place where was a little cave. + +Before they reached this spot of a sudden the silence of those lonely +hills was broken by a sound of roaring, not very near to them, but so +loud and so long that it echoed and reechoed from the cliff. At it the +horses Flame and Smoke pricked their ears and trembled, while the mules +strove to break away and run back. + +“What is that?” asked Wulf, who had never heard its like. + +“Lions,” answered Masouda. “We draw near the country where there are +many of them, and therefore shall do well to halt presently, since it +is best to pass through that land in daylight.” + +So when they came to the cave, having heard no more of the lion, or +lions, they unsaddled there, purposing to put the horses into it, where +they would be safe from the attack of any such ravening beast. But when +they tried to do this, Smoke and Flame spread out their nostrils, and +setting their feet firm before them, refused to enter the place, about +which there was an evil smell. + +“Perhaps jackals have been here,” said Masouda. “Let us tether them all +in the open.” + +This then they did, building a fire in front of them with dry wood that +lay about in plenty, for here grew sombre cedar trees. The brethren sat +by this fire; but, the night being hot, Masouda laid herself down about +fifteen paces away under a cedar tree, which grew almost in front of +the mouth of the cave, and slept, being tired with long riding. Wulf +slept also, since Godwin had agreed to keep watch for the first part of +the night. + +For an hour or more he sat close by the horses, and noted that they fed +uneasily and would not lie down. Soon, however, he was lost in his own +thoughts, and, as he heard no more of the lions, fell to wondering over +the strangeness of their journey and of what the end of it might be. He +wondered also about Masouda, who she was, how she came to know so much, +why she befriended them if she really was a friend, and other +things—for instance, of that leap over the sunken stream; and +whether—no, surely he had been mistaken, her eyes had never looked at +him like that. Why, he was sleeping at his post, and the eyes in the +darkness yonder were not those of a woman. Women’s eyes were not green +and gold; they did not grow large, then lessen and vanish away. + +Godwin sprang to his feet. As he thought, they were no eyes. He had +dreamed, that was all. So he took cedar boughs and threw them on to the +fire, where soon they flared gloriously, which done he sat himself down +again close to Wulf, who was lost in heavy slumber. + +The night was very still and the silence so deep that it pressed upon +him like a weight. He could bear it no longer, and rising, began to +walk up and down in front of the cave, drawing his sword and holding it +in his hand as sentries do. Masouda lay upon the ground, with her head +pillowed on a saddle-bag, and the moonlight fell through the cedar +boughs upon her face. Godwin stopped to look at it, and wondered that +he had never noted before how beautiful she was. Perhaps it was but the +soft and silvery light which clothed those delicate features with so +much mystery and charm. She might be dead, not sleeping; but even as he +thought this, life came into her face, colour stole up beneath the +pale, olive-hued skin, the red lips opened, seeming to mutter some +words, and she stretched out her rounded arms as though to clasp a +vision of her dream. + +Godwin turned aside; it seemed not right to watch her thus, although in +truth he had only come to know that she was safe. He went back to the +fire, and lifting a cedar bough, which blazed like a torch in his left +hand, was about to lay it down again on the centre of the flame, when +suddenly he heard the sharp and terrible cry of a woman in an agony of +pain or fear, and at the same moment the horses and mules began to +plunge and snort. In an instant, the blazing bough still in his hand, +he was back by the cave, and lo! there before him, the form of Masouda, +hanging from its jaws, stood a great yellow beast, which, although he +had never seen its like, he knew must be a lioness. It was heading for +the cave, then catching sight of him, turned and bounded away in the +direction of the fire, purposing to reenter the wood beyond. + +But the woman in its mouth cumbered it, and running swiftly, Godwin +came face to face with the brute just opposite the fire. He hurled the +burning bough at it, whereon it dropped Masouda, and rearing itself +straight upon its hind legs, stretched out its claws, and seemed about +to fall on him. For this Godwin did not wait. He was afraid, indeed, +who had never before fought lions, but he knew that he must do or die. +Therefore he charged straight at it, and with all the strength of his +strong arm drove his long sword into the yellow breast, till it seemed +to him that the steel vanished and he could see nothing but the hilt. + +Then a shock, a sound of furious snarling, and down he went to earth +beneath a soft and heavy weight, and there his senses left him. + +When they came back again something soft was still upon his face; but +this proved to be only the hand of Masouda, who bathed his brow with a +cloth dipped in water, while Wulf chafed his hands. Godwin sat up, and +in the light of the new risen sun, saw a dead lioness lying before him, +its breast still transfixed with his own sword. + +“So I saved you,” he said faintly. + +“Yes, you saved me,” answered Masouda, and kneeling down she kissed his +feet; then rising again, with her long, soft hair wiped away the blood +that was running from a wound in his arm. + + + + +Chapter X. +On Board the Galley + + +Rosamund was led from the Hall of Steeple across the meadow down to the +quay at Steeple Creek, where a great boat waited—that of which the +brethren had found the impress in the mud. In this the band embarked, +placing their dead and wounded, with one or two to tend them, in the +fishing skiff that had belonged to her father. This skiff having been +made fast to the stern of the boat, they pushed off, and in utter +silence rowed down the creek till they reached the tidal stream of the +Blackwater, where they turned their bow seawards. Through the thick +night and the falling snow slowly they felt their way along, sometimes +rowing, sometimes drifting, while the false palmer Nicholas steered +them. The journey proved dangerous, for they could scarcely see the +shore, although they kept as close to it as they dared. + +The end of it was that they grounded on a mud bank, and, do what they +would, could not thrust themselves free. Now hope rose in the heart of +Rosamund, who sat still as a statue in the middle of the boat, the +prince Hassan at her side and the armed men—twenty or thirty of +them—all about her. Perhaps, she thought, they would remain fast there +till daybreak, and be seen and rescued when the brethren woke from +their drugged sleep. But Hassan read her mind, and said to her gently +enough: + +“Be not deceived, lady, for I must tell you that if the worst comes to +the worst, we shall place you in the little skiff and go on, leaving +the rest to take their chance.” + +As it happened, at the full tide they floated off the bank and drifted +with the ebb down towards the sea. At the first break of dawn she +looked up, and there, looming large in the mist, lay a galley, anchored +in the mouth of the river. Giving thanks to Allah for their safe +arrival, the band brought her aboard and led her towards the cabin. On +the poop stood a tall man, who was commanding the sailors that they +should get up the anchor. As she came he advanced to her, bowing and +saying: + +“Lady Rosamund, thus you find me once more, who doubtless you never +thought to see again.” + +She looked at him in the faint light and her blood went cold. It was +the knight Lozelle. + +“You here, Sir Hugh?” she gasped. + +“Where you are, there I am,” he answered, with a sneer upon his coarse, +handsome face. “Did I not swear that it should be so, beauteous +Rosamund, after your saintly cousin worsted me in the fray?” + +“You here?” she repeated, “you, a Christian knight, and in the pay of +Saladin!” + +“In the pay of anyone who leads me to you, Rosamund.” Then, seeing the +emir Hassan approach, he turned to give some orders to the sailors, and +she passed on to the cabin and in her agony fell upon her knees. + +When Rosamund rose from them she felt that the ship was moving, and, +desiring to look her last on Essex land, went out again upon the poop, +where Hassan and Sir Hugh placed themselves, one upon either side of +her. Then it was that she saw the tower of St. Peter’s-on-the-Wall and +her cousins seated on horseback in front of it, the light of the risen +sun shining upon their mail. Also she saw Wulf spur his horse into the +sea, and faintly heard his great cry of “Fear not! We follow, we +follow!” + +A thought came to her, and she sprang towards the bulwark; but they +were watching and held her, so that all that she could do was to throw +up her arms in token. + +Now the wind caught the sail and the ship went forward swiftly, so that +soon she lost sight of them. Then in her grief and rage Rosamund turned +upon Sir Hugh Lozelle and beat him with bitter words till he shrank +before her. + +“Coward and traitor!” she said. “So it was you who planned this, +knowing every secret of our home, where often you were a guest! You who +for Paynim gold have murdered my father, not daring to show your face +before his sword, but hanging like a thief upon the coast, ready to +receive what braver men had stolen. Oh! may God avenge his blood and me +on you, false knight—false to Him and me and faith and honour—as avenge +He will! Heard you not what my kinsman called to me? ‘We follow. We +follow!’ Yes, they follow, and their swords—those swords you feared to +look on—shall yet pierce your heart and give up your soul to your +master Satan,” and she paused, trembling with her righteous wrath, +while Hassan stared at her and muttered: + +“By Allah, a princess indeed! So have I seen Salah-ed-din look in his +rage. Yes, and she has his very eyes.” + +But Sir Hugh answered in a thick voice. + +“Let them follow—one or both. I fear them not and out there my foot +will not slip in the snow.” + +“Then I say that it shall slip in the sand or on a rock,” she answered, +and turning, fled to the cabin and cast herself down and wept till she +thought that her heart would break. + +Well might Rosamund weep whose beloved sire was slain, who was torn +from her home to find herself in the power of a man she hated. Yet +there was hope for her. Hassan, Eastern trickster as he might be, was +her friend; and her uncle, Saladin, at least, would never wish that she +should be shamed. Most like he knew nothing of this man Lozelle, except +as one of those Christian traitors who were ever ready to betray the +Cross for gold. But Saladin was far away and her home lay behind her, +and her cousins and lovers were eating out their hearts upon that +fading shore. And she—one woman alone—was on this ship with the evil +man Lozelle, who thus had kept his promise, and there were none save +Easterns to protect her, none save them—and God, Who had permitted that +such things should be. + +The ship swayed, she grew sick and faint. Hassan brought her food with +his own hands, but she loathed it who only desired to die. The day +turned to night, the night turned to day again, and always Hassan +brought her food and strove to comfort her, till at length she +remembered no more. + +Then came a long, long sleep, and in the sleep dreams of her father +standing with his face to the foe and sweeping them down with his long +sword as a sickle sweeps corn—of her father felled by the pilgrim +knave, dying upon the floor of his own house, and saying “God will +guard you. His will be done.” Dreams of Godwin and Wulf also fighting +to save her, plighting their troths and swearing their oaths, and +between the dreams blackness. + +Rosamund awoke to feel the sun streaming warmly through the shutter of +her cabin, and to see a woman who held a cup in her hand, watching +her—a stout woman of middle age with a not unkindly face. She looked +about her and remembered all. So she was still in the ship. + +“Whence come you?” she asked the woman. + +“From France, lady. This ship put in at Marseilles, and there I was +hired to nurse one who lay sick, which suited me very well, as I wished +to go to Jerusalem to seek my husband, and good money was offered me. +Still, had I known that they were all Saracens on this ship, I am not +sure that I should have come—that is, except the captain, Sir Hugh, and +the palmer Nicholas; though what they, or you either, are doing in such +company I cannot guess.” + +“What is your name?” asked Rosamund idly. + +“Marie—Marie Bouchet. My husband is a fishmonger, or was, until one of +those crusading priests got hold of him and took him off to kill +Paynims and save his soul, much against my will. Well, I promised him +that if he did not return in five years I would come to look for him. +So here I am, but where he may be is another matter.” + +“It is brave of you to go,” said Rosamund, then added by an +afterthought, “How long is it since we left Marseilles?” + +Marie counted on her fat fingers, and answered: + +“Five—nearly six weeks. You have been wandering in your mind all that +time, talking of many strange things, and we have called at three +ports. I forget their names, but the last one was an island with a +beautiful harbour. Now, in about twenty days, if all goes well, we +should reach another island called Cyprus. But you must not talk so +much, you must sleep. The Saracen called Hassan, who is a clever +doctor, told me so.” + +So Rosamund slept, and from that time forward, floating on the calm +Mediterranean sea, her strength began to come back again rapidly, who +was young and strong in body and constitution. Three days later she was +helped to the deck, where the first man she saw was Hassan, who came +forward to greet her with many Eastern salutations and joy written on +his dark, wrinkled face. + +“I give thanks to Allah for your sake and my own,” he said. “For yours +that you still live whom I thought would die, and for myself that had +you died your life would have been required at my hands by +Salah-ed-din, my master.” + +“If so, he should have blamed Azrael, not you,” answered Rosamund, +smiling; then suddenly turned cold, for before her was Sir Hugh +Lozelle, who also thanked Heaven that she had recovered. She listened +to him coldly, and presently he went away, but soon was at her side +again. Indeed, she could never be free of him, for whenever she +appeared on deck he was there, nor could he be repelled, since neither +silence nor rebuff would stir him. Always he sat near, talking in his +false, hateful voice, and devouring her with the greedy eyes which she +could feel fixed upon her face. With him often was his jackal, the +false palmer Nicholas, who crawled about her like a snake and strove to +flatter her, but to this man she would never speak a word. + +At last she could bear it no longer, and when her health had returned +to her, summoned Hassan to her cabin. + +“Tell me, prince,” she said, “who rules upon this vessel?” + +“Three people,” he answered, bowing. “The knight, Sir Hugh Lozelle, +who, as a skilled navigator, is the captain and rules the sailors; I, +who rule the fighting men; and you, Princess, who rule us all.” + +“Then I command that the rogue named Nicholas shall not be allowed to +approach me. Is it to be borne that I must associate with my father’s +murderer?” + +“I fear that in that business we all had a hand, nevertheless your +order shall be obeyed. To tell you the truth, lady, I hate the fellow, +who is but a common spy.” + +“I desire also,” went on Rosamund, “to speak no more with Sir Hugh +Lozelle.” + +“That is more difficult,” said Hassan, “since he is the captain whom my +master ordered me to obey in all things that have to do with the ship.” + +“I have nothing to do with the ship,” answered Rosamund; “and surely +the princess of Baalbec, if so I am, may choose her own companions. I +wish to see more of you and less of Sir Hugh Lozelle.” + +“I am honoured,” replied Hassan, “and will do my best.” + +For some days after this, although he was always watching her, Lozelle +approached Rosamund but seldom, and whenever he did so he found Hassan +at her side, or rather standing behind her like a guard. + +At length, as it chanced, the prince was taken with a sickness from +drinking bad water which held him to his bed for some days, and then +Lozelle found his opportunity. Rosamund strove to keep her cabin to +avoid him, but the heat of the summer sun in the Mediterranean drove +her out of it to a place beneath an awning on the poop, where she sat +with the woman Marie. Here Lozelle approached her, pretending to bring +her food or to inquire after her comfort, but she would answer him +nothing. At length, since Marie could understand what he said in +French, he addressed her in Arabic, which he spoke well, but she +feigned not to understand him. Then he used the English tongue as it +was talked among the common people in Essex, and said: + +“Lady, how sorely you misjudge me. What is my crime against you? I am +an Essex man of good lineage, who met you in Essex and learnt to love +you there. Is that a crime, in one who is not poor, who, moreover, was +knighted for his deeds by no mean hand? Your father said me nay, and +you said me nay, and, stung by my disappointment and his words—for he +called me sea-thief and raked up old tales that are not true against +me—I talked as I should not have done, swearing that I would wed you +yet in spite of all. For this I was called to account with justice, and +your cousin, the young knight Godwin, who was then a squire, struck me +in the face. Well, he worsted and wounded me, fortune favouring him, +and I departed with my vessel to the East, for that is my business, to +trade between Syria and England. + +“Now, as it chanced, there being peace at the time between the Sultan +and the Christians, I visited Damascus to buy merchandise. Whilst I was +there Saladin sent for me and asked if it were true that I belonged to +a part of England called Essex. When I answered yes, he asked if I knew +Sir Andrew D’Arcy and his daughter. Again I said yes, whereon he told +me that strange tale of your kinship to him, of which I had heard +already; also a still stranger tale of some dream that he had dreamed +concerning you, which made it necessary that you should be brought to +his court, where he was minded to raise you to great honour. In the +end, he offered to hire my finest ship for a large sum, if I would sail +it to England to fetch you; but he did not tell me that any force was +to be used, and I, on my part, said that I would lift no hand against +you or your father, nor indeed have I done so.” + +“Who remembered the swords of Godwin and Wulf,” broke in Rosamund +scornfully, “and preferred that braver men should face them.” + +“Lady,” answered Lozelle, colouring, “hitherto none have accused me of +a lack of courage. Of your courtesy, listen, I pray you. I did wrong to +enter on this business; but lady, it was love for you that drove me to +it, for the thought of this long voyage in your company was a bait I +could not withstand.” + +“Paynim gold was the bait you could not withstand—that is what you +mean. Be brief, I pray you. I weary. + +“Lady, you are harsh and misjudge me, as I will show,” and he looked +about him cautiously. “Within a week from now, if all goes well, we +cast anchor at Limazol in Cyprus, to take in food and water before we +run to a secret port near Antioch, whence you are to be taken overland +to Damascus, avoiding all cities of the Franks. Now, the Emperor Isaac +of Cyprus is my friend, and over him Saladin has no power. Once in his +court, you would be safe until such time as you found opportunity to +return to England. This, then, is my plan—that you should escape from +the ship at night as I can arrange.” + +“And what is your payment,” she asked, “who are a merchant knight?” + +“My payment, lady, is—yourself. In Cyprus we will be wed—oh! think +before you answer. At Damascus many dangers await you; with me you will +find safety and a Christian husband who loves you well—so well that for +your sake he is willing to lose his ship and, what is more, to break +faith with Saladin, whose arm is long.” + +“Have done,” she said coldly. “Sooner will I trust myself to an honest +Saracen than to you, Sir Hugh, whose spurs, if you met your desert, +should be hacked from your heels by scullions. Yes, sooner would I take +death for my lord than you, who for your own base ends devised the plot +that brought my father to his murder and me to slavery. Have done, I +say, and never dare again to speak of love to me,” and rising, she +walked past him to her cabin. + +But Lozelle looking after her muttered to himself, “Nay, fair lady, I +have but begun; nor will I forget your bitter words, for which you +shall pay the merchant knight in kisses.” + +From her cabin Rosamund sent a message to Hassan, saying that she would +speak with him. + +He came, still pale with illness, and asked her will, whereon she told +him what had passed between Lozelle and herself, demanding his +protection against this man. + +Hassan’s eyes flashed. + +“Yonder he stands,” he said, “alone. Will you come with me and speak to +him?” + +She bowed her head, and giving her his hand, he led her to the poop. + +“Sir captain,” he began, addressing Lozelle, “the Princess here tells +me a strange story—that you have dared to offer your love to her, by +Allah! to her, a niece of Salah-ed-din.” + +“What of it, Sir Saracen?” answered Lozelle, insolently. “Is not a +Christian knight fit mate for the blood of an Eastern chief? Had I +offered her less than marriage, you might have spoken.” + +“You!” answered Hassan, with rage in his low voice, “you, huckstering +thief and renegade, who swear by Mahomet in Damascus and by your +prophet Jesus in England—ay, deny it not, I have heard you, as I have +heard that rogue, Nicholas, your servant. You, her fit mate? Why, were +it not that you must guide this ship, and that my master bade me not to +quarrel with you till your task was done, I would behead you now and +cut from your throat the tongue that dared to speak such words,” and as +he spoke he gripped the handle of his scimitar. + +Lozelle quailed before his fierce eyes, for well he knew Hassan, and +knew also that if it came to fighting his sailors were no match for the +emir and his picked Saracens. + +“When our duty is done you shall answer for those words,” he said, +trying to look brave. + +“By Allah! I hold you to the promise,” replied Hassan. “Before +Salah-ed-din I will answer for them when and where you will, as you +shall answer to him for your treachery.” + +“Of what, then, am I accused?” asked Lozelle. “Of loving the lady +Rosamund, as do all men—perhaps yourself, old and withered as you are, +among them?” + +“Ay, and for that crime I will repay you, old and withered as I am, Sir +Renegade. But with Salah-ed-din you have another score to settle—that +by promising her escape you tried to seduce her from this ship, where +you were sworn to guard her, saying that you would find her refuge +among the Greeks of Cyprus.” + +“Were this true,” replied Lozelle, “the Sultan might have cause of +complaint against me. But it is not true. Hearken, since speak I must. +The lady Rosamund prayed me to do this deed, and I told her that for my +honour’s sake it is not possible, although it was true that I loved her +now as always, and would dare much for her. Then she said that if I did +but save her from you Saracens, I should not go without my reward, +since she would wed me. Again, although it cost me sore, I answered +that it might not be, but when once I had brought my ship to land, I +was her true knight, and being freed of my oath, would do my best to +save her.” + +“Princess, you hear,” said Hassan, turning to Rosamund. “What say you?” + +“I say,” she answered coldly, “that this man lies to save himself. I +say, moreover, that I answered to him, that sooner would I die than +that he should lay a finger on me.” + +“I hold also that he lies,” said Hassan. “Nay; unclasp that dagger if +you would live to see another sun. Here, I will not fight with you, but +Salah-ed-din shall learn all this case when we reach his court, and +judge between the word of the princess of Baalbec and of his hired +servant, the false Frank and pirate, Sir Hugh Lozelle.” + +“Let him learn it—when we reach his court,” answered Lozelle, with +meaning; then added, “Have you aught else to say to me, prince Hassan? +Because if not, I must be attending to the business of my ship, which +you suppose that I was about to abandon to win a lady’s smile.” + +“Only this, that the ship is the Sultan’s and not yours, for he bought +it from you, and that henceforth this lady will be guarded day and +night, and doubly guarded when we come to the shores of Cyprus, where +it seems that you have friends. Understand and remember.” + +“I understand, and certainly I will remember,” replied Lozelle, and so +they parted. + +“I think,” said Rosamund, when he had gone, “that we shall be fortunate +if we land safe in Syria.” + +“That was in my mind, also, lady. I think, too, that I have forgot my +wisdom, but my heart rose against this man, and being still weak from +sickness, I lost my judgment and spoke what was in my heart, who would +have done better to wait. Now, perhaps, it will be best to kill him, if +it were not that he alone has the skill to navigate the ship, which is +a trade that he has followed from his youth. Nay, let it go as Allah +wills. He is just, and will bring the matter to judgment in due time.” + +“Yes, but to what judgment?” asked Rosamund. + +“I hope to that of the sword,” answered Hassan, as he bowed and left +her. + +From that time forward armed men watched all the night through before +Rosamund’s cabin, and when she walked the deck armed men walked after +her. Nor was she troubled by Lozelle, who sought to speak with her no +more, or to Hassan either. Only with the man Nicholas he spoke much. + +At length upon one golden evening—for Lozelle was a skilful pilot, one +of the best, indeed, who sailed those seas—they came to the shores of +Cyprus, and cast anchor. Before them, stretched along the beach, lay +the white town of Limazol, with palm trees standing up amidst its +gardens, while beyond the fertile plain rose the mighty mountain range +of Trooidos. Sick and weary of the endless ocean, Rosamund gazed with +rapture at this green and beauteous shore, the home of so much history, +and sighed to think that on it she might set no foot. Lozelle saw her +look and heard her sigh, and as he climbed into the boat which had come +out to row him into the harbour, mocked her, saying: + +“Will you not change your mind, lady, and come with me to visit my +friend, the Emperor Isaac? I swear that his court is gay, not packed +full of sour Saracens or pilgrims thinking of their souls. In Cyprus +they only make pilgrimages to Paphos yonder, where Venus was born from +out the foam, and has reigned since the beginning of the world—ay, and +will reign until its end.” + +Rosamund made no answer, and Lozelle, descending into the boat, was +rowed shorewards through the breakers by the dark-skinned, Cyprian +oarsmen, who wore flowers in their hair and sang as they laboured at +the oars. + +For ten whole days they rolled off Limazol, although the weather was +fair and the wind blew straight for Syria. When Rosamund asked why they +bided there so long, Hassan stamped his foot and said it was because +the Emperor refused to supply them with more food or water than was +sufficient for their daily need, unless he, Hassan, would land and +travel to an inland town called Nicosia, where his court lay, and there +do homage to him. This, scenting a trap, he feared to do, nor could +they put out to sea without provisions. + +“Cannot Sir Hugh Lozelle see to it?” asked Rosamund. + +“Doubtless, if he will,” answered Hassan, grinding his teeth; “but he +swears that he is powerless.” + +So there they bode day after day, baked by the sweltering summer sun +and rocked to and fro on the long ocean rollers till their hearts grew +sick within them, and their bodies also, for some of them were seized +with a fever common to the shores of Cyprus, of which two died. Now and +again some officer would come off from the shore with Lozelle and a +little food and water, and bargain with them, saying that before their +wants were supplied the prince Hassan must visit the Emperor and bring +with him the fair lady who was his passenger, whom he desired to see. + +Hassan would answer no, and double the guard about Rosamund, for at +nights boats appeared that cruised round them. In the daytime also +bands of men, fantastically dressed in silks, and with them women, +could be seen riding to and fro upon the shore and staring at them, as +though they were striving to make up their minds to attack the ship. + +Then Hassan armed his grim Saracens and bade them stand in line upon +the bulwarks, drawn scimitar in hand, a sight that seemed to frighten +the Cypriotes—at least they always rode away towards the great square +tower of Colossi. + +At length Hassan would bear it no more. One morning Lozelle came off +from Limazol, where he slept at night, bringing with him three Cyprian +lords, who visited the ship—not to bargain as they pretended, but to +obtain sight of the beauteous princess Rosamund. Thereon the common +talk began of homage that must be paid before food was granted, failing +which the Emperor would bid his seamen capture the ship. Hassan +listened a while, then suddenly issued an order that the lords should +be seized. + +“Now,” he said to Lozelle, “bid your sailors haul up the anchor, and +let us begone for Syria.” + +“But,” answered the knight, “we have neither food nor water for more +than one day.” + +“I care not,” answered Hassan, “as well die of thirst and starvation on +the sea as rot here with fever. What we can bear these Cyprian gallants +can bear also. Bid the sailors lift the anchor and hoist the sail, or I +loose my scimitars among them.” + +Now Lozelle stamped and foamed, but without avail, so he turned to the +three lords, who were pale with fear, and said: + +“Which will you do: find food and water for this ship, or put to sea +without them, which is but to die?” + +They answered that they would go ashore and supply all that was +needful. + +“Nay,” said Hassan, “you bide here until it comes.” + +In the end, then, this happened, for one of the lords chanced to be a +nephew of the Emperor, who, when he learned that he was captive, sent +supplies in plenty. Thus it came about that the Cyprian lords having +been sent back with the last empty boat, within two days they were at +sea again. + +Now Rosamund missed the hated face of the spy, Nicholas, and told +Hassan, who made inquiry, to find—or so said Lozelle—that he went +ashore and vanished there on the first day of their landing in Cyprus, +though whether he had been killed in some brawl, or fallen sick, or +hidden himself away, he did not know. Hassan shrugged his shoulders, +and Rosamund was glad enough to be rid of him, but in her heart she +wondered for what evil purpose Nicholas had left the ship. + +When the galley was one day out from Cyprus steering for the coast of +Syria, they fell into a calm such as is common in those seas in summer. +This calm lasted eight whole days, during which they made but little +progress. At length, when all were weary of staring at the oil-like +sea, a wind sprang up that grew gradually to a gale blowing towards +Syria, and before it they fled along swiftly. Worse and stronger grew +that gale, till on the evening of the second day, when they seemed in +no little danger of being pooped, they saw a great mountain far away, +at the sight of which Lozelle thanked God aloud. + +“Are those the mountains near Antioch?” asked Hassan. + +“Nay,” he answered, “they are more than fifty miles south of them, +between Ladikiya and Jebela. There, by the mercy of Heaven, is a good +haven, for I have visited it, where we can lie till this storm is +past.” + +“But we are steering for Darbesak, not for a haven near Jebela, which +is a Frankish port,” answered Hassan, angrily. + +“Then put the ship about and steer there yourself,” said Lozelle, “and +I promise you this, that within two hours every one of you will be dead +at the bottom of the sea.” + +Hassan considered. It was true, for then the waves would strike them +broadside on, and they must fill and sink. + +“On your head be it,” he answered shortly. + +The dark fell, and by the light of the great lantern at their prow they +saw the white seas hiss past as they drove shorewards beneath bare +masts. For they dared hoist no sail. + +All that night they pitched and rolled, till the stoutest of them fell +sick, praying God and Allah that they might have light by which to +enter the harbour. At length they saw the top of the loftiest mountain +grow luminous with the coming dawn, although the land itself was still +lost in shadow, and saw also that it seemed to be towering almost over +them. + +“Take courage,” cried Lozelle, “I think that we are saved,” and he +hoisted a second lantern at his masthead—why, they did not know. + +After this the sea began to fall, only to grow rough again for a while +as they crossed some bar, to find themselves in calm water, and on +either side of them what appeared in the dim, uncertain light to be the +bush-clad banks of a river. For a while they ran on, till Lozelle +called in a loud voice to the sailors to let the anchor go, and sent a +messenger to say that all might rest now, as they were safe. So they +laid them down and tried to sleep. + +But Rosamund could not sleep. Presently she rose, and throwing on her +cloak went to the door of the cabin and looked at the beauty of the +mountains, rosy with the new-born light, and at the misty surface of +the harbour. It was a lonely place—at least, she could see no town or +house, although they were lying not fifty yards from the tree-hidden +shore. As she stood thus, she heard the sound of boats being rowed +through the mist, and perceived three or four of these approaching the +ship in silence, perceived also that Lozelle, who stood alone upon the +deck, was watching their approach. Now the first boat made fast and a +man in the prow rose up and began to speak to Lozelle in a low voice. +As he did so the hood fell back from his head, and Rosamund saw the +face. It was that of the spy Nicholas! For a moment she stood amazed, +for they had left this man in Cyprus; then understanding came to her +and she cried aloud: + +“Treachery! Prince Hassan, there is treachery.” + +As the words left her lips fierce, wild-looking men began to scramble +aboard at the low waist of the galley, to which boat after boat made +fast. The Saracens also tumbled from the benches where they slept and +ran aft to the deck where Rosamund was, all except one of them who was +cut off in the prow of the ship. Prince Hassan appeared, too, scimitar +in hand, clad in his jewelled turban and coat of mail, but without his +cloak, shouting orders as he came, while the hired crew of the ship +flung themselves upon their knees and begged for mercy. To him Rosamund +cried out that they were betrayed and by Nicholas, whom she had seen. +Then a great man, wearing a white burnous and holding a naked sword in +his hand, stepped forward and said in Arabic: + +“Yield you now, for you are outnumbered and your captain is captured,” +and he pointed to Lozelle, who was being held by two men while his arms +were bound behind him. + +“In whose name do you bid me yield?” asked the prince, glaring about +him like a lion in a trap. + +“In the dread name of Sinan, in the name of the lord Al-je-bal, O +servant of Salah-ed-din.” + +At these words a groan of fear went up even from the brave Saracens, +for now they learned that they had to do with the terrible chief of the +Assassins. + +“Is there then war between the Sultan and Sinan?” asked Hassan. + +“Ay, there is always war. Moreover, you have one with you,” and he +pointed to Rosamund, “who is dear to Salah-ed-din, whom, therefore, my +master desires as a hostage.” + +“How knew you that?” said Hassan, to gain time while his men formed up. + +“How does the lord Sinan know all things?” was the answer; “Come, +yield, and perhaps he will show you mercy.” + +“Through spies,” hissed Hassan, “such spies as Nicholas, who has come +from Cyprus before us, and that Frankish dog who is called a knight,” +and he pointed to Lozelle. “Nay, we yield not, and here, Assassins, you +have to do not with poisons and the knife, but with bare swords and +brave men. Ay, and I warn you—and your lord—that Salah-ed-din will take +vengeance for this deed.” + +“Let him try it if he wishes to die, who hitherto has been spared,” +answered the tall man quietly. Then he said to his followers, “Cut them +down, all save the women”—for the Frenchwoman, Marie, was now clinging +to the arm of Rosamund—“and emir Hassan, whom I am commanded to bring +living to Masyaf.” + +“Back to your cabin, lady,” said Hassan, “and remember that whate’er +befalls, we have done our best to save you. Ay, and tell it to my lord, +that my honour may be clean in his eyes. Now, soldiers of Salah-ed-din, +fight and die as he has taught you how. The gates of Paradise stand +open, and no coward will enter there.” + +They answered with a fierce, guttural cry. Then, as Rosamund fled to +the cabin, the fray began, a hideous fray. On came the Assassins with +sword and dagger, striving to storm the deck. Again and again they were +beaten back, till the waist seemed full of their corpses, as man by man +they fell beneath the curved scimitars, and again and again they +charged these men who, when their master ordered, knew neither fear nor +pity. But more boatloads came from the shore, and the Saracens were but +few, worn also with storm and sickness, so at last Rosamund, peeping +beneath her hand, saw that the poop was gained. + +Here and there a man fought on until he fell beneath the cruel knives +in the midst of the circle of the dead, among them the warrior-prince +Hassan. Watching him with fascinated eyes as he strove alone against a +host, Rosamund was put in mind of another scene, when her father, also +alone, had striven thus against that emir and his soldiers, and even +then she bethought her of the justice of God. + +See! his foot slipped on the blood-stained deck. He was down, and ere +he could rise again they had thrown cloaks over him, these fierce, +silent men, who even with their lives at stake, remembered the command +of their captain, to take him living. So living they took him, with not +a wound upon his skin, who when he struck them down, had never struck +back at him lest the command of Sinan should be broken. + +Rosamund noted it, and remembering that his command was also that she +should be brought to him unharmed, knew that she had no violence to +fear at the hands of these cruel murderers. From this thought, and +because Hassan still lived, she took such comfort as she might. + +“It is finished,” said the tall man, in his cold voice. “Cast these +dogs into the sea who have dared to disobey the command of Al-je-bal.” + +So they took them up, dead and living together, and threw them into the +water, where they sank, nor did one of the wounded Saracens pray them +for mercy. Then they served their own dead likewise, but those that +were only wounded they took ashore. This done, the tall man advanced to +the cabin and said: + +“Lady, come, we are ready to start upon our journey.” + +Having no choice, Rosamund obeyed him, remembering as she went how from +a scene of battle and bloodshed she had been brought aboard that ship +to be carried she knew not whither, which now she left in a scene of +battle and bloodshed to be carried she knew not whither. + +“Oh!” she cried aloud, pointing to the corpses they hurled into the +deep, “ill has it gone with these who stole me, and ill may it go with +you also, servant of Al-je-bal.” + +But the tall man answered nothing, as followed by the weeping Marie and +the prince Hassan, he led her to the boat. + +Soon they reached the shore, and here they tore Marie from her, nor did +Rosamund ever learn what became of her, or whether or no this poor +woman found her husband whom she had dared so much to seek. + + + + +Chapter XI. +The City of Al-Je-Bal + + +“I pray you have done,” said Godwin, “it is but a scratch from the +beast’s claws. I am ashamed that you should put your hair to such vile +uses. Give me a little water.” + +He asked it of Wulf, but Masouda rose without a word and fetched the +water, in which she mingled wine. Godwin drank of it and his faintness +left him, so that he was able to stand up and move his arms and legs. + +“Why,” he said, “it is nothing; I was only shaken. That lioness did not +hurt me at all.” + +“But you hurt the lioness,” said Wulf, with a laugh. “By St. Chad a +good thrust!” and he pointed to the long sword driven up to the hilt in +the brute’s breast. “Why, I swear I could not have made a better +myself.” + +“I think it was the lion that thrust,” answered Godwin. “I only held +the sword straight. Drag it out, brother, I am still too weak.” + +So Wulf set his foot upon the breast of the lion and tugged and tugged +until at length he loosened the sword, saying as he strained at it: + +“Oh! what an Essex hog am I, who slept through it all, never waking +until Masouda seized me by the hair, and I opened my eyes to see you +upon the ground with this yellow beast crouched on the top of you like +a hen on a nest egg. I thought that it was alive and smote it with my +sword, which, had I been fully awake, I doubt if I should have found +the courage to do. Look,” and he pushed the lioness’s head with his +foot, whereon it twisted round in such a fashion that they perceived +for the first time that it only hung to the shoulders by a thread of +skin. + +“I am glad you did not strike a little harder,” said Godwin, “or I +should now be in two pieces and drowned in my own blood, instead of in +that of this dead brute,” and he looked ruefully at his burnous and +hauberk, that were soaked with gore. + +“Yes,” said Wulf, “I never thought of that. Who would, in such a +hurry?” + +“Lady Masouda,” asked Godwin, “when last I saw you you were hanging +from those jaws. Say, are you hurt?” + +“Nay,” she answered, “for I wear mail like you, and the teeth glanced +on it so that she held me by the cloak only. Come, let us skin the +beast, and take its pelt as a present to the lord Al-je-bal.” + +“Good,” said Godwin, “and I give you the claws for a necklace.” + +“Be sure that I will wear them,” she answered, and helped Wulf to flay +the lioness while he sat by resting. When it was done Wulf went to the +little cave and walked into it, to come out again with a bound. + +“Why!” he said, “there are more of them in there. I saw their eyes and +heard them snarl. Now, give me a burning branch and I will show you, +brother, that you are not the only one who can fight a lion.” + +“Let be, you foolish man,” broke in Masouda. “Doubtless those are her +cubs, and if you kill them, her mate will follow us for miles; but if +they are left safe he will stay to feed them. Come, let us begone from +this place as swiftly as we can.” + +So having shown them the skin of the lion, that they might know it was +but a dead thing, at the sight of which they snorted and trembled, they +packed it upon one of the mules and rode off slowly into a valley some +five miles away, where was water but no trees. Here, since Godwin +needed rest, they stopped all that day and the night which followed, +seeing no more of lions, though they watched for them sharply enough. +The next morning, having slept well, he was himself again, and they +started forward through a broken country towards a deep cleft, on +either side of which stood a tall mountain. + +“This is Al-je-bal’s gateway,” said Masouda, “and tonight we should +sleep in the gate, whence one day’s ride brings us to his city.” + +So on they rode till at length, perched upon the sides of the cleft, +they saw a castle, a great building, with high walls, to which they +came at sunset. It seemed that they were expected in this place, for +men hastened to meet them, who greeted Masouda and eyed the brethren +curiously, especially after they had heard of the adventure with the +lion. These took them, not into the castle, but to a kind of hostelry +at its back, where they were furnished with food and slept the night. + +Next morning they went on again to a hilly country with beautiful and +fertile valleys. Through this they rode for two hours, passing on their +way several villages, where sombre-eyed people were labouring in the +fields. From each village, as they drew near to it, horsemen would +gallop out and challenge them, whereon Masouda rode forward and spoke +with the leader alone. Then he would touch his forehead with his hand +and bow his head and they rode on unmolested. + +“See,” she said, when they had thus been stopped for the fourth time, +“what chance you had of winning through to Masyaf unguarded. Why, I +tell you, brethren, that you would have been dead before ever you +passed the gates of the first castle.” + +Now they rode up a long slope, and at its crest paused to look upon a +marvellous scene. Below them stretched a vast plain, full of villages, +cornfields, olive-groves, and vineyards. In the centre of this plain, +some fifteen miles away, rose a great mountain, which seemed to be +walled all about. Within the wall was a city of which the white, +flat-roofed houses climbed the slopes of the mountain, and on its crest +a level space of land covered with trees and a great, many-towered +castle surrounded by more houses. + +“Behold the home of Al-je-bal, Lord of the Mountain,” said Masouda, +“where we must sleep to-night. Now, brethren, listen to me. Few +strangers who enter that castle come thence living. There is still +time; I can pass you back as I passed you hither. Will you go on?” + +“We will go on,” they answered with one breath. + +“Why? What have you to gain? You seek a certain maiden. Why seek her +here whom you say has been taken to Salah-ed-din? Because the Al-je-bal +in bygone days swore to befriend one of your blood. But that Al-je-bal +is dead, and another of his line rules who took no such oath. How do +you know that he will befriend you—how that he will not enslave or kill +you? I have power in this land, why or how does not matter, and I can +protect you against all that dwell in it—as I swear I will, for did not +one of you save my life?” and she glanced at Godwin, “except my lord +Sinan, against whom I have no power, for I am his slave.” + +“He is the enemy of Saladin, and may help us for his hate’s sake.” + +“Yes, he is the enemy of Salah-ed-din now more than ever. He may help +you or he may not. Also,” she added with meaning, “you may not wish the +help he offers. Oh!” and there was a note of entreaty in her voice, +“think, think! For the last time, I pray you think!” + +“We have thought,” answered Godwin solemnly; “and, whatever chances, we +will obey the command of the dead.” + +She heard and bowed her head in assent, then said, looking up again: + +“So be it. You are not easily turned from your purpose, and I like that +spirit well. But hear my counsel. While you are in this city speak no +Arabic and pretend to understand none. Also drink nothing but water, +which is good here, for the lord Sinan sets strange wines before his +guests, that, if they pass the lips, produce visions and a kind of +waking madness in which you might do deeds whereof you were afterwards +ashamed. Or you might swear oaths that would sit heavy on your souls, +and yet could not be broken except at the cost of life.” + +“Fear not,” answered Wulf. “Water shall be our drink, who have had +enough of drugged wines,” for he remembered the Christmas feast in the +Hall at Steeple. + +“You, Sir Godwin,” went on Masouda, “have about your neck a certain +ring which you were mad enough to show to me, a stranger—a ring with +writing on it which none can read save the great men that in this land +are called the _daïs_s. Well, as it chances, the secret is safe with +me; but be wise; say nothing of that ring and let no eye see it.” + +“Why not?” asked Godwin. “It is the token of our dead uncle to the +Al-je-bal.” + +She looked round her cautiously and replied: + +“Because it is, or was once, the great Signet, and a day may come when +it will save your lives. Doubtless when the lord who is dead thought it +gone forever he caused another to be fashioned, so like that I who have +had both in my hand could not tell the two apart. To him who holds that +ring all gates are open; but to let it be known that you have its +double means death. Do you understand?” + +They nodded, and Masouda continued: + +“Lastly—though you may think that this seems much to ask—trust me +always, even if I seem to play you false, who for your sakes,” and she +sighed, “have broken oaths and spoken words for which the punishment is +to die by torment. Nay, thank me not, for I do only what I must who am +a slave—a slave.” + +“A slave to whom?” asked Godwin, staring at her. + +“To the Lord of all the Mountains,” she answered, with a smile that was +sweet yet very sad; and without another word spurred on her horse. + +“What does she mean,” asked Godwin of Wulf, when she was out of +hearing, “seeing that if she speaks truth, for our sakes, in warning us +against him, Masouda is breaking her fealty to this lord?” + +“I do not know, brother, and I do not seek to know. All her talk may be +a part of a plot to blind us, or it may not. Let well alone and trust +in fortune, say I.” + +“A good counsel,” answered Godwin, and they rode forward in silence. + +They crossed the plain, and towards evening came to the wall of the +outer city, halting in front of its great gateway. Here, as at the +first castle, a band of solemn-looking mounted men came out to meet +them, and, having spoken a few words with Masouda, led them over the +drawbridge that spanned the first rock-cut moat, and through triple +gates of iron into the city. Then they passed up a street very steep +and narrow, from the roofs and windows of the houses on either side of +which hundreds of people—many of whom seemed to be engaged at their +evening prayer—watched them go by. At the head of this street they +reached another fortified gateway, on the turrets of which, so +motionless that at first they took them to be statues cut in stone, +stood guards wrapped in long white robes. After parley, this also was +opened to them, and again they rode through triple doors. + +Then they saw all the wonder of that place, for between the outer city +where they stood and the castle, with its inner town which was built +around and beneath it yawned a vast gulf over ninety feet in depth. +Across this gulf, built of blocks of stone, quite unrailed, and not +more than three paces wide, ran a causeway some two hundred yards in +length, which causeway was supported upon arches reared up at intervals +from the bottom of the gulf. + +“Ride on and have no fear,” said Masouda. “Your horses are trained to +heights, and the mules and mine will follow.” + +So Godwin, showing nothing in his face of the doubt that he felt in his +heart, patted Flame upon the neck, and, after hanging back a little, +the horse started lifting its hoofs high and glancing from side to side +at the terrible gulf beneath. Where Flame went Smoke knew that it could +go, and came on bravely, but snorting a little, while the mules, that +did not fear heights so long as the ground was firm beneath their feet, +followed. Only Masouda’s horse was terrified, backed, and strove to +wheel round, till she drove the spur into it, when of a sudden it +started and came over at a gallop. + +At length they were across, and, passing under another gateway which +had broad terraces on either side of it, rode up the long street beyond +and entered a great courtyard, around which stood the castle, a vast +and frowning fortress. Here a white-robed officer came forward, +greeting them with a low bow, and with him servants who assisted them +to dismount. These men took the horses to a range of stables on one +side of the courtyard, whither the brethren followed to see their +beasts groomed and fed. Then the officer, who had stood patiently by +the while, conducted them through doorways and down passages to the +guest chambers, large, stone-roofed rooms, where they found their +baggage ready for them. Here Masouda said that she would see them again +on the following morning, and departed in company with the officer. + +Wulf looked round the great vaulted chamber, which, now that the dark +had fallen, was lit by flickering lamps set in iron brackets upon the +wall, and said: + +“Well, for my part, I had rather pass the night in a desert among the +lions than in this dismal place.” + +Scarcely were the words out of his lips when curtains swung aside and +beautiful women entered, clad in gauzy veils and bearing dishes of +food. These they placed upon the ground before them, inviting them to +eat with nods and smiles, while others brought basins of scented water, +which they poured over their hands. Then they sat down and ate the food +that was strange to them, but very pleasant to the taste; and while +they ate, women whom they could not see sang sweet songs, and played +upon harps and lutes. Wine was offered to them also; but of this, +remembering Masouda’s words, they would not drink, asking by signs for +water, which was brought after a little pause. + +When their meal was done, the beautiful women bore away the dishes, and +black slaves appeared. These men led them to baths such as they had +never seen, where they washed first in hot water, then in cold. +Afterwards they were rubbed with spicy-smelling oils, and having been +wrapped in white robes, conducted back to their chamber, where they +found beds spread for them. On these, being very weary, they lay down, +when the strange, sweet music broke out afresh, and to the sound of it +they fell asleep. + +When they awoke it was to see the light streaming through the high, +latticed windows. + +“Did you sleep well, Godwin?” asked Wulf. + +“Well enough,” answered his brother, “only I dreamed that throughout +the night people came and looked at me.” + +“I dreamed that also,” said Wulf; “moreover, I think that it was not +all a dream, since there is a coverlet on my bed which was not there +when I went to sleep.” + +Godwin looked at his own, where also was another coverlet added, +doubtless as the night grew colder in that high place. + +“I have heard of enchanted castles,” he said; “now I think that we have +found one.” + +“Ay,” replied Wulf, “and it is well enough while it lasts.” + +They rose and dressed themselves, putting on clean garments and their +best cloaks, that they had brought with them on the mules, after which +the veiled women entered the room with breakfast, and they ate. When +this was finished, having nothing else to do, they made signs to one of +the women that they wished for cloths wherewith to clean their armour, +for, as they had been bidden, they pretended to understand no word of +Arabic. She nodded, and presently returned with a companion carrying +leathers and paste in a jar. Nor did they leave them, but, sitting upon +the ground, whether the brethren willed it or no, took the shirts of +mail and rubbed them till they shone like silver, while Godwin and Wulf +polished their helms, spurs, and bucklers, cleansing their swords and +daggers also, and sharpening them with a stone which they carried for +that purpose. + +Now as these women worked, they began to talk to each other in a low +voice, and some of their talk, though not all, the brethren understood. + +“A handsome pair truly,” said the first. “We should be fortunate if we +had such men for husbands, although they are Franks and infidels.” + +“Ay,” answered the other; “and from their likeness they must be twins. +Now which of them would you choose?” + +Then for a long while they discussed them, comparing them feature by +feature and limb by limb, until the brethren felt their faces grow red +beneath the sunburn and scrubbed furiously at their armour to show a +reason for it. At length one of the women said: + +“It was cruel of the lady Masouda to bring these birds into the +Master’s net. She might have warned them.” + +“Masouda was ever cruel,” answered the other, “who hates all men, which +is unnatural. Yet I think if she loved a man she would love him well, +and perhaps that might be worse for him than her hate.” + +“Are these knights spies?” asked the first. + +“I suppose so,” was the answer, “silly fellows who think that they can +spy upon a nation of spies. They would have done better to keep to +fighting, at which, doubtless, they are good enough. What will happen +to them?” + +“What always happens, I suppose—a pleasant time at first; then, if they +can be put to no other use, a choice between the faith and the cup. Or, +perhaps, as they seem men of rank, they may be imprisoned in the +dungeon tower and held to ransom. Yes, yes; it was cruel of Masouda to +trick them so, who may be but travellers after all, desiring to see our +city.” + +Just then the curtain was drawn, and through it entered Masouda +herself. She was dressed in a white robe that had a dagger worked in +red over the left breast, and her long black hair fell upon her +shoulders, although it was half hid by the veil, open in front, which +hung from her head. Never had they seen her look so beautiful as she +seemed thus. + +“Greetings, brothers Peter and John. Is this fit work for pilgrims?” +she said in French, pointing to the long swords which they were +sharpening. + +“Ay,” answered Wulf, as they rose and bowed to her, “for pilgrims to +this—holy city.” + +The women who were cleaning the mail bowed also, for it seemed that +here Masouda was a person of importance. She took the hauberks from +their hands. + +“Ill cleansed,” she said sharply. “I think that you girls talk better +than you work. Nay, they must serve. Help these lords to don them. +Fools, that is the shirt of the grey-eyed knight. Give it me; I will be +his squire,” and she snatched the hauberk from their hands, whereat, +when her back was turned, they glanced at one another. + +“Now,” she said, when they were fully armed and had donned their +mantles, “you brethren look as pilgrims should. Listen, I have a +message for you. The Master”—and she bowed her head, as did the women, +guessing of whom she spoke—“will receive you in an hour’s time, till +when, if it please you, we can walk in the gardens, which are worth +your seeing.” + +So they went out with her, and as they passed towards the curtain she +whispered: + +“For your lives’ sake, remember all that I have told you—above +everything, about the wine and the ring, for if you dream the +drink-dream you will be searched. Speak no word to me save of common +matters.” + +In the passage beyond the curtain white-robed guards were standing, +armed with spears, who turned and followed them without a word. First +they went to the stables to visit Flame and Smoke, which whinnied as +they drew near. These they found well-fed and tended—indeed, a company +of grooms were gathered round them, discussing their points and beauty, +who saluted as the owners of such steeds approached. Leaving the +stable, they passed through an archway into the famous gardens, which +were said to be the most beautiful in all the East. Beautiful they were +indeed, planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers such as are seldom +seen, while between fern-clad rocks flowed rills which fell over deep +cliffs in waterfalls of foam. In places the shade of cedars lay so +dense that the brightness of day was changed to twilight, but in others +the ground was open and carpeted with flowers which filled the air with +perfume. Everywhere grew roses, myrtles, and trees laden with rich +fruits, while from all sides came the sound of cooing doves and the +voices of many bright-winged birds which flashed from palm to palm. + +On they walked, down the sand-strewn paths for a mile or more, +accompanied by Masouda and the guard. At length, passing through a +brake of whispering, reed-like plants, of a sudden they came to a low +wall, and saw, yawning black and wide at their very feet, that vast +cleft which they had crossed before they entered the castle. + +“It encircles the inner city, the fortress, and its grounds,” said +Masouda; “and who lives to-day that could throw a bridge across it? Now +come back.” + +So, following the gulf round, they returned to the castle by another +path, and were ushered into an ante-room, where stood a watch of twelve +men. Here Masouda left them in the midst of the men, who stared at them +with stony eyes. Presently she returned, and beckoned to them to follow +her. Walking down a long passage they came to curtains, in front of +which were two sentries, who drew these curtains as they approached. +Then, side by side, they entered a great hall, long as Stangate Abbey +church, and passed through a number of people, all crouched upon the +ground. Beyond these the hall narrowed as a chancel does. + +Here sat and stood more people, fierce-eyed, turbaned men, who wore +great knives in their girdles. These, as they learned afterwards, were +called the _fedaï_, the sworn assassins, who lived but to do the +command of their lord the great Assassin. At the end of this chancel +were more curtains, beyond which was a guarded door. It opened, and on +its further side they found themselves in full sunlight on an unwalled +terrace, surrounded by the mighty gulf into which it was built out. On +the right and left edges of this terrace sat old and bearded men, +twelve in number, their heads bowed humbly and their eyes fixed upon +the ground. These were the _daïs_ or councillors. + +At the head of the terrace, under an open and beautifully carved +pavilion of wood, stood two gigantic soldiers, having the red dagger +blazoned on their white robes. Between them was a black cushion, and on +the cushion a black heap. At first, staring out of the bright sunlight +at this heap in the shadow, the brethren wondered what it might be. +Then they caught sight of the glitter of eyes, and knew that the heap +was a man who wore a black turban on his head and a black, bell-shaped +robe clasped at the breast with a red jewel. The weight of the man had +sunk him down deep into the soft cushion, so that there was nothing of +him to be seen save the folds of the bell-shaped cloak, the red jewel, +and the head. He looked like a coiled-up snake; the dark and glittering +eyes also were those of a snake. Of his features, in the deep shade of +the canopy and of the wide black turban, they could see nothing. + +The aspect of this figure was so terrible and inhuman that the brethren +trembled at the sight of him. They were men and he was a man, but +between that huddled, beady-eyed heap and those two tall Western +warriors, clad in their gleaming mail and coloured cloaks, helm on +brow, buckler on arm, and long sword at side, the contrast was that of +death and life. + + + + +Chapter XII. +The Lord of Death + + +Masouda ran forward and prostrated herself at full length, but Godwin +and Wulf stared at the heap, and the heap stared at them. Then, at some +motion of his chin, Masouda arose and said: + +“Strangers, you stand in the presence of the Master, Sinan, Lord of +Death. Kneel, and do homage to the Master.” + +But the brethren stiffened their backs and would not kneel. They lifted +their hands to their brows in salute, but no more. + +Then from between the black turban and the black cloak came a hollow +voice, speaking in Arabic, and saying: + +“Are these the men who brought me the lion’s skin? Well, what seek ye, +Franks?” They stood silent. + +“Dread lord,” said Masouda, “these knights are but now come from +England over sea, and do not understand our tongue.” + +“Set out their story and their request,” said Al-je-bal, “that we may +judge of them.” + +“Dread lord,” answered Masouda, “as I sent you word, they say that they +are the kin of a certain knight who in battle saved the life of him who +ruled before you, but is now an inhabitant of Paradise.” + +“I have heard that there was such a knight,” said the voice. “He was +named D’Arcy, and he bore the same cognizance on his shield—the sign of +a skull.” + +“Lord, these brethren are also named D’Arcy, and now they come to ask +your help against Salah-ed-din.” + +At that name the heap stirred as a snake stirs when it hears danger, +and the head erected itself a little beneath the great turban. + +“What help, and why?” asked the voice. + +“Lord, Salah-ed-din has stolen a woman of their house who is his niece, +and these knights, her brothers, ask you to aid them to recover her.” + +The beady eyes instantly became interested. + +“Report has been made to me of that story,” said the voice; “but what +sign do these Franks show? He who went before me gave a ring, and with +it certain rights in this land, to the knight D’Arcy who befriended him +in danger. Where is that sacred ring, with which he parted in his +foolishness?” + +Masouda translated, and seeing the warning in her eyes and remembering +her words, the brethren shook their heads, while Wulf answered: + +“Our uncle, the knight Sir Andrew, was cut down by the soldiers of +Salah-ed-din, and as he died bade us seek you out. What time had he to +tell us of any ring?” + +The head sank upon the breast. + +“I hoped,” said Sinan to Masouda, “that they had the ring, and it was +for this reason, woman, that I allowed you to lead these knights +hither, after you had reported of them and their quest to me from +Beirut. It is not well that there should be two holy Signets in the +world, and he who went before me, when he lay dying, charged me to +recover his if that were possible. Let them go back to their own land +and return to me with the ancient ring, and I will help them.” + +Masouda translated the last sentence only, and again the brethren shook +their heads. This time it was Godwin who spoke. + +“Our land is far away, O lord, and where shall we find this long-lost +ring? Let not our journey be in vain. O mighty One, give us justice +against Salah-ed-din.” + +“All my years have I sought justice on Salah-ed-din,” answered Sinan, +“and yet he prevails against me. Now I make you an offer. Go, Franks, +and bring me his head, or at least put him to death as I shall show you +how, and we will talk again.” + +When they heard this saying Wulf said to Godwin, in English: + +“I think that we had best go; I do not like this company.” But Godwin +made no answer. + +As they stood silent thus, not knowing what to say, a man entered +through the door, and, throwing himself on his hands and knees, crawled +towards the cushion through the double line of councillors or _daïs_. + +“Your report?” said Sinan in Arabic. + +“Lord,” answered the man, “I acquaint you that your will has been done +in the matter of the vessel.” Then he went on speaking in a low voice, +so rapidly that the brethren could scarcely hear and much less +understand him. + +Sinan listened, then said: + +“Let the _fedaï_ enter and make his own report, bringing with him his +prisoners.” + +Now one of the _daïs_, he who sat nearest the canopy, rose and pointing +towards the brethren, said. + +“Touching these Franks, what is your will?” + +The beady eyes, which seemed to search out their souls, fixed +themselves upon them and for a long while Sinan considered. They +trembled, knowing that he was passing some judgment concerning them in +his heart, and that on his next words much might hang—even their lives. + +“Let them stay here,” he said at length. “I may have questions to ask +them.” + +For a time there was silence. Sinan, Lord of Death, seemed to be lost +in thought under the black shade of his canopy; the double line of +_daïs_ stared at nothingness across the passage way; the giant guards +stood still as statues; Masouda watched the brethren from beneath her +long eye-lashes, while the brethren watched the sharp edge of the +shadow of the canopy on the marble floor. They strove to seem +unconcerned, but their hearts were beating fast within them who felt +that great things were about to happen, though what these might be they +knew not. + +So intense was the silence, so dreadful seemed that inhuman, snake-like +man, so strange his aged, passionless councillors, and the place of +council surrounded by a dizzy gulf, that fear took hold of them like +the fear of an evil dream. Godwin wondered if Sinan could see the ring +upon his breast, and what would happen to him if he did see it; while +Wulf longed to shout aloud, to do anything that would break this +deathly, sunlit quiet. To them those minutes seemed like hours; indeed, +for aught they knew, they might have been hours. + +At length there was a stir behind the brethren, and at a word from +Masouda they separated, falling apart a pace or two, and stood opposite +each other and sideways to Sinan. Standing thus, they saw the curtains +drawn. Through them came four men, carrying a stretcher covered with a +cloth, beneath which they could see the outline of a form, that lay +there stirless. The four men brought the stretcher to the front of the +canopy, set it on the ground, prostrated themselves, and retired, +walking backwards down the length of the terrace. + +Again there was silence, while the brethren wondered whose corpse it +was that lay beneath the cloth, for a corpse it must surely be; though +neither the Lord of the Mountain nor his _daïs_ and guards seemed to +concern themselves in the matter. Again the curtains parted, and a +procession advanced up the terrace. First came a great man clad in a +white robe blazoned with the bleeding dagger, after whom walked a tall +woman shrouded in a long veil, who was followed by a thick-set knight +clad in Frankish armour and wearing a cape of which the cowl covered +his head as though to keep the rays of the sun from beating on his +helm. Lastly walked four guards. Up the long place they marched, +through the double line of _daïs_, while with a strange stirring in +their breasts the brethren watched the shape and movements of the +veiled woman who stepped forward rapidly, not seeing them, for she +turned her head neither to the right nor left. The leader of the little +band reached the space before the canopy, and, prostrating himself by +the side of the stretcher, lay still. She who walked behind him stopped +also, and, seeing the black heap upon the cushion, shuddered. + +“Woman, unveil,” commanded the voice of Sinan. + +She hesitated, then swiftly undid some fastening, so that her drapery +fell from her head. The brethren stared, rubbed their eyes, and stared +again. + +Before them stood Rosamund! + +Yes, it was Rosamund, worn with sickness, terrors, and travel, Rosamund +herself beyond all doubt. At the sight of her pale, queenly beauty the +heap on the cushion stirred beneath his black cloak, and the beady eyes +were filled with an evil, eager light. Even the _daïs_ seemed to wake +from their contemplation, and Masouda bit her red lip, turned pale +beneath her olive skin, and watched with devouring eyes, waiting to +read this woman’s heart. + +“Rosamund!” cried the brethren with one voice. + +She heard. As they sprang towards her she glanced wildly from face to +face, then with a low cry flung an arm about the neck of each and would +have fallen in the ecstacy of her joy had they not held her. Indeed, +her knees touched the ground. As they stooped to lift her it flashed +into Godwin’s mind that Masouda had told Sinan that they were her +brethren. The thought was followed by another. If this were so, they +might be left with her, whereas otherwise that black-robed devil— + +“Listen,” he whispered in English; “we are not your cousins—we are your +brothers, your half-brothers, and we know no Arabic.” + +She heard and Wulf heard, but the watchers thought that they were but +welcoming each other, for Wulf began to talk also, random words in +French, such as “Greeting, sister!” “Well found, sister!” and kissed +her on the forehead. + +Rosamund opened her eyes, which had closed, and, gaining her feet, gave +one hand to each of the brethren. Then the voice of Masouda was heard +interpreting the words of Sinan. + +“It seems, lady, that you know these knights.” + +“I do—well. They are my brothers, from whom I was stolen when they were +drugged and our father was killed.” + +“How is that, lady, seeing that you are said to be the niece of +Salah-ed-din? Are these knights, then, the nephews of Salah-ed-din?” + +“Nay,” answered Rosamund, “they are my father’s sons, but of another +wife.” + +The answer appeared to satisfy Sinan, who fixed his eyes upon the pale +beauty of Rosamund and asked no more questions. While he remained thus +thinking, a noise arose at the end of the terrace, and the brethren, +turning their heads, saw that the thick-set knight was striving to +thrust his way through the guards who stood by the curtains and barred +his path with the shafts of their spears. + +Then it came into Godwin’s mind that just before Rosamund unveiled he +had seen this knight suddenly turn and walk down the terrace. + +The lord Sinan looked up at the sound and made a sign. Thereon two of +the _daïs_ sprang to their feet and ran towards the curtain, where they +spoke with the knight, who turned and came back with them, though +slowly, as one who is unwilling. Now his hood had fallen from his head, +and Godwin and Wulf stared at him as he advanced, for surely they knew +those great shoulders, those round black eyes, those thick lips, and +that heavy jowl. + +“Lozelle! It is Lozelle!” said Godwin. + +“Ay,” echoed Rosamund, “it is Lozelle, the double traitor, who betrayed +me first to the soldiers of Saladin, and, because I would have none of +his love, next to this lord Sinan.” + +Wulf heard, and, as Lozelle drew near to them, sprang forward with an +oath and struck him across the face with his mailed hand. Instantly +guards thrust themselves between them, and Sinan asked through Masouda: + +“Why do you dare to strike this Frank in my presence?” + +“Because, lord,” answered Wulf, “he is a rogue who has brought all +these troubles on our house. I challenge him to meet me in battle to +the death.” + +“And I also,” said Godwin. + +“I am ready,” shouted Lozelle, stung to fury by the blow. + +“Then, dog, why did you try to run away when you saw our faces?” asked +Wulf. + +Masouda held up her hand and began to interpret, addressing Lozelle, +and speaking in the first person as the “mouth” of Sinan. + +“I thank you for your service who have served me before. Your messenger +came, a Frank whom I knew in old days. As you had arranged it should +be, I sent one of my _fedaïs_ with soldiers to kill the men of +Salah-ed-din on the ship and capture this lady who is his niece, all of +which it seems has been done. The bargain that your messenger made was +that the lady should be given over to you—” + +Here Godwin and Wulf ground their teeth and glared at him. + +“But these knights say that you stole her, their kinswoman, from them, +and one of them has struck you and challenged you to single combat, +which challenge you have accepted. I sanction the combat gladly, who +have long desired to see two knights of the Franks fight in tourney +according to their custom. I will set the course, and you shall be +given the best horse in my kingdom; this knight shall ride his own. +These are the conditions—the course shall be on the bridge between the +inner and outer gates of the castle city, and the fight, which must be +to the death, shall take place on the night of the full moon—that is, +three days from now. If you are victor, we will talk of the matter of +the lady for whom you bargained as a wife.” + +“My lord, my lord,” answered Lozelle, “who can lay a lance on that +terrible place in moonlight? Is it thus that you keep faith with me?” + +“I can and will!” cried Wulf. “Dog, I would fight you in the gates of +hell, with my soul on the hazard.” + +“Keep faith with yourself,” said Sinan, “who said that you accepted the +challenge of this knight and made no conditions, and when you have +proved upon his body that his quarrel is not just, then speak of my +faith with you. Nay, no more words; when this fight is done we will +speak again, and not before. Let him be led to the outer castle and +there given of our best. Let my great black horse be brought to him +that he may gallop it to and fro upon the bridge, or where he will +within the circuit of the walls, by day or by night; but see that he +has no speech with this lady whom he has betrayed into my power, or +with these knights his foes, nor suffer him to come into my presence. I +will not talk with a man who has been struck in the face until he has +washed away the blow in blood.” + +As Masouda finished translating, and before Lozelle could answer, the +lord Sinan moved his head, whereon guards sprang forward and conducted +Lozelle from the terrace. + +“Farewell, Sir Thief,” cried Wulf after him, “till we meet again upon +the narrow bridge and there settle our account. You have fought Godwin, +perhaps you will have better luck with Wulf.” + +Lozelle glared back at him, and, finding no answer, went on his way. + +“Your report,” said Sinan, addressing the tall _fedaï_ who all this +while had lain upon his face before him, still as the form that was +stretched upon the bier. “There should have been another prisoner, the +great emir Hassan. Also, where is the Frankish spy?” + +The _fedaï_ rose and spoke. + +“Lord,” he said, “I did your bidding. The knight who has gone steered +the ship into the bay, as had been arranged. I attacked with the +daylight. The soldiers of Salah-ed-din fought bravely, for the lady +here saw us, and gave them time to gather, and we lost many men. We +overcame and killed them all, except the prince Hassan, whom we took +prisoner. I left some men to watch the ship. The crew we spared, as +they were the servants of the Frank Lozelle, setting them loose upon +the beach, together with a Frankish woman, who was the servant of the +lady here, to find their way to the nearest city. This woman I would +have killed, but the lady your captive begged for her life, saying she +had come from the land of the Franks to seek her husband; so, having no +orders, let her go. Yesterday morning we started for Masyaf, the prince +Hassan riding in a litter together with that Frankish spy who was here +a while ago, and told you of the coming of the ship. At night they +slept in the same tent; I left the prince bound and set a guard, but in +the morning when we looked we found him gone—how, I know not—and lying +in the tent the Frankish spy, dead, with a knife-wound through his +heart. Behold!” and withdrawing the cloth from the stretcher he +revealed the stiff form of the spy Nicholas, who lay there dead, a look +of terror frozen on his face. + +“At least this one has come to an end he deserved,” muttered Wulf to +Godwin. + +“So, having searched without avail, I came on here with the lady your +prisoner and the Frank Lozelle. I have spoken.” + +Now when he had heard this report, forgetting his calm, Sinan arose +from the cushion and stepped forward two paces. There he halted, with +fury in his glittering eyes, looking like a man clothed in a black +bell. For a moment he stroked his beard, and the brethren noted that on +the first finger of his right hand was a ring so like to that which +hung about the neck of Godwin that none could have told them apart. + +“Man,” Sinan said in a low voice, “what have you done? You have let +the emir Hassan go, who is the most trusted friend and general of the +Sultan of Damascus. By now he is there, or near it, and within six days +we shall see the army of Salah-ed-din riding across the plain. Also you +have not killed the crew and the Frankish woman, and they too will make +report of the taking of the ship and the capture of this lady, who is +of the house of Salah-ed-din and whom he seeks more earnestly than all +the kingdom of the Franks. What have you to say?” + +“Lord,” answered the tall _fedaï_, and his hand trembled as he spoke, +“most mighty lord, I had no orders as to the killing of the crew from +your lips, and the Frank Lozelle told me that he had agreed with you +that they should be spared.” + +“Then, slave, he lied. He agreed with me through that dead spy that +they should be slain, and do you not know that if I give no orders in +such a case I mean death, not life? But what of the prince Hassan?” + +“Lord, I have nothing to say. I think he must have bribed the spy named +Nicholas”—and he pointed to the corpse—“to cut his bonds, and +afterwards killed the man for vengeance sake, for by the body we found +a heavy purse of gold. That he hated him as he hated yonder Lozelle I +know, for he called them dogs and traitors in the boat; and since he +could not strike them, his hands being bound, he spat in their faces, +cursing them in the name of Allah. That is why, Lozelle being afraid to +be near him, I set the spy Nicholas, who was a bold fellow, as a watch +over him, and two soldiers outside the tent, while Lozelle and I +watched the lady.” + +“Let those soldiers be brought,” said Sinan, “and tell their story.” + +They were brought and stood by their captain, but they had no story to +tell. They swore that they had not slept on guard, nor heard a sound, +yet when morning came the prince was gone. Again the Lord of Death +stroked his black beard. Then he held up the Signet before the eyes of +the three men, saying: + +“You see the token. Go.” + +“Lord,” said the _fedaï_, “I have served you well for many years.” + +“Your service is ended. Go!” was the stern answer. + +The _fedaï_ bowed his head in salute, stood for a moment as though lost +in thought, then, turning suddenly, walked with a steady step to the +edge of the abyss and leapt. For an instant the sunlight shone on his +white and fluttering robe, then from the depths of that darksome place +floated up the sound of a heavy fall, and all was still. + +“Follow your captain to Paradise,” said Sinan to the two soldiers, +whereon one of them drew a knife to stab himself, but a _daï_ sprang +up, saying: + +“Beast, would you shed blood before your lord? Do you not know the +custom? Begone!” + +So the poor men went, the first with a steady step, and the second, who +was not so brave, reeling over the edge of the precipice as one might +who is drunken. + +“It is finished,” said the _daïs_, clapping their hands gently. “Dread +lord, we thank thee for thy justice.” + +But Rosamund turned sick and faint, and even the brethren paled. This +man was terrible indeed—if he were a man and not a devil—and they were +in his power. How long would it be, they wondered, before they also +were bidden to walk that gulf? Only Wulf swore in his heart that if he +went by this road Sinan should go with him. + +Then the corpse of the false palmer was borne away to be thrown to the +eagles which always hovered over that house of death, and Sinan, having +reseated himself upon the cushion, began to talk again through his +“mouth” Masouda, in a low, quiet voice, as though nothing had happened +to anger him. + +“Lady,” he said to Rosamund, “your story is known to me. Salah-ed-din +seeks you, nor is it wonderful”—here his eyes glittered with a new and +horrible light—“that he should desire to see such loveliness at his +court, although the Frank Lozelle swore through yonder dead spy that +you are precious in his eyes because of some vision that has come to +him. Well, this heretic sultan is my enemy whom Satan protects, for +even my _fedaïs_ have failed to kill him, and perhaps there will be war +on account of you. But have no fear, for the price at which you shall +be delivered to him is higher than Salah-ed-din himself would care to +pay, even for you. So, since this castle is impregnable, here you may +dwell at peace, nor shall any desire be denied you. Speak, and your +wishes are fulfilled.” + +“I desire,” said Rosamund in a low, steady voice, “protection against +Sir Hugh Lozelle and all men.” + +“It is yours. The Lord of the Mountain covers you with his own mantle.” + +“I desire,” she went on, “that my brothers here may lodge with me, that +I may not feel alone among strange people.” + +He thought awhile, and answered: + +“Your brethren shall lodge near you in the guest castle. Why not, since +from them you cannot need protection? They shall meet you at the feast +and in the garden. But, lady, do you know it? They came here upon faith +of some old tale of a promise made by him who went before me to ask my +help to recover you from Salah-ed-din, unwitting that I was your host, +not Salah-ed-din. That they should meet you thus is a chance which +makes even my wisdom wonder, for in it I see omens. Now she whom they +wished to rescue from Salah-ed-din, these tall brethren of yours might +wish to rescue from Al-je-bal. Understand then, all of you, that from +the Lord of Death there is but one escape. Yonder runs its path,” and +he pointed to the dizzy place whence his three servants had leapt to +their doom. + +“Knights,” he went on, addressing Godwin and Wulf, “lead your sister +hence. This evening I bid her and you to my banquet. Till then, +farewell. Woman,” he added to Masouda, “accompany them. You know your +duties; this lady is in your charge. Suffer that no strange man comes +near her—above all, the Frank Lozelle. Dais take notice and let it be +proclaimed—To these three is given the protection of the Signet in all +things, save that they must not leave my walls except under sanction of +the Signet—nay, in its very presence.” + +The _daïs_ rose, bowed, and seated themselves again. Then, guided by +Masouda and preceded and followed by guards, the brethren and Rosamund +walked down the terrace through the curtains into the chancel-like +place where men crouched upon the ground; through the great hall were +more men crouched upon the ground; through the ante-chamber where, at a +word from Masouda, the guards saluted; through passages to that place +where they had slept. Here Masouda halted and said: + +“Lady Rose of the World, who are fitly so named, I go to prepare your +chamber. Doubtless you will wish to speak awhile with these +your—brothers. Speak on and fear not, for it shall be my care that you +are left alone, if only for a little while. Yet walls have ears, so I +counsel you use that English tongue which none of us understand in the +land of Al-je-bal—not even I.” + +Then she bowed and went. + + + + +Chapter XIII. +The Embassy + + +The brethren and Rosamund looked at each other, for having so much to +say it seemed that they could not speak at all. Then with a low cry +Rosamund said: + +“Oh! let us thank God, Who, after all these black months of travel and +of danger, has thus brought us together again,” and, kneeling down +there together in the guest-hall of the lord of Death, they gave thanks +earnestly. Then, moving to the centre of the chamber where they thought +that none would hear them, they began to speak in low voices and in +English. + +“Tell you your tale first, Rosamund,” said Godwin. + +She told it as shortly as she could, they listening without a word. + +Then Godwin spoke and told her theirs. Rosamund heard it, and asked a +question almost in a whisper. + +“Why does that beautiful dark-eyed woman befriend you?” + +“I do not know,” answered Godwin, “unless it is because of the accident +of my having saved her from the lion.” + +Rosamund looked at him and smiled a little, and Wulf smiled also. Then +she said: + +“Blessings be on that lion and all its tribe! I pray that she may not +soon forget the deed, for it seems that our lives hang upon her favour. +How strange is this story, and how desperate our case! How strange also +that you should have come on hither against her counsel, which, seeing +what we have, I think was honest?” + +“We were led,” answered Godwin. “Your father had wisdom at his death, +and saw what we could not see.” + +“Ay,” added Wulf, “but I would that it had been into some other place, +for I fear this lord Al-je-bal at whose nod men hurl themselves to +death.” + +“He is hateful,” answered Rosamund, with a shudder; “worse even than +the knight Lozelle; and when he fixes his eyes on me, my heart grows +sick. Oh! that we could escape this place!” + +“An eel in an osier trap has more chance of freedom,” said Wulf +gloomily. “Let us at least be thankful that we are caged together—for +how long, I wonder?” + +As he spoke Masouda appeared, attended by waiting women, and, bowing to +Rosamund, said: + +“It is the will of the Master, lady, that I lead you to the chambers +that have been made ready for you, there to rest until the hour of the +feast. Fear not; you shall meet your brethren then. You knights have +leave, if it so pleases you, to exercise your horses in the gardens. +They stand saddled in the courtyard, to which this woman will bring +you,” and she pointed to one of those two maids who had cleaned the +armour, “and with them are guides and an escort.” + +“She means that we must go,” muttered Godwin, adding aloud, “farewell, +sister, until tonight.” + +So they parted, unwillingly enough. In the courtyard they found the +horses, Flame and Smoke, as they had been told, also a mounted escort +of four fierce-looking _fedaïs_ and an officer. When they were in the +saddle, this man, motioning to them to follow him, passed by an archway +out of the courtyard into the gardens. Hence ran a broad road strewn +with sand, along which he began to gallop. This road followed the gulf +which encircled the citadel and inner town of Masyaf, that was, as it +were, an island on a mountain top with a circumference of over three +miles. + +As they went, the gulf always on their right hand, holding in their +horses to prevent their passing that of their guide, swift as it was, +they saw another troop approaching them. This was also preceded by an +officer of the Assassins, as these servants of Al-je-bal were called by +the Franks, and behind him, mounted on a splendid coalblack steed and +followed by guards, rode a mail-clad Frankish knight. + +“It is Lozelle,” said Wulf, “upon the horse that Sinan promised him.” + +At the sight of the man a fury took hold of Godwin. With a shout of +warning he drew his sword. Lozelle saw, and out leapt his blade in +answer. Then sweeping past the officers who were with them and reining +up their steeds, in a second they were face to face. Lozelle struck +first and Godwin caught the stroke upon his buckler, but before he +could return it the _fedaïs_ of either party rushed between them and +thrust them asunder. + +“A pity,” said Godwin, as they dragged his horse away. “Had they left +us alone I think, brother, I might have saved you a moonlight duel.” + +“That I do not want to miss, but the chance at his head was good if +those fellows would have let you take it,” answered Wulf reflectively. + +Then the horses began to gallop again, and they saw no more of Lozelle. +Now, skirting the edge of the town, they came to the narrow, wall-less +bridge that spanned the gulf between it and the outer gate and city. +Here the officer wheeled his horse, and, beckoning to them to follow, +charged it at full gallop. After him went the brethren—Godwin first, +then Wulf. In the deep gateway on the further side they reined up. The +captain turned, and began to gallop back faster than he had come—as +fast, indeed, as his good beast would travel. + +“Pass him!” cried Godwin, and shaking the reins loose upon the neck of +Flame he called to it aloud. + +Forward it sprang, with Smoke at its heels. Now they had overtaken the +captain, and now even on that narrow way they had swept past him. Not +an inch was there to spare between them and the abyss, and the man, +brave as he was, expecting to be thrust to death, clung to his horse’s +mane with terror in his eyes. On the city side the brethren pulled up +laughing among the astonished _fedaïs_ who had waited for them there. + +“By the Signet,” cried the officer, thinking that the knights could not +understand, “these are not men; they are devils, and their horses are +goats of the mountains. I thought to frighten them, but it is I who was +frightened, for they swept past me like eagles of the air.” + +“Gallant riders and swift, well-trained steeds,” answered one of the +_fedaïs_, with admiration in his voice. “The fight at the full moon +will be worth our seeing.” + +Then once more they took the sand-strewn road and galloped on. Thrice +they passed round the city thus, the last time by themselves, for the +captain and the _fedaïs_ were far outstripped. Indeed it was not until +they had unsaddled Flame and Smoke in their stalls that these appeared, +spurring their foaming horses. Taking no heed of them, the brethren +thrust aside the grooms, dressed their steeds down, fed and watered +them. + +Then having seen them eat, there being no more to do, they walked back +to the guest-house, hoping to find Rosamund. But they found no +Rosamund, so sat down together and talked of the wonderful things that +had befallen them, and of what might befall them in the future; of the +mercy of Heaven also which had brought them all three together safe and +sound, although it was in this house of hell. So the time passed on, +till about the hour of sunset the women servants came and led them to +the bath, where the black slaves washed and perfumed them, clothing +them in fresh robes above their armour. + +When they came out the sun was down, and the women, bearing torches in +their hands, conducted them to a great and gorgeous hall which they had +not seen before, built of fretted stone and having a carved and painted +roof. Along one side of this hall, that was lit with cressets, were a +number of round-headed open arches supported by elegant white columns, +and beyond these a marble terrace with flights of steps which led to +the gardens beneath. On the floor of this hall, each seated upon his +cushion beside low tables inlaid with pearl sat the guests, a hundred +or more, all dressed in white robes on which the red dagger was +blazoned, and all as silent as though they were asleep. + +When the brethren reached the place the women left them, and servants +with gold chains round their necks escorted them to a dais in the +middle of the hall where were many cushions, as yet unoccupied, +arranged in a semicircle, of which the centre was a divan higher and +more gorgeous than the rest. + +Here places were pointed out to them opposite the divan, and they took +their stand by them. They had not long to wait, for presently there was +a sound of music, and, heralded by troops of singing women, the lord +Sinan approached, walking slowly down the length of the great hall. It +was a strange procession, for after the women came the aged, white +robed _daïs_, then the lord Al-je-bal himself, clad now in his +blood-red, festal robe, and wearing jewels on his turban. + +Around him marched four slaves, black as ebony, each of whom held a +flaming torch on high, while behind followed the two gigantic guards +who had stood sentry over him when he sat under the canopy of justice. +As he advanced down the hall every man in it rose and prostrated +himself, and so remained until their lord was seated, save only the two +brethren, who stood erect like the survivors among the slain of a +battle. Settling himself among the cushions at one end of the divan, he +waved his hand, whereon the feasters, and with them Godwin and Wulf, +sat themselves down. + +Now there was a pause, while Sinan glanced along the hall impatiently. +Soon the brethren saw why, since at the end opposite to that by which +he had entered appeared more singing women, and after them, also +escorted by four black torch-bearers, only these were women, walked +Rosamund and, behind her, Masouda. + +Rosamund it was without doubt, but Rosamund transformed, for now she +seemed an Eastern queen. Round her head was a coronet of gems from +which hung a veil, but not so as to hide her face. Jewelled, too, were +her heavy plaits of hair, jewelled the rose-silk garments that she +wore, the girdle at her waist, her naked, ivory arms and even the +slippers on her feet. As she approached in her royal-looking beauty all +the guests at that strange feast stared first at her and next at each +other. Then as though by a single impulse they rose and bowed. + +“What can this mean?” muttered Wulf to Godwin as they did likewise. But +Godwin made no answer. + +On came Rosamund, and now, behold! the lord Al-je-bal rose also and, +giving her his hand, seated her by him on the divan. + +“Show no surprise, Wulf,” muttered Godwin, who had caught a warning +look in the eyes of Masouda as she took up her position behind +Rosamund. + +Now the feast began. Slaves running to and fro, set dish after dish +filled with strange and savoury meats, upon the little inlaid tables, +those that were served to Sinan and his guests fashioned, all of them, +of silver or of gold. + +Godwin and Wulf ate, though not for hunger’s sake, but of what they ate +they remembered nothing who were watching Sinan and straining their +ears to catch all he said without seeming to take note or listen. +Although she strove to hide it and to appear indifferent, it was plain +to them that Rosamund was much afraid. Again and again Sinan presented +to her choice morsels of food, sometimes on the dishes and sometimes +with his fingers, and these she was obliged to take. All the while also +he devoured her with his fierce eyes so that she shrank away from him +to the furthest limit of the divan. + +Then wine, perfumed and spiced, was brought in golden cups, of which, +having drunk, he offered to Rosamund. But she shook her head and asked +Masouda for water, saying that she touched nothing stronger, and it was +given her, cooled with snow. The brethren asked for water also, whereon +Sinan looked at them suspiciously and demanded the reason. Godwin +replied through Masouda that they were under an oath to touch no wine +till they returned to their own country, having fulfilled their +mission. To this he answered meaningly that it was good and right to +keep oaths, but he feared that theirs would make them water-drinkers +for the rest of their lives, a saying at which their hearts sank. + +Now the wine that he had drunk took hold of Sinan, and he began to talk +who without it was so silent. + +“You met the Frank Lozelle to-day,” he said to Godwin, through Masouda, +“when riding in my gardens, and drew your sword on him. Why did you not +kill him? Is he the better man?” + +“It seems not, as once before I worsted him and I sit here unhurt, +lord,” answered Godwin. “Your servants thrust between and separated +us.” + +“Ay,” replied Sinan, “I remember; they had orders. Still, I would that +you had killed him, the unbelieving dog, who has dared to lift his eyes +to this Rose of Roses, your sister. Fear not,” he went on, addressing +Rosamund, “he shall offer you no more insult, who are henceforth under +the protection of the Signet,” and stretching out his thin, +cruel-looking hand, on which gleamed the ring of power, he patted her +on the arm. + +All of these things Masouda translated, while Rosamund dropped her head +to hide her face, though on it were not the blushes that he thought, +but loathing and alarm. + +Wulf glared at the Al-je-bal, whose head by good fortune was turned +away, and so fierce was the rage swelling in his heart that a mist +seemed to gather before his eyes, and through it this devilish chief of +a people of murderers, clothed in his robe of flaming red, looked like +a man steeped in blood. The thought came to him suddenly that he would +make him what he looked, and his hand passed to his sword-hilt. But +Godwin saw the terror in Masouda’s eyes, saw Wulf’s hand also, and +guessed what was about to chance. With a swift movement of his arm he +struck a golden dish from the table to the marble floor, then said, in +a clear voice in French: + +“Brother, be not so awkward; pick up that dish and answer the lord +Sinan as is your right—I mean, touching the matter of Lozelle.” + +Wulf stooped to obey, and his mind cleared which had been so near to +madness. + +“I wish it not, lord,” he said, “who, if I can, have your good leave to +slay this fellow on the third night from now. If I fail, then let my +brother take my place, but not before.” + +“Yes, I forgot,” said Sinan. “So I decreed, and that will be a fight I +wish to see. If he kills you then your brother shall meet him. And if +he kills you both, then perhaps I, Sinan, will meet him—in my own +fashion. Sweet lady, knowing where the course is laid, say, do you fear +to see this fray?” + +Rosamund’s face paled, but she answered proudly: + +“Why should I fear what my brethren do not fear? They are brave +knights, bred to arms, and God, in Whose hand are all our +destinies—even yours, O Lord of Death—He will guard the right.” + +When this speech was translated to him Sinan quailed a little. Then he +answered: + +“Lady, know that _I_ am the Voice and Prophet of Allah—ay, and his +sword to punish evil-doers and those who do not believe. Well, if what +I hear is true, your brethren are skilled horsemen who even dared to +pass my servant on the narrow bridge, so victory may rest with them. +Tell me which of them do you love the least, for he shall first face +the sword of Lozelle.” + +Now as Rosamund prepared herself to answer Masouda scanned her face +through her half-closed eyes. But whatever she may have felt within, it +remained calm and cold as though it were cut in stone. + +“To me they are as one man,” she said. “When one speaks, both speak. I +love them equally.” + +“Then, Guest of my heart, it shall go as I have said. Brother Blue-eyes +shall fight first, and if he falls then Brother Grey-eyes. The feast is +ended, and it is my hour for prayer. Slaves, bid the people fill their +cups. Lady, I pray of you, stand forward on the dais.” + +She obeyed, and at a sign the black slave-women gathered behind her +with their flaming torches. Then Sinan rose also, and cried with a loud +voice: + +“Servants of Al-je-bal, pledge, I command you, this Flower of flowers, +the high-born Princess of Baalbec, the niece of the Sultan, +Salah-ed-din, whom men call the Great,” and he sneered, “though he be +not so great as I, this Queen of maids who soon—” Then, checking +himself, he drank off his wine, and with a low bow presented the empty, +jewelled cup to Rosamund. All the company drank also, and shouted till +the hall rang, for her loveliness as she stood thus in the fierce light +of the torches, aflame as these men were with the vision-breeding wine +of Al-je-bal, moved them to madness. + +“Queen! Queen!” they shouted. “Queen of our Master and of us all!” + +Sinan heard and smiled. Then, motioning for silence, he took the hand +of Rosamund, kissed it, and turning, passed from the hall preceded by +his singing women and surrounded by the _daïs_ and guards. + +Godwin and Wulf stepped forward to speak with Rosamund, but Masouda +interposed herself between them, saying in a cold, clear voice: + +“It is not permitted. Go, knights, and cool your brows in yonder +garden, where sweet water runs. Your sister is my charge. Fear not, for +she is guarded.” + +“Come,” said Godwin to Wulf; “we had best obey.” + +So together they walked through the crowd of those feasters that +remained, for most of them had already left the hall, who made way, not +without reverence, for the brethren of this new star of beauty, on to +the terrace, and from the terrace into the gardens. Here they stood +awhile in the sweet freshness of the night, which was very grateful +after the heated, perfume-laden air of the banquet; then began to +wander up and down among the scented trees and flowers. The moon, +floating in a cloudless sky, was almost at its full, and by her light +they saw a wondrous scene. Under many of the trees and in tents set +about here and there, rugs were spread, and to them came men who had +drunk of the wine of the feast, and cast themselves down to sleep. + +“Are they drunk?” asked Wulf. + +“It would seem so,” answered Godwin. + +Yet these men appeared to be mad rather than drunk, for they walked +steadily enough, but with wide-set, dreamy eyes; nor did they seem to +sleep upon the rugs, but lay there staring at the sky and muttering +with their lips, their faces steeped in a strange, unholy rapture. +Sometimes they would rise and walk a few paces with outstretched arms, +till the arms closed as though they clasped something invisible, to +which they bent their heads to babble awhile. Then they walked back to +their rugs again, where they remained silent. + +As they lay thus, white-veiled women appeared, who crouched by the +heads of these sleepers, murmuring into their ears, and when from time +to time they sat up, gave them to drink from cups they carried, after +partaking of which they lay down again and became quite senseless. + +Only the women would move on to others and serve them likewise. Some of +them approached the brethren with a slow, gliding motion, and offered +them the cup; but they walked forward, taking no notice, whereupon the +girls left them, laughing softly, and saying such things as “Tomorrow +we shall meet,” or “Soon you will be glad to drink and enter into +Paradise.” + +“When the time comes doubtless we shall be glad, who have dwelt here,” +answered Godwin gravely, but as he spoke in French they did not +understand him. + +“Step out, brother,” said Wulf, “for at the very sight of those rugs I +grow sleepy, and the wine in the cups sparkles as bright as their +bearers’ eyes.” + +So they walked on towards the sound of a waterfall, and, when they came +to it, drank, and bathed their faces and heads. + +“This is better than their wine,” said Wulf. Then, catching sight of +more women flitting round them, looking like ghosts amid the moonlit +glades, they pressed forward till they reached an open sward where +there were no rugs, no sleepers, and no cupbearers. + +“Now,” said Wulf, halting, “tell me what does all this mean?” + +“Are you deaf and blind?” asked Godwin. “Cannot you see that yonder +fiend is in love with Rosamund, and means to take her, as he well may +do?” + +Wulf groaned aloud, then answered: “I swear that first I will send his +soul to hell, even though our own must keep it company.” + +“Ay,” answered Godwin, “I saw; you went near to it tonight. But +remember, that is the end for all of us. Let us wait then to strike +until we must—to save her from worse things.” + +“Who knows that we may find another chance? Meanwhile, meanwhile—” and +again he groaned. + +“Among those ornaments that hung about the waist of Rosamund I saw a +jewelled knife,” answered Godwin, sadly. “She can be trusted to use it +if need be, and after that we can be trusted to do our worst. At least, +I think that we should die in a fashion that would be remembered in +this mountain.” + +As they spoke they had loitered towards the edge of the glade, and +halting there stood silent, till presently from under the shadow of a +cedar tree appeared a solitary, white robed woman. + +“Let us be going,” said Wulf; “here is another of them with her +accursed cup.” + +But before they could turn the woman glided up to them and suddenly +unveiled. It was Masouda. + +“Follow me, brothers Peter and John,” she said in a laughing whisper. +“I have words to say to you. What! you will not drink? Well, it is +wisest.” And emptying the cup upon the ground she flitted ahead of +them. + +Silently as a wraith she went, now appearing in the open spaces, now +vanishing, beneath the dense gloom of cedar boughs, till she reached a +naked, lonely rock which stood almost upon the edge of the gulf. +Opposite to this rock was a great mound such as ancient peoples reared +over the bodies of their dead, and in the mound, cunningly hidden by +growing shrubs, a massive door. + +Masouda took a key from her girdle, and, having looked around to see +that they were alone, unlocked it. + +“Enter,” she said, pushing them before her. They obeyed, and through +the darkness within heard her close the door. + +“Now we are safe awhile,” she said with a sigh, “or, at least, so I +think. But I will lead you to where there is more light.” + +Then, taking each of them by the hand, she went forward along a smooth +incline, till presently they saw the moonlight, and by it discovered +that they stood at the mouth of a cave which was fringed with bushes. +Running up from the depths of the gulf below to this opening was a +ridge or shoulder of rock, very steep and narrow. + +“See the only road that leads from the citadel of Masyaf save that +across the bridge,” said Masouda. + +“A bad one,” answered Wulf, staring downward. + +“Ay, yet horses trained to rocks can follow it. At its foot is the +bottom of the gulf, and a mile or more away to the left a deep cleft +which leads to the top of the mountain and to freedom. Will you not +take it now? By tomorrow’s dawn you might be far away.” + +“And where would the lady Rosamund be?” asked Wulf. + +“In the harem of the lord Sinan—that is, very soon,” she answered, +coolly. + +“Oh, say it not!” he exclaimed, clasping her arm, while Godwin leaned +back against the wall of the cave. + +“Why should I hide the truth? Have you no eyes to see that he is +enamoured of her loveliness—like others? Listen; a while ago my master +Sinan chanced to lose his queen—how, we need not ask, but it is said +that she wearied him. Now, as he must by law, he mourns for her a +month, from full moon to full moon. But on the day after the full +moon—that is, the third morning from now—he may wed again, and I think +there will be a marriage. Till then, however, your sister is as safe as +though she yet sat at home in England before Salah-ed-din dreamed his +dream.” + +“Therefore,” said Godwin, “within that time she must either escape or +die.” + +“There is a third way,” answered Masouda, shrugging her shoulders. “She +might stay and become the wife of Sinan.” + +Wulf muttered something between his teeth, then stepped towards her +threateningly, saying: + +“Rescue her, or—” + +“Stand back, pilgrim John,” she said, with a laugh. “If I rescue her, +which indeed would be hard, it will not be for fear of your great +sword.” + +“What, then, will avail, Masouda?” asked Godwin in a sad voice. “To +promise you money would be useless, even if we could.” + +“I am glad that you spared me that insult,” she replied with flashing +eyes, “for then there had been an end. Yet,” she added more humbly, +“seeing my home and business, and what I appear to be,” and she glanced +at her dress and the empty cup in her hand, “it had not been strange. +Now hear me, and forget no word. At present you are in favour with +Sinan, who believes you to be the brothers of the lady Rosamund, not +her lovers; but from the moment he learns the truth your doom is +sealed. Now what the Frank Lozelle knows, that the Al-je-bal may know +at any time—and will know, if these should meet. + +“Meanwhile, you are free; so to-morrow, while you ride about the +garden, as you will do, take note of the tall rock that stands without, +and how to reach it from any point, even in the dark. To-morrow, also, +when the moon is up, they will lead you to the narrow bridge, to ride +your horses to and fro there, that they may learn not to fear it in +that light. When you have stabled them go into the gardens and come +hither unobserved, as the place being so far away you can do. The +guards will let you pass, thinking only that you desire to drink a cup +of wine with some fair friend, as is the custom of our guests. Enter +this cave—here is the key,” and she handed it to Wulf, “and if I be not +there, await me. Then I will tell you my plan, if I have any, but until +then I must scheme and think. Now it grows late—go.” + +“And you, Masouda,” said Godwin, doubtfully; “how will you escape this +place?” + +“By a road you do not know of, for I am mistress of the secrets of this +city. Still, I thank you for your thought of me. Go, I say, and lock +the door behind you.” + +So they went in silence, doing as she bade them, and walked back +through the gardens, that now seemed empty enough, to the +stable-entrance of the guest-house, where the guards admitted them +without question. + +That night the brethren slept together in one bed, fearing that if they +lay separate they might be searched in their sleep and not awake. +Indeed, it seemed to them that, as before, they heard footsteps and +voices in the darkness. + +Next morning, when they had breakfasted, they loitered awhile, hoping +to win speech with Rosamund, or sight of her, or at the least that +Masouda would come to them; but they saw no Rosamund, and no Masouda +came. At length an officer appeared, and beckoned to them to follow +him. So they followed, and were led through the halls and passages to +the terrace of justice, where Sinan, clad in his black robe, sat as +before beneath a canopy in the midst of the sun-lit marble floor. +There, too, beside him, also beneath the canopy and gorgeously +apparelled, sat Rosamund. They strove to advance and speak with her, +but guards came between them, pointing out a place where they must +stand a few yards away. Only Wulf said in a loud voice, in English: + +“Tell us, Rosamund, is it well with you?” Lifting her pale face, she +smiled and nodded. + +Then, at the bidding of Sinan, Masouda commanded them to be silent, +saying that it was not lawful for them to speak to the Lord of the +Mountain, or his Companion, unless they were first bidden so to do. So, +having learnt what they wished to know, they were silent. + +Now some of the _daïs_ drew near the canopy, and consulted with their +master on what seemed to be a great matter, for their faces were +troubled. Presently he gave an order, whereon they resumed their seats +and messengers left the terrace. When they appeared again, in their +company were three noble-looking Saracens, who were accompanied by a +retinue of servants and wore green turbans, showing that they were +descendants of the Prophet. These men, who seemed weary with long +travel, marched up the terrace with a proud mien, not looking at the +_daïs_ or any one until they saw the brethren standing side by side, at +whom they stared a little. Next they caught sight of Rosamund sitting +in the shadow of the canopy, and bowed to her, but of the Al-je-bal +they took no notice. + +“Who are you, and what is your pleasure?” asked Sinan, after he had +eyed them awhile. “I am the ruler of this country. These are my +ministers,” and he pointed to the _daïs_, “and here is my sceptre,” and +he touched the bloodred dagger broidered on his robe of black. + +Now that Sinan had declared himself the embassy bowed to him, +courteously enough. Then their spokesman answered him. + +“That sceptre we know; it has been seen afar. Twice already we have cut +down its bearers even in the tent of our master. Lord of Murder, we +acknowledge the emblem of murder, and we bow to you whose title is the +Great Murderer. As for our mission, it is this. We are the ambassadors +of Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, Sultan of the East; in +these papers signed with his signet are our credentials, if you would +read them.” + +“So,” answered Sinan, “I have heard of that chief. What is his will +with me?” + +“This, Al-je-bal. A Frank in your pay, and a traitor, has betrayed to +you a certain lady, niece of Salah-ed-din, the princess of Baalbec, +whose father was a Frankish noble named D’Arcy, and who herself is +named Rose of the World. The Sultan, Salah-ed-din, having been informed +of this matter by his servant, the prince Hassan, who escaped from your +soldiers, demands that this lady, his niece, be delivered to him +forthwith, and with her the head of the Frank Lozelle.” + +“The head of the Frank Lozelle he may have if he will after to-morrow +night. The lady I keep,” snarled Sinan. + +“What then?” + +“Then, Al-je-bal, in the name of Salah-ed-din, we declare war on +you—war till this high place of yours is pulled stone from stone; war +till your tribe be dead, till the last man, woman, and child be slain, +until your carcass is tossed to the crows to feed on.” + +Now Sinan rose in fury and rent at his beard. + +“Go back,” he said, “and tell that dog you name a sultan, that low as +he is, the humble-born son of Ayoub, I, Al-je-bal, do him an honour +that he does not observe. My queen is dead, and two days from now, when +my month of mourning is expired, I shall take to wife his niece, the +princess of Baalbec, who sits here beside me, my bride-elect.” + +At these words Rosamund, who had been listening intently, started like +one who has been stung by a snake, put her hands before her face and +groaned. + +“Princess,” said the ambassador, who was watching her, “you seem to +understand our language; is this your will, to mate your noble blood +with that of the heretic chief of the Assassins?” + +“Nay, nay!” she cried. “It is no will of mine, who am a helpless +prisoner and by faith a Christian. If my uncle Salah-ed-din is indeed +as great as I have heard, then let him show his power and deliver me, +and with me these my brethren, the knights Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf.” + +“So you speak Arabic,” said Sinan. “Good; our loving converse will be +easier, and for the rest—well, the whims of women change. Now, you +messengers of Salah-ed-din, begone, lest I send you on a longer +journey, and tell your master that if he dares to lift his standards +against my walls my _fedaïs_ shall speak with him. By day and by night, +not for one moment shall he be safe. Poison shall lurk in his cup and a +dagger in his bed. Let him kill a hundred of them, and another hundred +shall appear. His most trusted guards shall be his executioners. The +women in his harem shall bring him to his doom—ay, death shall be in +the very air he breathes. If he would escape it, therefore, let him +hide himself within the walls of his city of Damascus, or amuse himself +with wars against the mad Cross-worshippers, and leave me to live in +peace with this lady whom I have chosen.” + +“Great words, worthy of the Great Assassin,” said the ambassador. + +“Great words in truth, which shall be followed by great deeds. What +chance has this lord of yours against a nation sworn to obey to the +death? You smile? Then come hither you—and you.” And he summoned two of +his _daïs_ by name. + +They rose and bowed before him. + +“Now, my worthy servants,” he said, “show these heretic dogs how you +obey, that their master may learn the power of your master. You are old +and weary of life. Begone, and await me in Paradise.” + +The old men bowed again, trembling a little. Then, straightening +themselves, without a word they ran side by side and leapt into the +abyss. + +“Has Salah-ed-din servants such as these?” asked Sinan in the silence +that followed. “Well, what they have done, all would do, if I bid them +slay him. Back, now; and, if you will, take these Franks with you, who +are my guests, that they may bear witness of what you have seen, and of +the state in which you left their sister. Translate to the knights, +woman.” + +So Masouda translated. Then Godwin answered through her. + +“We understand little of this matter, who are ignorant of your tongue, +but, O Al-je-bal, ere we leave your sheltering roof we have a quarrel +to settle with the man Lozelle. After that, with your permission, we +will go, but not before.” + +Now Rosamund sighed as if in relief, and Sinan answered: + +“As you will; so be it,” adding, “Give these envoys food and drink +before they go.” + +But their spokesman answered: “We partake not of the bread and salt of +murderers, lest we should become of their fellowship. Al-je-bal, we +depart, but within a week we appear again in the company of ten +thousand spears, and on one of them shall your head be set. Your +safe-conduct guards us till the sunset. After that, do your worst, as +we do ours. High Princess, our counsel to you is that you slay yourself +and so gain immortal honour.” + +Then, bowing to her one by one, they turned and marched down the +terrace followed by their servants. + +Now Sinan waved his hand and the court broke up, Rosamund leaving it +first, accompanied by Masouda and escorted by guards, after which the +brethren were commanded to depart also. + +So they went, talking earnestly of all these things, but save in God +finding no hope at all. + + + + +Chapter XIV. +The Combat on the Bridge + + +“Saladin will come,” said Wulf the hopeful, and from the high place +where they stood he pointed to the plain beneath, across which a band +of horsemen moved at full gallop. “Look; yonder goes his embassy.” + +“Ay,” answered Godwin, “he will come, but, I fear me, too late.” + +“Yes, brother, unless we go to meet him. Masouda has promised.” + +“Masouda,” sighed Godwin. “Ah! to think that so much should hang upon +the faithfulness of one woman.” + +“It does not hang on her,” said Wulf; “it hangs on Fate, who writes +with her finger. Come, let us ride.” + +So, followed by their escort, they rode in the gardens, taking note, +without seeming to do so, of the position of the tall rock, and of how +it could be approached from every side. Then they went in again and +waited for some sign or word of Rosamund, but in vain. That night there +was no feast, and their meal was brought to them in the guest-house. +While they sat at it Masouda appeared for a moment to tell them that +they had leave to ride the bridge in the moonlight, and that their +escort would await them at a certain hour. + +The brethren asked if their sister Rosamund was not coming to dine with +them. Masouda answered that as the queen-elect of the Al-je-bal it was +not lawful that she should eat with any other men, even her brothers. +Then as she passed out, stumbling as though by accident, she brushed +against Godwin, and muttered: + +“Remember, to-night,” and was gone. + +When the moon had been up an hour the officer of their escort appeared, +and led them to their horses, which were waiting, and they rode away to +the castle bridge. As they approached it they saw Lozelle departing on +his great black stallion, which was in a lather of foam. It seemed that +he also had made trial of that perilous path, for the people, of whom +there were many gathered there, clapped their hands and shouted, “Well +ridden, Frank! well ridden!” + +Now, Godwin leading on Flame, they faced the bridge and walked their +horses over it. Nor did these hang back, although they snorted a little +at the black gulf on either side. Next they returned at a trot, then +over again, and yet again at a canter and a gallop, sometimes together +and sometimes singly. Lastly, Wulf made Godwin halt in the middle of +the bridge and galloped down upon him at speed, till within a lance’s +length. Then suddenly he checked his horse, and while his audience +shouted, wheeled it around on its hind legs, its forehoofs beating the +air, and galloped back again, followed by Godwin. + +“All went well,” Wulf said as they rode to the castle, “and nobler or +more gentle horses were never crossed by men. I have good hopes for +to-morrow night.” + +“Ay, brother, but I had no sword in my hand. Be not over confident, for +Lozelle is desperate and a skilled fighter, as I know who have stood +face to face with him. More over, his black stallion is well trained, +and has more weight than ours. Also, yonder is a fearsome place on +which to ride a course, and one of which none but that devil Sinan +would have thought.” + +“I shall do my best,” answered Wulf, “and if I fall, why, then, act +upon your own counsel. At least, let him not kill both of us.” + +Having stabled their horses the brethren wandered into the garden, and, +avoiding the cup-bearing women and the men they plied with their +drugged drink, drew by a roundabout road to the tall rock. Then, +finding themselves alone, they unlocked the door, and slipping through +it, locked it again on the further side and groped their way to the +moonlit mouth of the cave. Here they stood awhile studying the descent +of the gulf as best they could in that light, till suddenly Godwin, +feeling a hand upon his shoulder, started round to find himself face to +face with Masouda. + +“How did you come?” he asked. + +“By a road in which is your only hope,” she answered. “Now, Sir Godwin, +waste no words, for my time is short, but if you think that you can +trust me—and this is for you to judge—give me the Signet which hangs +about your neck. If not, go back to the castle and do your best to save +the lady Rosamund and yourselves.” + +Thrusting down his hand between his mail shirt and his breast, Godwin +drew out the ancient ring, carved with the mysterious signs and veined +with the emblem of the dagger, and handed it to Masouda. + +“You trust indeed,” she said with a little laugh, as, after scanning it +closely by the light of the moon and touching her forehead with it, she +hid it in her bosom. + +“Yes, lady,” he answered, “I trust you, though why you should risk so +much for us I do not know.” + +“Why? Well, perhaps for hate’s sake, for Sinan does not rule by love; +perhaps because, being of a wild blood, I am willing to set my life at +hazard, who care not if I win or die; perhaps because you saved me from +the lioness. What is it to you, Sir Godwin, why a certain woman-spy of +the Assassins, whom in your own land you would spit on, chooses to do +this or that?” + +She ceased and stood before him with heaving breast and flashing eyes, +a mysterious white figure in the moonlight, most beautiful to see. + +Godwin felt his heart stir and the blood flow to his brow, but before +he could speak Wulf broke in, saying: + +“You bade us spare words, lady Masouda, so tell us what we must do.” + +“This,” she answered, becoming calm again. “Tomorrow night about this +hour you fight Lozelle upon the narrow way. That is certain, for all +the city talks of it, and, whatever chances, Al-je-bal will not deprive +them of the spectacle of this fray to the death. Well, you may fall, +though that man at heart is a coward, which you are not, for here +courage alone will avail nothing, but rather skill and horsemanship and +trick of war. If so, then Sir Godwin fights him, and of this business +none can tell the end. Should both of you go down, then I will do my +best to save your lady and take her to Salah-ed-din, with whom she will +be safe, or if I cannot save her I will find her a means to save +herself by death.” + +“You swear that?” said Wulf. + +“I have said it; it is enough,” she answered impatiently. + +“Then I face the bridge and the knave Lozelle with a light heart,” said +Wulf again, and Masouda went on. + +“Now if you conquer, Sir Wulf, or if you fall and your brother +conquers, both of you—or one of you, as it may happen—must gallop back +at full speed toward the stable gate that lies more than a mile from +the castle bridge. Mounted as you are, no horse can keep pace with you, +nor must you stop at the gate, but ride on, ride like the wind till you +reach this place. The gardens will be empty of feasters and of +cup-bearers, who with every soul within the city will have gathered on +the walls and on the house-tops to see the fray. There is but one +fear—by then a guard may be set before this mound, seeing that +Salah-ed-din has declared war upon Al-je-bal, and though yonder road is +known to few, it is a road, and sentries may watch here. If so, you +must cut them down or be cut down, and bring your story to an end. Sir +Godwin, here is another key that you may use if you are alone. Take +it.” + +He did so, and she continued: + +“Now if both of you, or one of you, win through to this cave, enter +with your horses, lock the door, bar it, and wait. It may be I will +join you here with the princess. But if I do not come by the dawn and +you are not discovered and overwhelmed—which should not be, seeing that +one man can hold that door against many—then know that the worst has +happened, and fly to Salah-ed-din and tell him of this road, by which +he may take vengeance upon his foe Sinan. Only then, I pray you, doubt +not that I have done my best, who if I fail must die—most horribly. +Now, farewell, until we meet again or—do not meet again. Go; you know +the road.” + +They turned to obey, but when they had gone a few paces Godwin looked +round and saw Masouda watching them. The moonlight shone full upon her +face, and by it he saw also that tears were running from her dark and +tender eyes. Back he came again, and with him Wulf, for that sight drew +them. Down he bent before her till his knee touched the ground, and, +taking her hand, he kissed it, and said in his gentle voice: + +“Henceforth through life, through death, we serve two ladies,” and what +he did Wulf did also. + +“Mayhap,” she answered sadly; “two ladies—but one love.” + +Then they went, and, creeping through the bushes to the path, wandered +about awhile among the revellers and came to the guest-house safely. + +Once more it was night, and high above the mountain fortress of Masyaf +shone the full summer moon, lighting crag and tower as with some vast +silver lamp. Forth from the guest-house gate rode the brethren, side by +side upon their splendid steeds, and the moon-rays sparkled on their +coats of mail, their polished bucklers, blazoned with the cognizance of +a grinning skull, their close-fitting helms, and the points of the +long, tough lances that had been given them. Round them rode their +escort, while in front and behind went a mob of people. + +The nation of the Assassins had thrown off its gloom this night, for +the while it was no longer oppressed even by the fear of attack from +Saladin, its mighty foe. To death it was accustomed; death was its +watchword; death in many dreadful forms its daily bread. From the walls +of Masyaf, day by day, _fedaïs_ went out to murder this great one, or +that great one, at the bidding of their lord Sinan. + +For the most part they came not back again; they waited week by week, +month by month, year by year, till the moment was ripe, then gave the +poisoned cup or drove home the dagger, and escaped or were slain. Death +waited them abroad, and if they failed, death waited them at home. +Their dreadful caliph was himself a sword of death. At his will they +hurled themselves from towers or from precipices; to satisfy his policy +they sacrificed their wives and children. And their reward—in life, the +drugged cup and voluptuous dreams; after it, as they believed, a still +more voluptuous paradise. + +All forms of human agony and doom were known to this people; but now +they were promised an unfamiliar sight, that of Frankish knights +slaying each other in single combat beneath the silent moon, tilting at +full gallop upon a narrow place where many might hesitate to walk, +and—oh, joy!—falling perchance, horse and rider together, into the +depths below. So they were happy, for to them this was a night of +festival, to be followed by a morrow of still greater festival, when +their sultan and their god took to himself this stranger beauty as a +wife. Doubtless, too, he would soon weary of her, and they would be +called together to see her cast from some topmost tower and hear her +frail bones break on the cruel rocks below, or—as had happened to the +last queen—to watch her writhe out her life in the pangs of poison upon +a charge of sorcery. It was indeed a night of festival, a night filled +full of promise of rich joys to come. + +On rode the brethren, with stern, impassive faces, but wondering in +their hearts whether they would live to see another dawn. The shouting +crowd surged round them, breaking through the circle of their guards. A +hand was thrust up to Godwin; in it was a letter, which he took and +read by the bright moonlight. It was written in English, and brief: + +“I cannot speak with you. God be with you both, my brothers, God and +the spirit of my father. Strike home, Wulf, strike home, Godwin, and +fear not for me who will guard myself. Conquer or die, and in life or +death, await me. To-morrow, in the flesh, or in the spirit, we will +talk—Rosamund.” + +Godwin handed the paper to Wulf, and, as he did so, saw that the guards +had caught its bearer, a withered, grey-haired woman. They asked her +some questions, but she shook her head. Then they cast her down, +trampled the life out of her beneath their horses’ hoofs, and went on +laughing. The mob laughed also. + +“Tear that paper up,” said Godwin. Wulf did so, saying: + +“Our Rosamund has a brave heart. Well, we are of the same blood, and +will not fail her.” + +Now they were come to the open space in front of the narrow bridge, +where, tier on tier, the multitude were ranged, kept back from its +centre by lines of guards. On the flat roofed houses also they were +crowded thick as swarming bees, on the circling walls, and on the +battlements that protected the far end of the bridge, and the houses of +the outer city. Before the bridge was a low gateway, and upon its roof +sat the Al-je-bal, clad in his scarlet robe of festival, and by his +side, the moonlight gleaming on her jewels, Rosamund. In front, draped +in a rich garment, a dagger of gems in her dark hair, stood the +interpreter or “mouth” Masouda, and behind were _daïs_ and guards. + +The brethren rode to the space before the arch and halted, saluting +with their pennoned spears. Then from the further side advanced another +procession, which, opening, revealed the knight Lozelle riding on his +great black horse, and a huge man and a fierce he seemed in his armour. + +“What!” he shouted, glowering at them. “Am I to fight one against two? +Is this your chivalry?” + +“Nay, nay, Sir Traitor,” answered Wulf. “Nay, nay betrayer of Christian +maids to the power of the heathen dog; you have fought Godwin, now it +is the turn of Wulf. Kill Wulf and Godwin remains. Kill Godwin and God +remains. Knave, you look your last upon the moon.” + +Lozelle heard, and seemed to go mad with rage, or fear, or both. + +“Lord Sinan,” he shouted in Arabic, “this is murder. Am I, who have +done you so much service, to be butchered for your pleasure by the +lovers of that woman, whom you would honour with the name of wife?” + +Sinan heard, and stared at him with dull, angry eyes. + +“Ay, you may stare,” went on the maddened Lozelle, “but it is true—they +are her lovers, not her brothers. Would men take so much pains for a +sister’s sake, think you? Would they swim into this net of yours for a +sister’s sake?” + +Sinan held up his hand for silence. + +“Let the lots be cast,” he said, “for whatever these men are, this +fight must go on, and it shall be fair.” + +So a _daï_, standing by himself, cast lots upon the ground, and having +read them, announced that Lozelle must run the first course from the +further side of the bridge. Then one took his bridle to lead him +across. As he passed the brethren he grinned in their faces and said: + +“At least this is sure, you also look your last upon the moon. I am +avenged already. The bait that hooked me is a meal for yonder pike, and +he will kill you both before her eyes to whet his appetite.” + +But the brethren answered nothing. + +The black horse of Lozelle grew dim in the distance of the moonlit +bridge, and vanished beneath the farther archway that led to the outer +city. Then a herald cried, Masouda translating his words, which another +herald echoed from beyond the gulf. + +“Thrice will the trumpets blow. At the third blast of the trumpets the +knights shall charge and meet in the centre of the bridge. +Thenceforward they may fight as it pleases them, ahorse, or afoot, with +lance, with sword, or with dagger, but to the vanquished no mercy will +be shown. If he be brought living from the bridge, living he shall be +cast into the gulf. Hear the decree of the Al-je-bal!” + +Then Wulf’s horse was led forward to the entrance of the bridge, and +from the further side was led forward the horse of Lozelle. + +“Good luck, brother,” said Godwin, as he passed him. “Would that I rode +this course instead of you.” + +“Your turn may come, brother,” answered the grim Wulf, as he set his +lance in rest. + +Now from some neighbouring tower pealed out the first long blast of +trumpets, and dead silence fell on all the multitude. Grooms came +forward to look to girth and bridle and stirrup strap, but Wulf waved +them back. + +“I mind my own harness,” he said. + +The second blast blew, and he loosened the great sword in its scabbard, +that sword which had flamed in his forbear’s hand upon the turrets of +Jerusalem. + +“Your gift,” he cried back to Rosamund, and her answer came clear and +sweet: + +“Bear it like your fathers, Wulf. Bear it as it was last borne in the +hall at Steeple.” + +Then there was another silence—a silence long and deep. Wulf looked at +the white and narrow ribbon of the bridge, looked at the black gulf on +either side, looked at the blue sky above, in which floated the great +globe of the golden moon. Then he leant forward and patted Smoke upon +the neck. + +For the third time the trumpets blew, and from either end of that +bridge, two hundred paces long, the knights flashed towards each other +like living bolts of steel. The multitude rose to watch; even Sinan +rose. Only Rosamund sat still, gripping the cushions with her hands. +Hollow rang the hoofs of the horses upon the stonework, swifter and +swifter they flew, lower and lower bent the knights upon their saddles. +Now they were near, and now they met. The spears seemed to shiver, the +horses to hustle together on the narrow way and overhang its edge, then +on came the black horse towards the inner city, and on sped Smoke +towards the further gulf. + +“They have passed! They have passed!” roared the multitude. + +Look! Lozelle approached, reeling in his saddle, as well he might, for +the helm was torn from his head and blood ran from his skull where the +lance had grazed it. + +“Too high, Wulf; too high,” said Godwin sadly. “But oh! if those laces +had but held!” + +Soldiers caught the horse and turned it. + +“Another helm!” cried Lozelle. + +“Nay,” answered Sinan; “yonder knight has lost his shield. New +lances—that is all.” + +So they gave him a fresh lance, and, presently, at the blast of the +trumpets again the horses were seen speeding together over the narrow +way. They met, and lo! Lozelle, torn from his saddle, but still +clinging to the reins, was flung backwards, far backwards, to fall on +the stonework of the bridge. Down, too, beneath the mighty shock went +his black horse, a huddled heap, and lay there struggling. + +“Wulf will fall over him!” cried Rosamund. But Smoke did not fall; the +stallion gathered itself together—the moonlight shone so clear that +every watcher saw it—and since stop it could not, leapt straight over +the fallen black horse—ay, and over the rider beyond—and sped on in its +stride. Then the black found its feet again and galloped forward to the +further gate, and Lozelle also found his feet and turned to run. + +“Stand! Stand, coward!” yelled ten thousand voices, and, hearing them, +he drew his sword and stood. + +Within three great strides Wulf dragged his charger to its haunches, +then wheeled it round. + +“Charge him!” shouted the multitude; but Wulf remained seated, as +though unwilling to attack a horseless man. Next he sprang from his +saddle, and accompanied by the horse Smoke, which followed him as a dog +follows its master, walked slowly towards Lozelle, as he walked casting +away his lance and drawing the great, cross-hilted sword. + +Again the silence fell, and through it rang the cry of Godwin: + +“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” + +“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” came back Wulf’s answer from the bridge, and +his voice echoed thin and hollow in the spaces of the gulf. Yet they +rejoiced to hear it, for it told them that he was sound and strong. + +Wulf had no shield and Lozelle had no helm—the fight was even. They +crouched opposite each other, the swords flashed aloft in the +moonlight; from far away came the distant clank of steel, a soft, +continual clamour of iron on iron. A blow fell on Wulf’s mail, who had +nought wherewith to guard himself, and he staggered back. Another blow, +another, and another, and back, still back he reeled—back to the edge +of the bridge, back till he struck against the horse that stood behind +him, and, resting there a moment, as it seemed, regained his balance. + +Then there was a change. Look, he rushed forward, wielding the great +blade in both hands. The stroke lit upon Lozelle’s shield and seemed to +shear it in two, for in that stillness all could hear the clang of its +upper half as it fell upon the stones. Beneath the weight of it he +staggered, sank to his knee, gained his feet again, and in his turn +gave back. Yes, now it was Lozelle who rocked and reeled. Ay, by St. +Chad! Lozelle who went down beneath that mighty blow which missed the +head but fell upon his shoulder, and lay there like a log, till +presently the moonlight shone upon his mailed hand stretched upward in +a prayer for mercy. From house-top and terrace wall, from soaring gates +and battlements, the multitude of the people of the Assassins gathered +on either side the gulf broke into a roar that beat up the mountain +sides like a voice of thunder. And the roar shaped itself to these +words: + +“Kill him! kill him! _kill him!_” + +Sinan held up his hand, and a sudden silence fell. Then he, too, +screamed in his thin voice: + +“Kill him! He is conquered!” + +But the great Wulf only leaned upon the cross-handle of his brand, and +looked at the fallen foe. Presently he seemed to speak with him; then +Lozelle lifted the blade that lay beside him and gave it to him in +token of surrender. Wulf handled it awhile, shook it on high in +triumph, and whirled it about his head till it shone in the moonlight. +Next, with a shout he cast it from him far into the gulf, where it was +seen for a moment, an arc of gleaming light, and the next was gone. + +Now, taking no more heed of the conquered knight, Wulf turned and began +to walk towards his horse. + +Scarcely was his back towards him when Lozelle was on his feet again, a +dagger in his hand. + +“Look behind you!” yelled Godwin; but the spectators, pleased that the +fight was not yet done, broke into a roar of cheers. Wulf heard and +swung round. As he faced Lozelle the dagger struck him on the breast, +and well must it have been for him that his mail was good. To use his +sword he had neither space nor time, but ere the next stroke could fall +Wulf’s arms were about Lozelle, and the fight for life begun. + +To and fro they reeled and staggered, whirling round and round, till +none could tell which of them was Wulf or which his foe. Now they were +on the edge of the abyss, and, in that last dread strain for mastery, +seemed to stand there still as stone. Then one man began to bend down. +See! his head hung over. Further and further he bent, but his arms +could not be loosened. + +“They will both go!” cried the multitude in their joy. + +Look! A dagger flashed. Once, twice, thrice it gleamed, and those +wrestlers fell apart, while from deep down in the gulf came the thud of +a fallen body. + +“Which—oh, which?” cried Rosamund from her battlement. + +“Sir Hugh Lozelle,” answered Godwin in a solemn voice. + +Then the head of Rosamund fell forward on her breast, and for a while +she seemed to sleep. + +Wulf went to his horse, turned it about on the bridge, and throwing his +arm around its neck, rested for a space. Then he mounted and walked +slowly towards the inner gate. Pushing through the guard and officers, +Godwin rode out to meet him. + +“Bravely done, brother,” he said, when they came face to face. “Say, +are you hurt?” + +“Bruised and shaken—no more,” answered Wulf. + +“A good beginning, truly. Now for the rest,” said Godwin. Then he +glanced over his shoulder, and added, “See, they are leading Rosamund +away, but Sinan remains, to speak with you doubtless, for Masouda +beckons.” + +“What shall we do?” asked Wulf. “Make a plan, brother, for my head +swims.” + +“Hear what he has to say. Then, as your horse is not wounded either, +ride for it when I give the signal as Masouda bade us. There is no +other way. Pretend that you are wounded.” + +So, Godwin leading, while the multitude roared a welcome to the +conquering Wulf who had borne himself so bravely for their pleasure, +they rode to the mouth of the bridge and halted in the little space +before the archway. There Al-je-bal spoke by Masouda. + +“A noble fray,” he said. “I did not think that Franks could fight so +well; Say, Sir Knight, will you feast with me in my palace?” + +“I thank you, lord,” answered Wulf, “but I must rest while my brother +tends my hurts,” and he pointed to blood upon his mail. “To-morrow, if +it pleases you.” + +Sinan stared at them and stroked his beard, while they trembled, +waiting for the word of fate. + +It came. + +“Good. So be it. To-morrow I wed the lady Rose of Roses, and you +two—her brothers—shall give her to me, as is fitting,” and he sneered. +“Then also you shall receive the reward of valour—a great reward, I +promise you.” + +While he spoke Godwin, staring upward, had noted a little wandering +cloud floating across the moon. Slowly it covered it, and the place +grew dim. + +“Now,” he whispered, and bowing to the Al-je-bal, they pushed their +horses through the open gate where the mob closed in on them, thus for +a little while holding back the escort from following on their heels. +They spoke to Flame and Smoke, and the good horses plunged onward side +by side, separating the crowd as the prows of boats separate the water. +In ten paces it grew thin, in thirty it was behind them, for all folk +were gathered about the archway where they could see, and none beyond. +Forward they cantered, till the broad road turned to the left, and in +that faint light they were hidden. + +“Away!” said Godwin, shaking his reins. + +Forward leapt the horses at speed. Again Godwin turned, taking that +road which ran round the city wall and through the gardens, leaving the +guest-castle to the left, whereas their escort followed that whereby +they had come, which passed along the main street of the inner town, +thinking that they were ahead of them. Three minutes more and they were +in the lonely gardens, in which that night no women wandered and no +neophytes dreamed in the pavilions. + +“Wulf,” said Godwin, as they swept forward, skimming the turf like +swallows, “draw your sword and be ready. Remember the secret cave may +be guarded, and, if so, we must kill or be killed.” + +Wulf nodded, and next instant two long blades flashed in the moonlight, +for the little cloud had passed away. Within a hundred paces of them +rose the tall rock, but between it and the mound were two mounted +guards. These heard the beating of horses’ hoofs, and wheeling about, +stared to see two armed knights sweeping down upon them like a +whirlwind. They called to them to stop, hesitating, then rode forward a +few paces, as though wondering whether this were not a vision. + +In a moment the brethren were on them. The soldiers lifted their +lances, but ere they could thrust the sword of Godwin had caught one +between neck and shoulder and sunk to his breast bone, while the sword +of Wulf, used as a spear, had pierced the other through and through, so +that those men fell dead by the door of the mound, never knowing who +had slain them. + +The brethren pulled upon their bridles and spoke to Flame and Smoke, +halting them within a score of yards. Then they wheeled round and +sprang from their saddles. One of the dead guards still held his +horses’s reins, and the other beast stood by snorting. Godwin caught it +before it stirred, then, holding all four of them, threw the key to +Wulf and bade him unlock the door. Soon it was done, although he +staggered at the task; then he held the horses, while one by one Godwin +led them in, and that without trouble, for the beasts thought that this +was but a cave-hewn stable of a kind to which they were accustomed. + +“What of the dead men?” said Wulf. + +“They had best keep us company,” answered Godwin, and, running out, he +carried in first one and then the other. + +“Swift!” he said, as he threw down the second corpse. “Shut the door. I +caught sight of horsemen riding through the trees. Nay, they saw +nothing.” + +So they locked the massive door and barred it, and with beating hearts +waited in the dark, expecting every moment to hear soldiers battering +at its timbers. But no sound came; the searchers, if such they were, +had passed on to seek elsewhere. + +Now while Wulf made shift to fasten up the horses near the mouth of the +cave, Godwin gathered stones as large as he could lift, and piled them +up against the door, till they knew that it would take many men an hour +or more to break through. + +For this door was banded with iron and set fast in the living rock. + + + + +Chapter XV. +The Flight to Emesa + + +Then came the weariest time of waiting the brethren had ever known, or +were to know, although at first they did not feel it so long and heavy. +Water trickled from the walls of this cave, and Wulf, who was parched +with thirst, gathered it in his hands and drank till he was satisfied. +Then he let it run upon his head to cool its aching; and Godwin bathed +such of his brother’s hurts and bruises as could be come at, for he did +not dare to remove the hauberk, and so gave him comfort. + +When this was done, and he had looked to the saddles and trappings of +the horses, Wulf told of all that had passed between him and Lozelle on +the bridge. How at the first onset his spear had caught in the links of +and torn away the head-piece of his foe, who, if the lacings had not +burst, would have been hurled to death, while that of Lozelle struck +his buckler fair and shattered on it, rending it from his arm. How they +pushed past each other, and for a moment the fore hoofs of Smoke hung +over the abyss, so that he thought he was surely sped: How at the next +course Lozelle’s spear passed beneath his arm, while his, striking full +upon Sir Hugh’s breast, brought down the black horse and his rider as +though a thunderbolt had smitten them, and how Smoke, that could not +check its furious pace, leapt over them, as a horse leaps a-hunting: +How he would not ride down Lozelle, but dismounted to finish the fray +in knightly fashion, and, being shieldless, received the full weight of +the great sword upon his mail, so that he staggered back and would have +fallen had he not struck against the horse. + +Then he told of the blows that followed, and of his last that wounded +Lozelle, shearing through his mail and felling him as an ox is felled +by the butcher: How also, when he sprang forward to kill him, this +mighty and brutal man had prayed for mercy, prayed it in the name of +Christ and of their own mother, whom as a child he knew in Essex: How +he could not slaughter him, being helpless, but turned away, saying +that he left him to be dealt with by Al-je-bal, whereupon this +traitorous dog sprang up and strove to knife him. He told also of their +last fearful struggle, and how, shaken as he was by the blow upon his +back, although the point of the dagger had not pierced his mail, he +strove with Lozelle, man to man; till at length his youth, great +natural strength, and the skill he had in wrestling, learnt in many a +village bout at home, enabled him to prevail, and, while they hung +together on the perilous edge of the gulf, to free his right hand, draw +his poniard, and make an end. + +“Yet,” added Wulf, “never shall I forget the look of that man’s eyes as +he fell backwards, or the whistling scream which came from his pierced +throat.” + +“At least there is a rogue the less in the world, although he was a +brave one in his own knavish fashion,” answered Godwin. “Moreover, my +brother,” he added, placing his arm about Wulf’s neck, “I am glad it +fell to you to fight him, for at the last grip your might overcame, +where I, who am not so strong, should have failed. Further, I think you +did well to show mercy, as a good knight should; that thereby you have +gained great honour, and that if his spirit can see through the +darkness, our dead uncle is proud of you now, as I am, my brother.” + +“I thank you,” replied Wulf simply; “but, in this hour of torment, who +can think of such things as honour gained?” + +Then, lest he should grow stiff, who was sorely bruised beneath his +mail, they began to walk up and down the cave from where the horses +stood to where the two dead Assassins lay by the door, the faint light +gleaming upon their stern, dark features. Ill company they seemed in +that silent, lonely place. + +The time crept on; the moon sank towards the mountains. + +“What if they do not come?” asked Wulf. + +“Let us wait to think of it till dawn,” answered Godwin. + +Again they walked the length of the cave and back. + +“How can they come, the door being barred?” asked Wulf. + +“How did Masouda come and go?” answered Godwin. “Oh, question me no +more; it is in the hand of God.” + +“Look,” said Wulf, in a whisper. “Who stand yonder at the end of the +cave—there by the dead men?” + +“Their spirits, perchance,” answered Godwin, drawing his sword and +leaning forward. Then he looked, and true enough there stood two +figures faintly outlined in the gloom. They glided towards them, and +now the level moonlight shone upon their white robes and gleamed in the +gems they wore. + +“I cannot see them,” said a voice. “Oh, those dead soldiers—what do +they portend?” + +“At least yonder stand their horses,” answered another voice. + +Now the brethren guessed the truth, and, like men in a dream, stepped +forward from the shadow of the wall. + +“Rosamund!” they said. + +“Oh Godwin! oh Wulf!” she cried in answer. “Oh, Jesu, I thank Thee, I +thank Thee—Thee, and this brave woman!” and, casting her arms about +Masouda, she kissed her on the face. + +Masouda pushed her back, and said, in a voice that was almost harsh: +“It is not fitting, Princess, that your pure lips should touch the +cheek of a woman of the Assassins.” + +But Rosamund would not be repulsed. + +“It is most fitting,” she sobbed, “that I should give you thanks who +but for you must also have become ‘a woman of the Assassins,’ or an +inhabitant of the House of Death.” + +Then Masouda kissed her back, and, thrusting her away into the arms of +Wulf, said roughly: + +“So, pilgrims Peter and John, your patron saints have brought you +through so far; and, John, you fight right well. Nay, do not stop for +our story, if you wish us to live to tell it. What! You have the +soldiers’ horses with your own? Well done! I did not credit you with so +much wit. Now, Sir Wulf, can you walk? Yes; so much the better; it will +save you a rough ride, for this place is steep, though not so steep as +one you know of. Now set the princess upon Flame, for no cat is +surer-footed than that horse, as you may remember, Peter. I who know +the path will lead it. John, take you the other two; Peter, do you +follow last of all with Smoke, and, if they hang back, prick them with +your sword. Come, Flame, be not afraid, Flame. Where I go, you can +come,” and Masouda thrust her way through the bushes and over the edge +of the cliff, talking to the snorting horse and patting its neck. + +A minute more, and they were scrambling down a mountain ridge so steep +that it seemed as though they must fall and be dashed to pieces at the +bottom. Yet they fell not, for, made as it had been to meet such hours +of need, this road was safer than it appeared, with ridges cut in the +rock at the worst places. + +Down they went, and down, till at length, panting, but safe, they stood +at the bottom of the darksome gulf where only the starlight shone, for +here the rays of the low moon could not reach. + +“Mount,” said Masouda. “Princess, stay you on Flame; he is the surest +and the swiftest. Sir Wulf, keep your own horse Smoke; your brother and +I will ride those of the soldiers. Though not very swift, doubtless +they are good beasts, and accustomed to such roads.” Then she leapt to +the saddle as a woman born in the desert can, and pushed her horse in +front. + +For a mile or more Masouda led them along the rocky bottom of the gulf, +where because of the stones they could only travel at a foot pace, till +they came to a deep cleft on the left hand, up which they began to +ride. By now the moon was quite behind the mountains, and such faint +light as came from the stars began to be obscured with drifting clouds. +Still, they stumbled on till they reached a little glade where water +ran and grass grew. + +“Halt,” said Masouda. “Here we must wait till dawn for in this darkness +the horses cannot keep their footing on the stones. Moreover, all about +us lie precipices, over one of which we might fall.” + +“But they will pursue us,” pleaded Rosamund. + +“Not until they have light to see by,” answered Masouda, “or at least +we must take the risk, for to go forward would be madness. Sit down and +rest a while, and let the horses drink a little and eat a mouthful of +grass, holding their reins in our hands, for we and they may need all +our strength before to-morrow’s sun is set. Sir Wulf, say, are you much +hurt?” + +“But very little,” he answered in a cheerful voice; “a few bruises +beneath my mail—that is all, for Lozelle’s sword was heavy. Tell us, I +pray you, what happened after we rode away from the castle bridge.” + +“This, knights. The princess here, being overcome, was escorted by the +slaves back to her chambers, but Sinan bade me stay with him awhile +that he might speak to you through me. Do you know what was in his +mind? To have you killed at once, both of you, whom Lozelle had told +him were this lady’s lovers, and not her brothers. Only he feared that +there might be trouble with the people, who were pleased with the +fighting, so held his hand. Then he bade you to the supper, whence you +would not have returned; but when Sir Wulf said that he was hurt, I +whispered to him that what he wished to do could best be done on the +morrow at the wedding-feast when he was in his own halls, surrounded by +his guards. + +“‘Ay,’ he answered, ‘these brethren shall fight with them until they +are driven into the gulf. It will be a goodly sight for me and my queen +to see.’” + +“Oh! horrible, horrible!” said Rosamund; while Godwin muttered: + +“I swear that I would have fought, not with his guards, but with Sinan +only.” + +“So he suffered you to go, and I left him also. Before I went he spoke +to me, bidding me bring the princess to him privately within two hours +after we had supped, as he wished to speak to her alone about the +ceremony of her marriage on the morrow, and to make her gifts. I +answered aloud that his commands should be obeyed, and hurried to the +guest-castle. There I found your lady recovered from her faintness, but +mad with fear, and forced her to eat and drink. + +“The rest is short. Before the two hours were gone a messenger came, +saying that the Al-je-bal bade me do what he had commanded. + +“‘Return,’ I answered; ‘the princess adorns herself. We follow +presently alone, as it is commanded.’ + +“Then I threw this cloak about her and bade her be brave, and, if we +failed, to choose whether she would take Sinan or death for lord. Next, +I took the ring you had, the Signet of the dead Al-je-bal, who gave it +to your kinsman, and held it before the slaves, who bowed and let me +pass. We came to the guards, and to them again I showed the ring. They +bowed also, but when they saw that we turned down the passage to the +left and not to the right, as we should have done to come to the doors +of the inner palace, they would have stopped us. + +“‘Acknowledge the Signet,’ I answered. ‘Dogs, what is it to you which +road the Signet takes?’ Then they also let us pass. + +“Now, following the passage, we were out of the guest house and in the +gardens, and I led her to what is called the prison tower, whence runs +the secret way. Here were more guards whom I bade open in the name of +Sinan. + +“They said: ‘We obey not. This place is shut save to the Signet +itself.’ + +“‘Behold it!’ I answered. The officer looked and said: ‘It is the very +Signet, sure enough, and there is no other.’ + +“Yet he paused, studying the black stone veined with the red dagger and +the ancient writing on it. + +“‘Are you, then, weary of life?’ I asked. ‘Fool, the Al-je-bal himself +would keep a tryst within this house, which he enters secretly from the +palace. Woe to you if he does not find his lady there!’ + +“‘It is the Signet that he must have sent, sure enough,’ the captain +said again, ‘to disobey which is death.’ + +“‘Yes, open, open,’ whispered his companions. + +“So they opened, though doubtfully, and we entered, and I barred the +door behind us. Then, to be short, through the darkness of the tower +basement, guiding ourselves by the wall, we crept to the entrance of +that way of which I know the secret. Ay, and along all its length and +through the rock door of escape at the end which I set so that none can +turn it, save skilled masons with their tools, and into the cave where +we found you. It was no great matter, having the Signet, although +without the Signet it had not been possible to-night, when every gate +is guarded.” + +“No great matter!” gasped Rosamund. “Oh, Godwin and Wulf! if you could +know how she thought of and made ready everything; if you could have +seen how all those cruel men glared at us, searching out our very +souls! If you could have heard how high she answered them, waving that +ring before their eyes and bidding them to obey its presence, or to +die!” + +“Which they surely have done by now,” broke in Masouda quietly, “though +I do not pity them, who were wicked. Nay; thank me not; I have done +what I promised to do, neither less nor more, and—I love danger and a +high stake. Tell us your story, Sir Godwin.” + +So, seated there on the grass in the darkness, he told them of their +mad ride and of the slaying of the guards, while Rosamund raised her +hands and thanked Heaven for its mercies, and that they were without +those accursed walls. + +“You may be within them again before sunset,” said Masouda grimly. + +“Yes,” answered Wulf, “but not alive. Now what plan have you? To ride +for the coast towns?” + +“No,” replied Masouda; “at least not straight, since to do so we must +pass through the country of the Assassins, who by this day’s light will +be warned to watch for us. We must ride through the desert mountain +lands to Emesa, many miles away, and cross the Orontes there, then down +into Baalbec, and so back to Beirut.” + +“Emesa?” said Godwin. “Why Saladin holds that place, and of Baalbec the +lady Rosamund is princess.” + +“Which is best?” asked Masouda shortly. “That she should fall into the +hands of Salah-ed-din, or back into those of the master of the +Assassins? Choose which you wish.” + +“I choose Salah-ed-din,” broke in Rosamund, “for at least he is my +uncle, and will do me no wrong.” Nor, knowing the case, did the others +gainsay her. + +Now at length the summer day began to break, and while it was still too +dark to travel, Godwin and Rosamund let the horses graze, holding them +by their bridles. Masouda, also, taking off the hauberk of Wulf, +doctored his bruises as best she could with the crushed leaves of a +bush that grew by the stream, having first washed them with water, and +though the time was short, eased him much. Then, so soon as the dawn +was grey, having drunk their fill and, as they had nothing else, eaten +some watercress that grew in the stream, they tightened their saddle +girths and started. Scarcely had they gone a hundred yards when, from +the gulf beneath, that was hidden in grey mists, they heard the sound +of horse’s hoofs and men’s voices. + +“Push on,” said Masouda, “Al-je-bal is on our tracks.” + +Upwards they climbed through the gathering light, skirting the edge of +dreadful precipices which in the gloom it would have been impossible to +pass, till at length they reached a great table land, that ran to the +foot of some mountains a dozen miles or more away. Among those +mountains soared two peaks, set close together. To these Masouda +pointed, saying that their road ran between them, and that beyond lay +the valley of the Orontes. While she spoke, far behind them they heard +the sound of men shouting, although they could see nothing because of +the dense mist. + +“Push on,” said Masouda; “there is no time to spare,” and they went +forward, but only at a hand gallop, for the ground was still rough and +the light uncertain. + +When they had covered some six miles of the distance between them and +the mountain pass, the sun rose suddenly and sucked up the mist. This +was what they saw. Before them lay a flat, sandy plain; behind, the +stony ground that they had traversed, and riding over it, two miles +from them, some twenty men of the Assassins. + +“They cannot catch us,” said Wulf; but Masouda pointed to the right, +where the mist still hung, and said: + +“Yonder I see spears.” + +Presently it thinned, and there a league away they saw a great body of +mounted soldiers—perhaps there were four hundred. + +“Look,” she said; “they have come round during the night, as I feared +they would. Now we must cross the path before them or be taken,” and +she struck her horse fiercely with a stick she had cut at the stream. +Half a mile further on a shout from the great body of men to their +right, which was answered by another shout from those behind, told them +that they were seen. + +“On!” said Masouda. “The race will be close.” So they began to gallop +their best. + +Two miles were done, but although that behind was far off, the great +cloud of dust to their right grew ever nearer till it seemed as though +it must reach the mouth of the mountain pass before them. Then Godwin +spoke: + +“Wulf and Rosamund ride on. Your horses are swift and can outpace them. +At the crest of the mountain pass wait a while to breathe the beasts, +and see if we come. If not, ride on again, and God be with you.” + +“Aye,” said Masouda, “ride and head for the Emesa bridge—it can be seen +from far—and there yield yourselves to the officers of Salah-ed-din.” + +They hung back, but in a stern voice Godwin repeated: + +“Ride, I command you both.” + +“For Rosamund’s sake, so be it,” answered Wulf. + +Then he called to Smoke and Flame, and they stretched themselves out +upon the sand and passed thence swifter than swallows. Soon Godwin and +Masouda, toiling behind, saw them enter the mouth of the pass. + +“Good,” she said. “Except those of their own breed, there are no horses +in Syria that can catch those two. They will come to Emesa, have no +fear.” + +“Who was the man who brought them to us?” asked Godwin, as they +galloped side by side, their eyes fixed upon the ever-nearing cloud of +dust, in which the spear points sparkled. + +“My father’s brother—my uncle, as I called him,” she answered. “He is a +sheik of the desert, who owns the ancient breed that cannot be bought +for gold.” + +“Then you are not of the Assassins, Masouda?” + +“No; I may tell you, now that the end seems near. My father was an +Arab, my mother a noble Frank, a French woman, whom he found starving +in the desert after a fight, and took to his tent and made his wife. +The Assassins fell upon us and killed him and her, and captured me as a +child of twelve. Afterwards, when I grew older, being beautiful in +those days, I was taken to the harem of Sinan, and, although in secret +I had been bred up a Christian by my mother, they swore me of his +accursed faith. Now you will understand why I hate him so sorely who +murdered my father and my mother, and made me what I am; why I hold +myself so vile also. Yes, I have been forced to serve as his spy or be +killed, who, although he believed me his faithful slave, desired first +to be avenged upon him.” + +“I do not hold you vile,” panted Godwin, as he spurred his labouring +steed. “I hold you most noble.” + +“I rejoice to hear it before we die,” she answered, looking him in the +eyes in such a fashion that he dropped his head before her burning +gaze, “who hold you dear, Sir Godwin, for whose sake I have dared these +things, although I am nought to you. Nay, speak not; the lady Rosamund +has told me all that story—except its answer.” + +Now they were off the sand over which they had been racing side by +side, and beginning to breast the mountain slope, nor was Godwin sorry +that the clatter of their horses’ hoofs upon the stones prevented +further speech between them. So far they had outpaced the Assassins, +who had a longer and a rougher road to travel; but the great cloud of +dust was not seven hundred yards away, and in front of it, shaking +their spears, rode some of the best mounted of their soldiers. + +“These horses still have strength; they are better than I thought +them,” cried Masouda. “They will not gain on us across the mountains, +but afterwards—” + +For the next league they spoke no more, who must keep their horses from +falling as they toiled up the steep path. At length they reached the +crest, and there, on the very top of it, saw Wulf and Rosamund standing +by Flame and Smoke. + +“They rest,” Godwin said, then he shouted, “Mount! mount! The foe is +close.” + +So they climbed to their saddles again, and, all four of them together +began to descend the long slope that stretched to the plain two leagues +beneath. Far off across this plain ran a broad silver streak, beyond +which from that height they could see the walls of a city. + +“The Orontes!” cried Masouda. “Cross that, and we are safe.” But Godwin +looked first at his horse, then at Masouda, and shook his head. + +Well might he do so, for, stout-hearted as they were, the beasts were +much distressed that had galloped so far without drawing rein. Down the +steep road they plunged, panting; indeed at times it was hard to keep +them on their feet. + +“They will reach the plain—no more,” said Godwin, and Masouda nodded. + +The descent was almost done, and not a mile behind them the white-robed +Assassins streamed endlessly. Godwin plied his spurs and Masouda her +whip, although with little hope, for they knew that the end was near. +Down the last declivity they rushed, till suddenly, as they reached its +foot, Masouda’s horse reeled, stopped, and sank to the ground, while +Godwin’s pulled up beside it. + +“Ride on!” he cried to Rosamund and Wulf in front; but they would not. +He stormed at them, but they replied: “Nay, we will die together.” + +Masouda looked at the horses Flame and Smoke, which seemed but little +troubled. + +“So be it,” she said; “they have carried double before, and must again. +Mount in front of the lady, Sir Godwin; and, Sir Wulf, give me your +hand, and you will learn what this breed can do.” + +So they mounted. Forward started Flame and Smoke with a long, swinging +gallop, while from the Assassins above, who thought that they held +them, went up a shout of rage and wonder. + +“Their horses are also tired, and we may beat them yet,” called the +dauntless Masouda. But Godwin and Wulf looked sadly at the ten miles of +plain between them and the river bank. + +On they went, and on. A quarter of it was done. Half of it was done, +but now the first of the _fedaï_ hung upon their flanks not two hundred +yards behind. Little by little this distance lessened. At length they +were scarcely fifty yards away, and one of them flung a spear. In her +terror Rosamund sobbed aloud. + +“Spur the horses, knights,” cried Masouda, and for the first time they +spurred them. + +At the sting of the steel Flame and Smoke sprang forward as though they +had but just left their stable door, and the gap between pursuers and +pursued widened. Two more miles were done, and scarce seven furlongs +from them they saw the broad mouth of the bridge, while the towers of +Emesa beyond seemed so close that in this clear air they could discern +the watchmen outlined against the sky. Then they descended a little +valley, and lost sight of bridge and town. + +At the rise of the opposing slope the strength of Flame and Smoke at +last began to fail beneath their double burdens. They panted and +trembled; and, save in short rushes, no longer answered to the spur. +The Assassins saw, and came on with wild shouts. Nearer and nearer they +drew, and the sound of their horses’ hoofs beating on the sand was like +the sound of thunder. Now once more they were fifty yards away, and now +but thirty, and again the spears began to flash, though none struck +them. + +Masouda screamed to the horses in Arabic, and gallantly did they +struggle, plunging up the hill with slow, convulsive bounds. Godwin and +Wulf looked at each other, then, at a signal, checked their speed, +leapt to earth, and, turning, drew their swords. + +“On!” they cried, and lightened of their weight, once more the reeling +horses plunged forward. + +The Assassins were upon them. Wulf struck a mighty blow and emptied the +saddle of the first, then was swept to earth. As he fell from behind +him he heard a scream of joy, and struggling to his knees, looked +round. Lo! from over the crest of the rise rushed squadron upon +squadron of turbaned cavalry, who, as they came, set their lances in +rest, and shouted: + +“_Salah-ed-din! Salah-ed-din!_” + +The Assassins saw also, and turned to fly—too late! + +“A horse! A horse!” screamed Godwin in Arabic; and presently— how he +never knew—found himself mounted and charging with the Saracens. + +To Wulf, too, a horse was brought, but he could not struggle to its +saddle. Thrice he strove, then fell backwards and lay upon the sand, +waving his sword and shouting where he lay, while Masouda stood by him, +a dagger in her hand, and with her Rosamund upon her knees. + +Now the pursuers were the pursued, and dreadful was the reckoning that +they must pay. Their horses were outworn and could not fly at speed. +Some of the _fedaï_ were cut down upon them. Some dismounted, and +gathering themselves in little groups, fought bravely till they were +slain, while a few were taken prisoners. Of all that great troup of men +not a score won back alive to Masyaf to make report to their master of +how the chase of his lost bride had ended. + +A while later and Wulf from his seat upon the ground saw Godwin riding +back towards him, his red sword in his hand. With him rode a sturdy, +bright-eyed man gorgeously apparelled, at the sight of whom Rosamund +sprang to her feet; then, as he dismounted, ran forward and with a +little cry cast her arms about him. + +“Hassan! Prince Hassan! Is it indeed you? Oh, God be praised!” she +gasped, then, had not Masouda caught her, would have fallen. + +The Emir looked at her, her long hair loose, her face stained, her veil +torn, but still clad in the silk and gleaming gems with which she had +been decked as the bride-elect of Al-je-bal. Then low to the earth he +bent his knee, while the grave Saracens watched, and taking the hem of +her garment, he kissed it. + +“Allah be praised indeed!” he said. “I, His unworthy servant, thank Him +from my heart, who never thought to see you living more. Soldiers, +salute. Before you stands the lady Rose of the World, princess of +Baalbec and niece of your lord, Salah-ed-din, Commander of the +Faithful.” + +Then in stately salutation to this dishevelled, outworn, but still +queenly woman, uprose hand, and spear, and scimitar, while Wulf cried +from where he lay: + +“Why, it is our merchant of the drugged wine—none other! Oh! Sir +Saracen, does not the memory of that chapman’s trick shame you now?” + +The emir Hassan heard and grew red, muttering in his beard: + +“Like you, Sir Wulf, I am the slave of Fate, and must obey. Be not +bitter against me till you know all.” + +“I am not bitter,” answered Wulf, “but I always pay for my drink, and +we will settle that score yet, as I have sworn.” + +“Hush!” broke in Rosamund. “Although he stole me, he is also my +deliverer and friend through many a peril, and, had it not been for +him, by now—” and she shuddered. + +“I do not know all the story, but, Princess, it seems that you should +thank not me, but these goodly cousins of yours and those splendid +horses,” and Hassan pointed to Smoke and Flame, which stood by +quivering, with hollow flanks and drooping heads. + +“There is another whom I must thank also, this noble woman, as you will +call her also when you hear the story,” said Rosamund, flinging her arm +about the neck of Masouda. + +“My master will reward her,” said Hassan. “But oh! lady, what must you +think of me who seemed to desert you so basely? Yet I reasoned well. In +the castle of that son of Satan, Sinan,” and he spat upon the ground, +“I could not have aided you, for there he would only have butchered me. +But by escaping I thought that I might help, so I bribed the Frankish +knave with the priceless Star of my House,” and he touched the great +jewel that he wore in his turban, “and with what money I had, to loose +my bonds, and while he pouched the gold I stabbed him with his own +knife and fled. But this morning I reached yonder city in command of +ten thousand men, charged to rescue you if I could; if not, to avenge +you, for the ambassadors of Salah-ed-din informed me of your plight. An +hour ago the watchmen on the towers reported that they saw two horses +galloping across the plain beneath a double burden, pursued by soldiers +whom from their robes they took to be Assassins. So, as I have a +quarrel with the Assassins, I crossed the bridge, formed up five +hundred men in a hollow, and waited, never guessing that it was you who +fled. You know the rest—and the Assassins know it also, for,” he added +grimly, “you have been well avenged.” + +“Follow it up,” said Wulf, “and the vengeance shall be better, for I +will show you the secret way into Masyaf—or, if I cannot, Godwin +will—and there you may hurl Sinan from his own towers.” + +Hassan shook his head and answered: + +“I should like it well, for with this magician my master also has an +ancient quarrel. But he has other feuds upon his hands,” and he looked +meaningly at Wulf and Godwin, “and my orders were to rescue the +princess and no more. Well, she has been rescued, and some hundreds of +heads have paid the price of all that she has suffered. Also, that +secret way of yours will be safe enough by now. So there I let the +matter bide, glad enough that it has ended thus. Only I warn you +all—and myself also—to walk warily, since, if I know aught of him, +Sinan’s _fedaïs_ will henceforth dog the steps of everyone of us, +striving to bring us to our ends by murder. Now here come litters; +enter them, all of you, and be borne to the city, who have ridden far +enough to-day. Fear not for your horses; they shall be led in gently +and saved alive, if skill and care can save them. I go to count the +slain, and will join you presently in the citadel.” + +So the bearers came and lifted up Wulf, and helped Godwin from his +horse—for now that all was over he could scarcely stand—and with him +Rosamund and Masouda. Placing them in the litters, they carried them, +escorted by cavalry, across the bridge of the Orontes into the city of +Emesa, where they lodged them in the citadel. + +Here also, after giving them a drink of barley gruel, and rubbing their +backs and legs with ointment, they led the horses Smoke and Flame, +slowly and with great trouble, for these could hardly stir, and laid +them down on thick beds of straw, tempting them with food, which after +awhile they ate. The four—Rosamund, Masouda, Godwin, and Wulf—ate also +of some soup with wine in it, and after the hurts of Wulf had been +tended by a skilled doctor, went to their beds, whence they did not +rise again for two days. + + + + +Chapter XVI. +The Sultan Saladin + + +In the third morning Godwin awoke to see the ray of sunrise streaming +through the latticed window. + +They fell upon another bed near-by where Wulf still lay sleeping, a +bandage on his head that had been hurt in the last charge against the +Assassins, and other bandages about his arms and body, which were much +bruised in the fight upon the dreadful bridge. + +Wondrous was it to Godwin to watch him lying there sleeping healthily, +notwithstanding his injuries, and to think of what they had gone +through together with so little harm; to think, also, of how they had +rescued Rosamund out of the very mouth of that earthly hell of which he +could see the peaks through the open window-place—out of the very hands +of that fiend, its ruler. Reckoning the tale day by day, he reflected +on their adventures since they landed at Beirut, and saw how Heaven had +guided their every step. + +In face of the warnings that were given them, to visit the Al-je-bal in +his stronghold had seemed a madness. Yet there, where none could have +thought that she would be, they had found Rosamund. There they had been +avenged upon the false knight Sir Hugh Lozelle, who had betrayed her, +first to Saladin, then to Sinan, and sent him down to death and +judgment; and thence they had rescued Rosamund. + +Oh, how wise they had been to obey the dying words of their uncle, Sir +Andrew, who doubtless was given foresight at the end! God and His +saints had helped them, who could not have helped themselves, and His +minister had been Masouda. But for Masouda, Rosamund would by now be +lost or dead, and they, if their lives were still left to them, would +be wanderers in the great land of Syria, seeking for one who never +could be found. + +Why had Masouda done these things, again and again putting her own life +upon the hazard to save theirs and the honour of another woman? As he +asked himself the question Godwin felt the red blood rise to his face. +Because she hated Sinan, who had murdered her parents and degraded her, +she said; and doubtless that had to do with the matter. But it was no +longer possible to hide the truth. She loved him, and had loved him +from the first hour when they met. He had always suspected it—in that +wild trial of the horses upon the mountain side, when she sat with her +arms about him and her face pressed against his face; when she kissed +his feet after he had saved her from the lion, and many another time. + +But as they followed Wulf and Rosamund up the mountain pass while the +host of the Assassins thundered at their heels, and in broken gasps she +had told him of her sad history, then it was that he grew sure. Then, +too, he had said that he held her not vile, but noble, as indeed he +did; and, thinking their death upon them, she had answered that she +held him dear, and looked on him as a woman looks upon her only love—a +message in her eyes that no man could fail to read. Yet if this were +so, why had Masouda saved Rosamund, the lady to whom she knew well that +he was sworn? Reared among those cruel folk who could wade to their +desire through blood and think it honour, would she not have left her +rival to her doom, seeing that oaths do not hold beyond the grave? + +An answer came into the heart of Godwin, at the very thought of which +he turned pale and trembled. His brother was also sworn to Rosamund, +and she in her soul must be sworn to one of them. Was it not to Wulf, +Wulf who was handsomer and more strong than he, to Wulf, the conqueror +of Lozelle? Had Rosamund told Masouda this? Nay, surely not. + +Yet women can read each other’s hearts, piercing veils through which no +man may see, and perchance Masouda had read the heart of Rosamund. She +stood behind her during the dreadful duel at the gate, and watched her +face when Wulf’s death seemed sure; she might have heard words that +broke in agony from her lips in those moments of torment. + +Oh, without doubt it was so, and Masouda had protected Rosamund because +she knew that her love was for Wulf and not for him. The thought was +very bitter, and in its pain Godwin groaned aloud, while a fierce +jealousy of the brave and handsome knight who slept at his side, +dreaming, doubtless, of the fame that he had won and the reward by +which it would be crowned, gripped his vitals like the icy hand of +death. Then Godwin remembered the oath that they two had sworn far away +in the Priory at Stangate, and the love passing the love of woman which +he bore towards this brother, and the duty of a Christian warrior +whereto he was vowed, and hiding his face in his pillow he prayed for +strength. + +It would seem that it came to him—at least, when he lifted his head +again the jealousy was gone, and only the great grief remained. Fear +remained also—for what of Masouda? How should he deal with her? He was +certain that this was no fancy which would pass—until her life passed +with it, and, beautiful as she was, and noble as she was, he did not +wish her love. He could find no answer to these questions, save +this—that things must go on as they were decreed. For himself, he, +Godwin, would strive to do his duty, to keep his hands clean, and await +the end, whatever that might be. + +Wulf woke up, stretched his arms, exclaimed because that action hurt +him, grumbled at the brightness of the light upon his eyes, and said +that he was very hungry. Then he arose, and with the help of Godwin, +dressed himself, but not in his armour. Here, with the yellow-coated +soldiers of Saladin, grave-faced and watchful, pacing before their +door—for night and day they were trebly guarded lest Assassins should +creep in—there was no need for mail. In the fortress of Masyaf, indeed, +where they were also guarded, it had been otherwise. Wulf heard the +step of the sentries on the cemented pavement without, and shook his +great shoulders as though he shivered. + +“That sound makes my backbone cold,” he said. “For a moment, as my eyes +opened, I thought that we were back again in the guest chambers of +Al-je-bal, where folk crept round us as we slept and murderers marched +to and fro outside the curtains, fingering their knife-points. Well, +whatever there is to come, thank the Saints, that is done with. I tell +you, brother, I have had enough of mountains, and narrow bridges, and +Assassins. Henceforth, I desire to live upon a flat with never a hill +in sight, amidst honest folk as stupid as their own sheep, who go to +church on Sundays and get drunk, not with hachich, but on brown ale, +brought to them by no white-robed sorceress, but by a draggle-tailed +wench in a tavern, with her musty bedstraw still sticking in her hair. +Give me the Saltings of Essex with the east winds blowing over them, +and the primroses abloom upon the bank, and the lanes fetlock deep in +mud, and for your share you may take all the scented gardens of Sinan +and the cups and jewels of his ladies, with the fightings and +adventures of the golden East thrown in.” + +“I never sought these things, and we are a long way from Essex,” +answered Godwin shortly. + +“No,” said Wulf, “but they seem to seek you. What news of Masouda? Have +you seen her while I slept, which has been long?” + +“I have seen no one except the apothecary who tended you, the slaves +who brought us food, and last evening the prince Hassan, who came to +see how we fared. He told me that, like yourself, Rosamund and Masouda +slept.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” answered Wulf, “for certainly their rest was +earned. By St. Chad! what a woman is this Masouda! A heart of fire and +nerves of steel! Beautiful, too—most beautiful; and the best horsewoman +that ever sat a steed. Had it not been for her—By Heaven! when I think +of it I feel as though I loved her—don’t you?” + +“No,” said Godwin, still more shortly. + +“Ah, well, I daresay she can love enough for two who does nothing by +halves, and, all things considered,” he added, with one of his great +laughs, “I am glad it is I of whom she thinks so little—yes, I who +adore her as though she were my patron saint. Hark! the guards +challenge,” and, forgetting where he was, he snatched at his sword. + +Then the door opened, and through it appeared the emir Hassan, who +saluted them in the name of Allah, searching them with his quiet eyes. + +“Few would judge, to look at you, Sir Knights,” he said with a smile, +“that you have been the guests of the Old Man of the Mountain, and left +his house so hastily by the back door. Three days more and you will be +as lusty as when we met beyond the seas upon the wharf by a certain +creek. Oh, you are brave men, both of you, though you be infidels, from +which error may the Prophet guide you; brave men, the flower of +knighthood. Ay, I, Hassan, who have known many Frankish knights, say it +from my heart,” and, placing his hand to his turban, he bowed before +them in admiration that was not feigned. + +“We thank you, Prince, for your praise,” said Godwin gravely, but Wulf +stepped forward, took his hand, and shook it. + +“That was an ill trick, Prince, which you played us yonder in England,” +he said, “and one that brought as good a warrior as ever drew a +sword—our uncle Sir Andrew D’Arcy—to an end sad as it was glorious. +Still, you obeyed your master, and because of all that has happened +since, I forgive you, and call you friend, although should we ever meet +in battle I still hope to pay you for that drugged wine.” + +Here Hassan bowed, and said softly: + +“I admit that the debt is owing; also that none sorrow more for the +death of the noble lord D’Arcy than I, your servant, who, by the will +of God, brought it upon him. When we meet, Sir Wulf, in war—and that, I +think, will be an ill hour for me—strike, and strike home; I shall not +complain. Meanwhile, we are friends, and in very truth all that I have +is yours. But now I come to tell you that the princess Rose of the +World—Allah bless her footsteps!—is recovered from her fatigues, and +desires that you should breakfast with her in an hour’s time. Also the +doctor waits to tend your bruises, and slaves to lead you to the bath +and clothe you. Nay, leave your hauberk; here the faith of Salah-ed-din +and of his servants is your best armour.” + +“Still, I think that we will take them,” said Godwin, “for faith is a +poor defence against the daggers of these Assassins, who dwell not so +far away.” + +“True,” answered Hassan; “I had forgotten.” So thus they departed. + +An hour later they were led to the hall, where presently came Rosamund, +and with her Masouda and Hassan. + +She was dressed in the rich robes of an Eastern lady, but the gems with +which she had been adorned as the bride elect of Al-je-bal were gone; +and when she lifted her veil the brethren saw that though her face was +still somewhat pallid, her strength had come back to her, and the +terror had left her eyes. She greeted them with sweet and gentle words, +thanking first Godwin and then Wulf for all that they had done, and +turning to Masouda, who stood by, stately, and watchful, thanked her +also. Then they sat down, and ate with light hearts and a good +appetite. + +Before their meal was finished, the guard at the door announced that +messengers had arrived from the Sultan. They entered, grey-haired men +clad in the robes of secretaries, whom Hassan hastened to greet. When +they were seated and had spoken with him awhile, one of them drew forth +a letter, which Hassan, touching his forehead with it in token of +respect, gave to Rosamund. She broke its seal, and, seeing that it was +in Arabic, handed it to her cousin, saying: + +“Do you read it, Godwin, who are more learned than I.” + +So he read aloud, translating the letter sentence by sentence. This was +its purport: + +“Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, the Strong-to-aid, to his +niece beloved, Rose of the World, princess of Baalbec:— + +“Our servant, the emir Hassan, has sent us tidings of your rescue from +the power of the accursed lord of the Mountain, Sinan, and that you are +now safe in our city of Emesa, guarded by many thousands of our +soldiers, and with you a woman named Masouda, and your kinsmen, the two +Frankish knights, by whose skill in arms and courage you were saved. +Now this is to command you to come to our court at Damascus so soon as +you may be fit to travel, knowing that here you will be received with +love and honour. Also I invite your kinsmen to accompany you, since I +knew their father, and would welcome knights who have done such great +deeds, and the woman Masouda with them. Or, if they prefer it, all +three of them may return to their own lands and peoples. + +“Hasten, my niece, lady Rose of the World, hasten, for my spirit seeks +you, and my eyes desire to look upon you. In the name of Allah, +greeting.” + +“You have heard,” said Rosamund, as Godwin finished reading the scroll. +“Now, my cousins, what will you do?” + +“What else but go with you, whom we have come so far to seek?” answered +Wulf, and Godwin nodded his head in assent. + +“And you, Masouda?” + +“I, lady? Oh, I go also, since were I to return yonder,” and she nodded +towards the mountains, “my greeting would be one that I do not wish.” + +“Do you note their words, prince Hassan?” asked Rosamund. + +“I expected no other,” he answered with a bow. “Only, knights, you must +give me a promise, for even in the midst of my army such is needful +from men who can fly like birds out of the fortress of Masyaf and from +the knives of the Assassins—who are mounted, moreover, on the swiftest +horses in Syria that have been trained to carry a double burden,” and +he looked at them meaningly. “It is that upon this journey you will not +attempt to escape with the princess, whom you have followed from +over-sea to rescue her out of the hand of Salah-ed-din.” + +Godwin drew from his tunic the cross which Rosamund had left him in the +hall at Steeple, and saying: “I swear upon this holy symbol that during +our journey to Damascus I will attempt no escape with or without my +cousin Rosamund,” he kissed it. + +“And I swear the same upon my sword,” added Wulf, laying his hand upon +the silver hilt of the great blade which had been his forefather’s. + +“A security that I like better,” said Hassan with a smile, “but in +truth, knights, your word is enough for me.” Then he looked at Masouda +and went on, still smiling: “Nay it is useless; for women who have +dwelt yonder oaths have no meaning. Lady, we must be content to watch +you, since my lord has bidden you to his city, which, fair and brave as +you are, to be plain, I would not have done.” + +Then he turned to speak to the secretaries, and Godwin, who was noting +all, saw Masouda’s dark eyes follow him and in them a very strange +light. + +“Good,” they seemed to say; “as you have written, so shall you read.” + +That same afternoon they started for Damascus, a great army of +horsemen. In its midst, guarded by a thousand spears, Rosamund was +borne in a litter. In front of her rode Hassan, with his yellow-robed +bodyguard; at her side, Masouda; and behind—for, notwithstanding his +hurts, Wulf would not be carried—the brethren, mounted upon ambling +palfreys. After them, led by slaves, came the chargers, Flame and +Smoke, recovered now, but still walking somewhat stiffly, and then rank +upon rank of turbaned Saracens. Through the open curtains of her litter +Rosamund beckoned to the brethren, who pushed alongside of her. + +“Look,” she said, pointing with her hand. + +They looked, and there, bathed in the glory of the sinking sun, saw the +mountains crowned far, far away with the impregnable city and fortress +of Masyaf, and below it the slopes down which they had ridden for their +lives. Nearer to them flashed the river bordered by the town of Emesa. +Set at intervals along its walls were spears, looking like filaments +against the flaming, sunset sky, and on each of them a black dot, which +was the head of an Assassin, while from the turrets above, the golden +banner of Saladin fluttered in the evening wind. Remembering all that +she had undergone in that fearful home of devil-worshippers, and the +fate from which she had been snatched, Rosamund shuddered. + +“It burns like a city in hell,” she said, staring at Masyaf, environed +by that lurid evening light and canopied with black, smoke-like clouds. +“Oh! such I think will be its doom.” + +“I trust so,” answered Wulf fervently. “At least, in this world and the +next we have done with it.” + +“Yes,” added Godwin in his thoughtful voice; “still, out of that evil +place we won good, for there we found Rosamund, and there, my brother, +you conquered in such a fray as you can never hope to fight again, +gaining great glory, and perhaps much more.” + +Then reining in his horse, Godwin fell back behind the litter, while +Wulf wondered, and Rosamund watched him with dreaming eyes. + +That evening they camped in the desert, and next morning, surrounded by +wandering tribes of Bedouins mounted on their camels, marched on again, +sleeping that night in the ancient fortress of Baalbec, whereof the +garrison and people, having been warned by runners of the rank and +titles of Rosamund came out to do her homage as their lady. + +Hearing of it, she left her litter, and mounting a splendid horse which +they had sent her as a present, rode to meet them, the brethren, in +full armour and once more bestriding Flame and Smoke, beside her, and a +guard of Saladin’s own Mameluks behind. Solemn, turbaned men, who had +been commanded so to do by messengers from the Sultan, brought her the +keys of the gates on a cushion, minstrels and soldiers marched before +her, whilst crowding the walls and running alongside came the citizens +in their thousands. Thus she went on, through the open gates, past the +towering columns of ruined temples once a home of the worship of +heathen gods, through courts and vaults to the citadel surrounded by +its gardens that in dead ages had been the Acropolis of forgotten Roman +emperors. + +Here in the portico Rosamund turned her horse, and received the +salutations of the multitude as though she also were one of the world’s +rulers. Indeed, it seemed to the brethren watching her as she sat upon +the great white horse and surveyed the shouting, bending crowd with +flashing eyes, splendid in her bearing and beautiful to see, a prince +at her stirrup and an army at her back, that none of those who had trod +that path before her could have seemed greater or more glorious in the +hour of their pride than did this English girl, who by the whim of Fate +had suddenly been set so high. Truly by blood and nature she was fitted +to be a queen. Yet as Rosamund sat thus the pride passed from her face, +and her eyes fell. + +“Of what are you thinking?” asked Godwin at her side. + +“That I would we were back among the summer fields at Steeple,” she +answered, “for those who are lifted high fall low. Prince Hassan, give +the captains and people my thanks and bid them be gone. I would rest.” + +Thus for the first and last time did Rosamund behold her ancient fief +of Baalbec, which her grandsire, the great Ayoub, had ruled before her. + +That night there was feasting in the mighty, immemorial halls, and +singing and minstrelsy and the dancing of fair women and the giving of +gifts. For Baalbec, where birth and beauty were ever welcome, did +honour to its lady, the favoured niece of the mighty Salah-ed-din. Yet +there were some who murmured that she would bring no good fortune to +the Sultan or this his city, who was not all of the blood of Ayoub, but +half a Frank, and a Cross worshipper, though even these praised her +beauty and her royal bearing. The brethren they praised also, although +these were unbelievers, and the tale of how Wulf had fought the traitor +knight upon the Narrow Way, and of how they had led their kinswoman +from the haunted fortress of Masyaf, was passed from mouth to mouth. At +dawn the next day, on orders received from the Sultan, they left +Baalbec, escorted by the army and many of the notables of the town. +That afternoon they drew rein upon the heights which overlook the city +of Damascus, Bride of the Earth, set amidst its seven streams and +ringed about with gardens, one of the most beautiful and perhaps the +most ancient city in the world. Then they rode down to the bounteous +plain, and as night fell, having passed the encircling gardens, were +escorted through the gates of Damascus, outside of which most of the +army halted and encamped. + +Along the narrow streets, bordered by yellow, flat-roofed houses, they +rode slowly, looking now at the motley, many-coloured crowds, who +watched them with grave interest, and now at the stately buildings, +domed mosques and towering minarets, which everywhere stood out against +the deep blue of the evening sky. Thus at length they came to an open +space planted like a garden, beyond which was seen a huge and fantastic +castle that Hassan told them was the palace of Salah-ed-din. In its +courtyard they were parted, Rosamund being led away by officers of +state, whilst the brethren were taken to chambers that had been +prepared, where, after they had bathed, they were served with food. +Scarcely had they eaten it when Hassan appeared, and bade them follow +him. Passing down various passages and across a court they came to some +guarded doors, where the soldiers demanded that they should give up +their swords and daggers. + +“It is not needful,” said Hassan, and they let them go by. Next came +more passages and a curtain, beyond which they found themselves in a +small, domed room, lit by hanging silver lamps and paved in tesselated +marbles, strewn with rich rugs and furnished with cushioned couches. + +At a sign from Hassan the brethren stood still in the centre of this +room, and looked about them wondering. The place was empty and very +silent; they felt afraid—of what they knew not. Presently curtains upon +its further side opened and through them came a man turbaned and +wrapped in a dark robe, who stood awhile in the shadow, gazing at them +beneath the lamps. + +The man was not very tall, and slight in build, yet about him was much +majesty, although his garb was such as the humblest might have worn. He +came forward, lifting his head, and they saw that his features were +small and finely cut; that he was bearded, and beneath his broad brow +shone thoughtful yet at times piercing eyes which were brown in hue. +Now the prince Hassan sank to his knees and touched the marble with his +forehead, and, guessing that they were in the presence of the mighty +monarch Saladin, the brethren saluted in their western fashion. +Presently the Sultan spoke in a low, even voice to Hassan, to whom he +motioned that he should rise, saying: + +“I can see that you trust these knights, Emir,” and he pointed to their +great swords. + +“Sire,” was the answer, “I trust them as I trust myself. They are brave +and honourable men, although they be infidels.” + +The Sultan stroked his beard. + +“Ay,” he said, “infidels. It is a pity, yet doubtless they worship God +after their own fashion. Noble to look on also, like their father, whom +I remember well, and, if all I hear is true, brave indeed. Sir Knights, +do you understand my language?” + +“Sufficiently to speak it, lord,” answered Godwin, “who have learned it +since childhood, yet ill enough.” + +“Good. Then tell me, as soldiers to a soldier, what do you seek from +Salah-ed-din?” + +“Our cousin, the lady Rosamund, who, by your command, lord, was stolen +from our home in England.” + +“Knights, she is your cousin, that I know, as surely as I know that she +is my niece. Tell me now, is she aught more to you?” and he searched +them with those piercing eyes. + +Godwin looked at Wulf, who said in English: + +“Speak the whole truth, brother. From that man nothing can be hid.” + +Then Godwin answered: + +“Sire, we love her, and are affianced to her.” + +The Sultan stared at them in surprise. + +“What! Both of you?” he asked. + +“Yes, both.” + +“And does she love you both?” + +“Yes,” replied Godwin, “both, or so she says.” + +Saladin stroked his beard and considered them, while Hassan smiled a +little. + +“Then, knights,” he said presently, “tell me, which of you does she +love best?” + +“That, sire, is known to her alone. When the time comes, she will say, +and not before.” + +“I perceive,” said Saladin, “that behind this riddle hides a story. If +it is your good pleasure, be seated, and set it out to me.” + +So they sat down on the divan and obeyed, keeping nothing back from the +beginning to the end, nor, although the tale was long, did the Sultan +weary of listening. + +“A great story, truly,” he said, when at length they had finished, “and +one in which I seem to see the hand of Allah. Sir Knights, you will +think that I have wronged you—ay, and your uncle, Sir Andrew, who was +once my friend, although an older man than I, and who, by stealing away +my sister, laid the foundations of this house of love and war and woe, +and perchance of happiness unforeseen. + +“Now listen. The tale that those two Frankish knaves, the priest and +the false knight Lozelle, told to you was true. As I wrote to your +uncle in my letter, I dreamed a dream. Thrice I dreamed it; that this +niece of mine lived, and that if I could bring her here to dwell at my +side she should save the shedding of much blood by some noble deed of +hers—ay, of the blood of tens of thousands; and in that dream I saw her +face. Therefore I stretched out my arm and took her from far away. And +now, through you—yes, through you—she has been snatched from the power +of the great Assassin, and is safe in my court, and therefore +henceforth I am your friend.” + +“Sire, have you seen her?” asked Godwin. + +“Knights, I have seen her, and the face is the face of my dreams, and +therefore I know full surely that in those dreams God spoke. Listen, +Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf,” Saladin went on in a changed voice, a stern, +commanding voice. “Ask of me what you will, and, Franks though you are, +it shall be given you for your service’s sake—wealth, lands, titles, +all that men desire and I can grant—but ask not of me my niece, Rose of +the World, princess of Baalbec, whom Allah has brought to me for His +own purposes. Know, moreover, that if you strive to steal her away you +shall certainly die; and that if she escapes from me and I recapture +her, then she shall die. These things I have told her already, and I +swear them in the name of Allah. Here she is, and in my house she must +abide until the vision be fulfilled.” + +Now in their dismay the brethren looked at each other, for they seemed +further from their desire than they had been even in the castle of +Sinan. Then a light broke upon the face of Godwin, and he stood up and +answered: + +“Dread lord of all the East, we hear you and we know our risk. You have +given us your friendship; we accept it, and are thankful, and seek no +more. God, you say, has brought our lady Rosamund to you for His own +purposes, of which you have no doubt since her face is the very face of +your dreams. Then let His purposes be accomplished according to His +will, which may be in some way that we little guess. We abide His +judgment Who has guided us in the past, and will guide us in the +future.” + +“Well spoken,” replied Saladin. “I have warned you, my guests, +therefore blame me not if I keep my word; but I ask no promise from you +who would not tempt noble knights to lie. Yes, Allah has set this +strange riddle; by Allah let it be answered in His season.” + +Then he waved his hand to show that the audience was ended. + + + + +Chapter XVII. +The Brethren Depart from Damascus + + +At the court of Saladin Godwin and Wulf were treated with much honour. +A house was given them to dwell in, and a company of servants to +minister to their comfort and to guard them. Mounted on their swift +horses, Flame and Smoke, they were taken out into the desert to hunt, +and, had they so willed, it would have been easy for them to +out-distance their retinue and companions and ride away to the nearest +Christian town. Indeed, no hand would have been lifted to stay them who +were free to come or go. But whither were they to go without Rosamund? + +Saladin they saw often, for it pleased him to tell them tales of those +days when their father and uncle were in the East, or to talk with them +of England and the Franks, and even now and again to reason with Godwin +on matters of religion. Moreover, to show his faith in them, he gave +them the rank of officers of his own bodyguard, and when, wearying of +idleness, they asked it of him, allowed them to take their share of +duty in the guarding of his palace and person. This, at a time when +peace still reigned between Frank and Saracen, the brethren were not +ashamed to do, who received no payment for their services. + +Peace reigned indeed, but Godwin and Wulf could guess that it would not +reign for long. Damascus and the plain around it were one great camp, +and every day new thousands of wild tribesmen poured in and took up the +quarters that had been prepared for them. They asked Masouda, who knew +everything, what it meant. She answered: + +“It means the _Jihad_, the Holy War, which is being preached in every +mosque throughout the East. It means that the great struggle between +Cross and Crescent is at hand, and then, pilgrims Peter and John, you +will have to choose your standard.” + +“There can be little doubt about that,” said Wulf. + +“None,” replied Masouda, with one of her smiles, “only it may pain you +to have to make war upon the princess of Baalbec and her uncle, the +Commander of the Faithful.” Then she went, still smiling. + +For this was the trouble of it: Rosamund, their cousin and their love, +had in truth become the princess of Baalbec—for them. She lived in +great state and freedom, as Saladin had promised that she should live +in his letter to Sir Andrew D’Arcy. No insult or violence were offered +to her faith; no suitor was thrust upon her. But she was in a land +where women do not consort with men, especially if they be high-placed. +As a princess of the empire of Saladin, she must obey its rules, even +to veiling herself when she went abroad, and exchanging no private +words with men. Godwin and Wulf prayed Saladin that they might be +allowed to speak with her from time to time, but he only answered +shortly: + +“Sir Knights, our customs are our customs. Moreover, the less you see +of the princess of Baalbec the better I think it will be for her, for +you, whose blood I do not wish to have upon my hands, and for myself, +who await the fulfilment of that dream which the angel brought.” + +Then the brethren left his presence sore at heart, for although they +saw her from time to time at feasts and festivals, Rosamund was as far +apart from them as though she sat in Steeple Hall—ay, and further. Also +they came to see that of rescuing her from Damascus there was no hope +at all. She dwelt in her own palace, whereof the walls were guarded +night and day by a company of the Sultan’s Mameluks, who knew that they +were answerable for her with their lives. Within its walls, again, +lived trusted eunuchs, under the command of a cunning fellow named +Mesrour, and her retinue of women, all of them spies and watchful. How +could two men hope to snatch her from the heart of such a host and to +spirit her out of Damascus and through its encircling armies? + +One comfort, however, was left to them. When she reached the court +Rosamund had prayed of the Sultan that Masouda should not be separated +from her, and this because of the part she had played in his niece’s +rescue from the power of Sinan, he had granted, though doubtfully. +Moreover, Masouda, being a person of no account except for her beauty, +and a heretic, was allowed to go where she would and to speak with whom +she wished. So, as she wished to speak often with Godwin, they did not +lack for tidings of Rosamund. + +From her they learned that in a fashion the princess was happy +enough—who would not be that had just escaped from Al-je-bal?—yet weary +of the strange Eastern life, of the restraints upon her, and of her +aimless days; vexed also that she might not mix with the brethren. Day +by day she sent them her greetings, and with them warnings to attempt +nothing—not even to see her—since there was no hope that they would +succeed. So much afraid of them was the Sultan, Rosamund said, that +both she and they were watched day and night, and of any folly their +lives would pay the price. When they heard all this the brethren began +to despair, and their spirits sank so low that they cared not what +should happen to them. + +Then it was that a chance came to them of which the issue was to make +them still more admired by Saladin and to lift Masouda to honour. One +hot morning they were seated in the courtyard of their house beside the +fountain, staring at the passers-by through the bars of the bronze +gates and at the sentries who marched to and fro before them. This +house was in one of the principal thoroughfares of Damascus, and in +front of it flowed continually an unending, many-coloured stream of +folk. + +There were white-robed Arabs of the desert, mounted on their grumbling +camels; caravans of merchandise from Egypt or elsewhere; asses laden +with firewood or the grey, prickly growth of the wild thyme for the +bakers’ ovens; water-sellers with their goatskin bags and chinking +brazen cups; vendors of birds or sweetmeats; women going to the bath in +closed and curtained litters, escorted by the eunuchs of their +households; great lords riding on their Arab horses and preceded by +their runners, who thrust the crowd asunder and beat the poor with +rods; beggars, halt, maimed, and blind, beseeching alms; lepers, from +whom all shrank away, who wailed their woes aloud; stately companies of +soldiers, some mounted and some afoot; holy men, who gave blessings and +received alms; and so forth, without number and without end. + +Godwin and Wulf, seated in the shade of the painted house, watched them +gloomily. They were weary of this ever-changing sameness, weary of the +eternal glare and glitter of this unfamiliar life, weary of the +insistent cries of the mullahs on the minarets, of the flash of the +swords that would soon be red with the blood of their own people; +weary, too, of the hopeless task to which they were sworn. Rosamund was +one of this multitude; she was the princess of Baalbec, half an Eastern +by her blood, and growing more Eastern day by day—or so they thought in +their bitterness. As well might two Saracens hope to snatch the queen +of England from her palace at Westminster, as they to drag the princess +of Baalbec out of the power of a monarch more absolute than any king of +England. + +So they sat silent since they had nothing to say, and stared now at the +passing crowd, and now at the thin stream of water falling continually +into the marble basin. + +Presently they heard voices at the gate, and, looking up, saw a woman +wrapped in a long cloak, talking with the guard, who with a laugh +thrust out his arm, as though to place it round her. Then a knife +flashed, and the soldier stepped back, still laughing, and opened the +wicket. The woman came in. It was Masouda. They rose and bowed to her, +but she passed before them into the house. Thither they followed, while +the soldier at the gate laughed again, and at the sound of his mockery +Godwin’s cheek grew red. Even in the cool, darkened room she noticed +it, and said, bitterly enough: + +“What does it matter? Such insults are my daily bread whom they +believe—” and she stopped. + +“They had best say nothing of what they believe to me,” muttered +Godwin. + +“I thank you,” Masouda answered, with a sweet, swift smile, and, +throwing off her cloak, stood before them unveiled, clad in the white +robes that befitted her tall and graceful form so well, and were +blazoned on the breast with the cognizance of Baalbec. “Well for you,” +she went on, “that they hold me to be what I am not, since otherwise I +should win no entry to this house.” + +“What of our lady Rosamund?” broke in Wulf awkwardly, for, like Godwin, +he was pained. + +Masouda laid her hand upon her breast as though to still its heaving, +then answered: + +“The princess of Baalbec, my mistress, is well and as ever, beautiful, +though somewhat weary of the pomp in which she finds no joy. She sent +her greetings, but did not say to which of you they should be +delivered, so, pilgrims, you must share them.” + +Godwin winced, but Wulf asked if there were any hope of seeing her, to +which Masouda answered: + +“None,” adding, in a low voice, “I come upon another business. Do you +brethren wish to do Salah-ed-din a service?” + +“I don’t know. What is it?” asked Godwin gloomily. + +“Only to save his life—for which he may be grateful, or may not, +according to his mood.” + +“Speak on,” said Godwin, “and tell us how we two Franks can save the +life of the Sultan of the East.” + +“Do you still remember Sinan and his _fedaïs?_ Yes—they are not easily +forgotten, are they? Well, to-night he has plotted to murder +Salah-ed-din, and afterwards to murder you if he can, and to carry away +your lady Rosamund if he can, or, failing that, to murder her also. Oh! +the tale is true enough. I have it from one of them under the +Signet—surely that Signet has served us well—who believes, poor fool, +that I am in the plot. Now, you are the officers of the bodyguard who +watch in the ante-chamber to-night, are you not? Well, when the guard +is changed at midnight, the eight men who should replace them at the +doors of the room of Salah-ed-din will not arrive; they will be decoyed +away by a false order. In their stead will come eight murderers, +disguised in the robes and arms of Mameluks. They look to deceive and +cut you down, kill Salah-ed-din, and escape by the further door. Can +you hold your own awhile against eight men, think you?” + +“We have done so before and will try,” answered Wulf. “But how shall we +know that they are not Mameluks?” + +“Thus—they will wish to pass the door, and you will say, ‘Nay, sons of +Sinan,’ whereon they will spring on you to kill you. Then be ready and +shout aloud.” + +“And if they overcome us,” asked Godwin, “then the Sultan would be +slain?” + +“Nay, for you must lock the door of the chamber of Salah-ed-din and +hide away the key. The sound of the fighting will arouse the outer +guard ere hurt can come to him. Or,” she added, after thinking awhile, +“perhaps it will be best to reveal the plot to the Sultan at once.” + +“No, no,” answered Wulf; “let us take the chance. I weary of doing +nothing here. Hassan guards the outer gate. He will come swiftly at the +sound of blows.” + +“Good,” said Masouda; “I will see that he is there and awake. Now +farewell, and pray that we may meet again. I say nothing of this story +to the princess Rosamund until it is done with.” Then throwing her +cloak about her shoulders, she turned and went. + +“Is that true, think you?” asked Wulf of Godwin. + +“We have never found Masouda to be a liar,” was his answer. “Come; let +us see to our armour, for the knives of those _fedaï_ are sharp.” + +It was near midnight, and the brethren stood in the small, domed +ante-chamber, from which a door opened into the sleeping rooms of +Saladin. The guard of eight Mameluks had left them, to be met by their +relief in the courtyard, according to custom, but no relief had as yet +appeared in the ante-chamber. + +“It would seem that Masouda’s tale is true,” said Godwin, and going to +the door he locked it, and hid the key beneath a cushion. + +Then they took their stand in front of the locked door, before which +hung curtains, standing in the shadow with the light from the hanging +silver lamps pouring down in front of them. Here they waited awhile in +silence, till at length they heard the tramp of men, and eight +Mameluks, clad in yellow above their mail, marched in and saluted. + +“Stand!” said Godwin, and they stood a minute, then began to edge +forward. + +“Stand!” said both the brethren again, but still they edged forward. + +“Stand, sons of Sinan!” they said a third time, drawing their swords. + +Then with a hiss of disappointed rage the _fedaï_ came at them. + +“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_ Help for the Sultan!” shouted the brethren, and +the fray began. + +Six of the men attacked them, and while they were engaged with these +the other two slipped round and tried the door, only to find it fast. +Then they also turned upon the brethren, thinking to take the key from +off their bodies. At the first rush two of the _fedaï_ went down +beneath the sweep of the long swords, but after that the murderers +would not come close, and while some engaged them in front, others +strove to pass and stab them from behind. Indeed, a blow from one of +their long knives fell upon Godwin’s shoulder, but the good mail turned +it. + +“Give way,” he cried to Wulf, “or they will best us.” + +So suddenly they gave way before them till their backs were against the +door, and there they stood, shouting for help and sweeping round them +with their swords into reach of which the _fedaï_ dare not come. Now +from without the chamber rose a cry and tumult, and the sound of heavy +blows falling upon the gates that the murderers had barred behind them, +while upon the further side of the door, which he could not open, was +heard the voice of the Sultan demanding to know what passed. + +The _fedaï_ heard these sounds also, and read in them their doom. +Forgetting caution in their despair and rage, they hurled themselves +upon the brethren, for they thought that if they could get them down +they might still break through the door and slay Salah-ed-din before +they themselves were slain. But for awhile the brethren stopped their +rush with point and buckler, wounding two of them sorely; and when at +length they closed in upon them, the gates were burst, and Hassan and +the outer guard were at hand. + +A minute later and, but little hurt, Godwin and Wulf were leaning on +their swords, and the _fedaï_, some of them dead or wounded and some of +them captive, lay before them on the marble floor. Moreover, the door +had been opened, and through it came the Sultan in his nightgear. + +“What has chanced?” he asked, looking at them doubtfully. + +“Only this, lord,” answered Godwin; “these men came to kill you and we +held them off till help arrived.” + +“Kill me! My own guard kill me?” + +“They are not your guard; they are _fedaï_, disguised as your guard, +and sent by Al-je-bal, as he promised.” + +Now Salah-ed-din turned pale, for he who feared nothing else was all +his life afraid of the Assassins and their lord, who thrice had striven +to murder him. + +“Strip the armour from those men,” went on Godwin, “and I think that +you will find truth in my words, or, if not, question such of them as +still live.” + +They obeyed, and there upon the breast of one of them, burnt into his +skin, was the symbol of the blood-red dagger. Now Saladin saw, and +beckoned the brethren aside. + +“How knew you of this?” he asked, searching them with his piercing +eyes. + +“Masouda, the lady Rosamund’s waiting woman, warned us that you, lord, +and we, were to be murdered tonight by eight men, so we made ready.” + +“Why, then, did you not tell me?” + +“Because,” answered Wulf, “we were not sure that the news was true, and +did not wish to bring false tidings and be made foolish. Because, also, +my brother and I thought that we could hold our own awhile against +eight of Sinan’s rats disguised as soldiers of Saladin.” + +“You have done it well, though yours was a mad counsel,” answered the +Sultan. Then he gave his hand first to one and next to the other, and +said, simply: + +“Sir Knights, Salah-ed-din owes his life to you. Should it ever come +about that you owe your lives to Salah-ed-din, he will remember this.” + +Thus this business ended. On the morrow those of the _fedaï_ who +remained alive were questioned, and confessing freely that they had +been sent to murder Salah-ed-din who had robbed their master of his +bride, the two Franks who had carried her off, and the woman Masouda +who had guided them, they were put to death cruelly enough. Also many +others in the city were seized and killed on suspicion, so that for +awhile there was no more fear from the Assassins. + +Now from that day forward Saladin held the brethren in great +friendship, and pressed gifts upon them and offered them honours. But +they refused them all, saying that they needed but one thing of him, +and he knew what it was—an answer at which his face sank. + +One morning he sent for them, and, except for the presence of prince +Hassan, the most favourite of his emirs, and a famous imaum, or priest +of his religion, received them alone. + +“Listen,” he said briefly, addressing Godwin. “I understand that my +niece, the princess of Baalbec, is beloved by you. Good. Subscribe the +Koran, and I give her to you in marriage, for thus also she may be led +to the true faith, whom I have sworn not to force thereto, and I gain a +great warrior and Paradise a brave soul. The imaum here will instruct +you in the truth.” + +Thus he spoke, but Godwin only stared at him with eyes set wide in +wonderment, and answered: + +“Sire, I thank you, but I cannot change my faith to win a woman, +however dearly I may love her.” + +“So I thought,” said Saladin with a sigh, “though indeed it is sad that +superstition should thus blind so brave and good a man. Now, Sir Wulf, +it is your turn. What say you to my offer? Will you take the princess +and her dominions with my love thrown in as a marriage portion?” + +Wulf thought a moment, and as he thought there arose in his mind a +vision of an autumn afternoon that seemed years and years ago, when +they two and Rosamund had stood by the shrine of St. Chad on the shores +of Essex, and jested of this very matter of a change of faith. Then he +answered, with one of his great laughs: + +“Ay, sire, but on my own terms, not on yours, for if I took these I +think that my marriage would lack blessings. Nor, indeed, would +Rosamund wish to wed a servant of your Prophet, who if it pleased him +might take other wives.” + +Saladin leant his head upon his hand, and looked at them with +disappointed eyes, yet not unkindly. + +“The knight Lozelle was a Cross-worshipper,” he said, “but you two are +very different from the knight Lozelle, who accepted the Faith when it +was offered to him—” + +“To win your trade,” said Godwin, bitterly. + +“I know not,” answered Saladin, “though it is true the man seems to +have been a Christian among the Franks, who here was a follower of the +Prophet. At least, he is dead at your hands, and though he sinned +against me and betrayed my niece to Sinan, peace be with his soul. Now +I have one more thing to say to you. That Frank, Prince Arnat of Karak, +whom you call Reginald de Chatillon—accursed be his name!—” and he spat +upon the ground, “has once more broken the peace between me and the +king of Jerusalem, slaughtering my merchants, and stealing my goods. I +will suffer this shame no more, and very shortly I unfurl my standards, +which shall not be folded up again until they float upon the mosque of +Omar and from every tower top in Palestine. Your people are doomed. I, +Yusuf Salah-ed-din,” and he rose as he said the words, his very beard +bristling with wrath, “declare the Holy War, and will sweep them to the +sea. Choose now, you brethren. Do you fight for me or against me? Or +will you give up your swords and bide here as my prisoners?” + +“We are the servants of the Cross,” answered Godwin, “and cannot lift +steel against it and thereby lose our souls.” Then he spoke with Wulf, +and added, “As to your second question, whether we should bide here in +chains. It is one that our lady Rosamund must answer, for we are sworn +to her service. We demand to see the princess of Baalbec.” + +“Send for her, Emir,” said Saladin to the prince Hassan, who bowed and +departed. + +A while later Rosamund came, looking beautiful but, as they saw when +she threw back her veil, very white and weary. She bowed to Saladin, +and the brethren, who were not allowed to touch her hand, bowed to her, +devouring her face with eager eyes. + +“Greeting, my uncle,” she said to the Sultan, “and to you, my cousins, +greeting also. What is your pleasure with me?” + +Saladin motioned to her to be seated and bade Godwin set out the case, +which he did very clearly, ending: + +“Is it your wish, Rosamund, that we stay in this court as prisoners, or +go forth to fight with the Franks in the great war that is to be?” + +Rosamund looked at them awhile, then answered: + +“To whom were you sworn the first? Was it to the service of our Lord, +or to the service of a woman? I have said.” + +“Such words as we expected from you, being what you are,” exclaimed +Godwin, while Wulf nodded his head in assent, and added: + +“Sultan, we ask your safe conduct to Jerusalem, and leave this lady in +your charge, relying on your plighted word to do no violence to her +faith and to protect her person.” + +“My safe conduct you have,” replied Saladin, “and my friendship also. +Nor, indeed, should I have thought well of you had you decided +otherwise. Now, henceforth we are enemies in the eyes of all men, and I +shall strive to slay you as you will strive to slay me. But as regards +this lady, have no fear. What I have promised shall be fulfilled. Bid +her farewell, whom you will see no more.” + +“Who taught your lips to say such words, O Sultan?” asked Godwin. “Is +it given to you to read the future and the decrees of God?” + +“I should have said,” answered Saladin, “‘Whom you will see no more if +I am able to keep you apart.’ Can you complain who, both of you, have +refused to take her as a wife?” + +Here Rosamund looked up wondering, and Wulf broke in: + +“Tell her the price. Tell her that she was asked to wed either of us +who would bow the knee to Mahomet, and to be the head of his harem, and +I think that she will not blame us.” + +“Never would I have spoken again to him who answered otherwise,” +exclaimed Rosamund, and Saladin frowned at the words. “Oh! my uncle,” +she went on, “you have been kind to me and raised me high, but I do not +seek this greatness, nor are your ways my ways, who am of a faith that +you call accursed. Let me go, I beseech you, in care of these my +kinsmen.” + +“And your lovers,” said Saladin bitterly. “Niece, it cannot be. I love +you well, but did I know even that your life must pay the price of your +sojourn here, here you still should stay, since, as my dream told me, +on you hang the lives of thousands, and I believe that dream. What, +then, is your life, or the lives of these knights, or even my life, +that any or all of them should turn the scale against those of +thousands. Oh! everything that my empire can give is at your feet, but +here you stay until the dream be accomplished, and,” he added, looking +at the brethren, “death shall be the portion of any who would steal you +from my hand.” + +“Until the dream be accomplished?” said Rosamund catching at the words. +“Then, when it is accomplished, shall I be free?” + +“Ay,” answered the Sultan; “free to come or to go, unless you attempt +escape, for then you know your certain doom.” + +“It is a decree. Take note, my cousins, it is a decree. And you, prince +Hassan, remember it also. Oh! I pray with all my soul I pray, that it +was no lying spirit who brought you that dream, my uncle, though how I +shall bring peace, who hitherto have brought nothing except war and +bloodshed, I know not. Now go, my cousins but, if you will, leave me +Masouda, who has no other friends. Go, and take my love and blessing +with you, ay, and the blessing of Jesu and His saints which shall +protect you in the hour of battle, and bring us together again.” + +So spoke Rosamund and threw her veil before her face that she might +hide her tears. + +Then Godwin and Wulf stepped to where she stood by the throne of +Saladin, bent the knee before her, and, taking her hand, kissed it in +farewell, nor did the Sultan say them nay. But when she was gone and +the brethren were gone, he turned to the emir Hassan and to the great +imaum who had sat silent all this while, and said: + +“Now tell me, you who are old and wise, which of those men does the +lady love? Speak, Hassan, you who know her well.” + +But Hassan shook his head. “One or the other. Both or neither—I know +not,” he answered. “Her counsel is too close for me.” + +Then Saladin turned to the imaum—a cunning, silent man. + +“When both the infidels are about to die before her face, as I still +hope to see them do, we may learn the answer. But unless she wills it, +never before,” he replied, and the Sultan noted his saying. + +Next morning, having been warned that they would pass there by Masouda, +Rosamund, watching through the lattice of one of her palace windows, +saw the brethren go by. They were fully armed and, mounted on their +splendid chargers Flame and Smoke, looked glorious men as, followed by +their escort of swarthy, turbaned Mameluks, they rode proudly side by +side, the sunlight glinting on their mail. Opposite to her house they +halted awhile, and, knowing that Rosamund watched, although they could +not see her, drew their swords and lifted them in salute. Then +sheathing them again, they rode forward in silence, and soon were lost +to sight. + +Little did Rosamund guess how different they would appear when they +three met again. Indeed, she scarcely dared to hope that they would +ever meet, for she knew well that even if the war went in favour of the +Christians she would be hurried away to some place where they would +never find her. She knew well also that from Damascus her rescue was +impossible, and that although Saladin loved them, as he loved all who +were honest and brave, he would receive them no more as friends, for +fear lest they should rob him of her, whom he hoped in some way +unforeseen would enable him to end his days in peace. Moreover, the +struggle between Cross and Crescent would be fierce and to the death, +and she was sure that where was the closest fighting there in the midst +of it would be found Godwin and Wulf. Well might it chance, therefore, +that her eyes had looked their last upon them. + +Oh! she was great. Gold was hers, with gems more than she could count, +and few were the weeks that did not bring her added wealth or gifts. +She had palaces to dwell in—alone; gardens to wander in—alone; eunuchs +and slaves to rule over—alone. But never a friend had she, save the +woman of the Assassins, to whom she clung because she, Masouda, had +saved her from Sinan, and who clung to her, why, Rosamund could not be +sure, for there was a veil between their spirits. + +They were gone—they were gone! Even the sound of their horses’ hoofs +had died away, and she was desolate as a child lost in a city full of +folk. Oh! and her heart was filled with fears for them, and most of all +for one of them. If he should not come back into it, what would her +life be? + +Rosamund bowed her head and wept; then, hearing a sound behind her, +turned to see that Masouda was weeping also. + +“Why do you weep?” she asked. + +“The maid should copy her mistress,” answered Masouda with a hard +laugh; “but, lady, why do you weep? At least you are beloved, and, come +what may, nothing can take that from you. You are not of less value +than the good horse between the rider’s knees, or the faithful hound +that runs at his side.” + +A thought rose in Rosamund’s mind—a new and terrible thought. The eyes +of the two women met, and those of Rosamund asked, “Which?” anxiously +as once in the moonlight she had asked it with her voice from the gate +above the Narrow Way. Between them stood a table inlaid with ivory and +pearl, whereon the dust from the street had gathered through the open +lattice. Masouda leaned over, and with her forefinger wrote a single +Arabic letter in the dust upon the table, then passed her hand across +it. + +Rosamund’s breast heaved twice or thrice and was still. Then she asked: + +“Why did not you who are free go with him?” + +“Because he prayed me to bide here and watch over the lady whom he +loved. So to the death—I watch.” + +Slowly Masouda spoke, and the heavy words seemed like blood dropping +from a death wound. Then she sank forward into the arms of Rosamund. + + + + +Chapter XVIII. +Wulf Pays for the Drugged Wine + + +Many a day had gone by since the brethren bade farewell to Rosamund at +Damascus. Now, one burning July night, they sat upon their horses, the +moonlight gleaming on their mail. Still as statues they sat, looking +out from a rocky mountain top across that grey and arid plain which +stretches from near Nazareth to the lip of the hills at whose foot lies +Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee. Beneath them, camped around the +fountain of Seffurieh, were spread the hosts of the Franks to which +they did sentinel; thirteen hundred knights, twenty thousand foot, and +hordes of Turcopoles—that is, natives of the country, armed after the +fashion of the Saracens. Two miles away to the southeast glimmered the +white houses of Nazareth, set in the lap of the mountains. Nazareth, +the holy city, where for thirty years lived and toiled the Saviour of +the world. Doubtless, thought Godwin, His feet had often trod that +mountain whereon they stood, and in the watered vales below His hands +had sped the plow or reaped the corn. Long, long had His voice been +silent, yet to Godwin’s ears it still seemed to speak in the murmur of +the vast camp, and to echo from the slopes of the Galilean hills, and +the words it said were: “I bring not peace, but a sword.” + +To-morrow they were to advance, so rumour said, across yonder desert +plain and give battle to Saladin, who lay with all his power by Hattin, +above Tiberias. + +Godwin and his brother thought that it was a madness; for they had seen +the might of the Saracens and ridden across that thirsty plain beneath +the summer sun. But who were they, two wandering, unattended knights, +that they should dare to lift up their voices against those of the +lords of the land, skilled from their birth in desert warfare? Yet +Godwin’s heart was troubled and fear took hold of him, not for himself, +but for all the countless army that lay asleep yonder, and for the +cause of Christendom, which staked its last throw upon this battle. + +“I go to watch yonder; bide you here,” he said to Wulf, and, turning +the head of Flame, rode some sixty yards over a shoulder of the rock to +the further edge of the mountain which looked towards the north. Here +he could see neither the camp, nor Wulf, nor any living thing, but +indeed was utterly alone. Dismounting, and bidding the horse stand, +which it would do like a dog, he walked forward a few steps to where +there was a rock, and, kneeling down, began to pray with all the +strength of his pure, warrior heart. + +“O Lord,” he prayed, “Who once wast man and a dweller in these +mountains, and knowest what is in man, hear me. I am afraid for all the +thousands who sleep round Nazareth; not for myself, who care nothing +for my life, but for all those, Thy servants and my brethren. Yes, and +for the Cross upon which Thou didst hang, and for the faith itself +throughout the East. Oh! give me light! Oh! let me hear and see, that I +may warn them, unless my fears are vain!” + +So he murmured to Heaven above and beat his hands against his brow, +praying, ever praying, as he had never prayed before, that wisdom and +vision might be given to his soul. + +It seemed to Godwin that a sleep fell on him—at least, his mind grew +clouded and confused. Then it cleared again, slowly, as stirred water +clears, till it was bright and still; yet another mind to that which +was his servant day by day which never could see or hear those things +he saw and heard in that strange hour. Lo! he heard the spirits pass, +whispering as they went; whispering, and, as it seemed to him, weeping +also for some great woe which was to be; weeping yonder over Nazareth. +Then like curtains the veils were lifted from his eyes, and as they +swung aside he saw further, and yet further. + +He saw the king of the Franks in his tent beneath, and about him the +council of his captains, among them the fierce-eyed master of the +Templars, and a man whom he had seen in Jerusalem where they had been +dwelling, and knew for Count Raymond of Tripoli, the lord of Tiberias. +They were reasoning together, till, presently, in a rage, the Master of +the Templars drew his sword and dashed it down upon the table. + +Another veil was lifted, and lo! he saw the camp of Saladin, the +mighty, endless camp, with its ten thousand tents, amongst which the +Saracens cried to Allah through all the watches of the night. He saw +the royal pavilion, and in it the Sultan walked to and fro alone—none +of his emirs, not even his son, were with him. He was lost in thought, +and Godwin read his thought. + +It was: “Behind me the Jordan and the Sea of Galilee, into which, if my +flanks were turned, I should be driven, I and all my host. In front the +territories of the Franks, where I have no friend; and by Nazareth +their great army. Allah alone can help me. If they sit still and force +me to advance across the desert and attack them before my army melts +away, then I am lost. If they advance upon me round the Mountain Tabor +and by the watered land, I may be lost. But if—oh! if Allah should make +them mad, and they should strike straight across the desert—then, then +they are lost, and the reign of the Cross in Syria is forever at an +end. I will wait here. I will wait here....” + +Look! near to the pavilion of Saladin stood another tent, closely +guarded, and in it on a cushioned bed lay two women. One was Rosamund, +but she slept sound; and the other was Masouda, and she was waking, for +her eyes met his in the darkness. + +The last veil was withdrawn, and now Godwin saw a sight at which his +soul shivered. A fire-blackened plain, and above it a frowning +mountain, and that mountain thick, thick with dead, thousands and +thousands and thousands of dead, among which the hyenas wandered and +the night-birds screamed. He could see their faces, many of them he +knew again as those of living men whom he had met in Jerusalem and +elsewhere, or had noted with the army. He could hear also the moanings +of the few who were yet alive. + +About that field—yes, and in the camp of Saladin, where lay more +dead—his body seemed to wander searching for something, he knew not +what, till it came to him that it was the corpse of Wulf for which he +sought and found it not—nay, nor his own either. Then once more he +heard the spirits pass—a very great company, for to them were gathered +all those dead—heard them pass away, wailing, ever more faintly wailing +for the lost cause of Christ, wailing over Nazareth. + +Godwin awoke from his dream trembling, mounted his horse, and rode back +to Wulf. Beneath, as before, lay the sleeping camp, yonder stretched +the brown desert, and there sat Wulf watching both. + +“Tell me,” asked Godwin, “how long is it since I left you?” + +“Some few minutes—ten perhaps,” answered his brother. + +“A short while to have seen so much,” replied Godwin. Then Wulf looked +at him curiously and asked: + +“What have you seen?” + +“If I told you, Wulf, you would not believe.” + +“Tell me, and I will say.” + +So Godwin told him all, and at the end asked him, “What think you?” + +Wulf considered awhile, and answered: + +“Well, brother, you have touched no wine to-day, so you are not drunk, +and you have done nothing foolish, so you are not mad. Therefore it +would seem that the saints have been talking to you, or, at least, so I +should think of any other man whom I knew to be as good as you are. Yet +it is folk like you that see visions, and those visions are not always +true, for sometimes, I believe, the devil is their showman. Our watch +is ended, for I hear the horses of the knights who come to relieve us. +Listen; this is my counsel. In the camp yonder is our friend with whom +we travelled from Jerusalem, Egbert, the bishop of Nazareth, who +marches with the host. Let us go to him and lay this matter before him, +for he is a holy man and learned; no false, self-seeking priest.” + +Godwin nodded in assent, and presently, when the other knights were +come and they had made their report to them, they rode off together to +the tent of Egbert, and, leaving their horses in charge of a servant, +entered. + +Egbert was an Englishman who had spent more than thirty years of his +life in the East, whereof the suns had tanned his wrinkled face to the +hue of bronze, that seemed the darker in contrast with his blue eyes +and snow-white hair and beard. Entering the tent, they found him at his +prayers before a little image of the Virgin, and stood with bowed heads +until he had finished. Presently he rose, and greeting them with a +blessing, asked them what they needed. + +“Your counsel, holy father,” answered Wulf. “Godwin, set out your +tale.” + +So, having seen that the tent flap was closed and that none lingered +near, Godwin told him his dream. + +The old man listened patiently, nor did he seem surprised at this +strange story, since in those days men saw—or thought they saw—many +such visions, which were accepted by the Church as true. + +When he had finished Godwin asked of him as he had asked of Wulf: “What +think you, holy father? Is this a dream, or is it a message? And if so, +from whom comes the message?” + +“Godwin D’Arcy,” he answered, “in my youth I knew your father. It was I +who shrove him when he lay dying of his wounds, and a nobler soul never +passed from earth to heaven. After you had left Damascus, when you were +the guest of Saladin, we dwelt together in the same lodging in +Jerusalem, and together we travelled here, during all which time I +learned to know you also as the worthy son of a worthy sire—no +dissolute knight, but a true servant of the Church. It well may be that +to such a one as you foresight has been given, that through you those +who rule us may be warned, and all Christendom saved from great sorrow +and disgrace. Come; let us go to the king, and tell this story, for he +still sits in council yonder.” + +So they went out together and rode to the royal tent. Here the bishop +was admitted, leaving them without. + +Presently he returned and beckoned to them, and as they passed, the +guards whispered to them: + +“A strange council, sirs, and a fateful!” + +Already it was near midnight, but still the great pavilion was crowded +with barons and chief captains who sat in groups, or sat round a narrow +table made of boards placed upon trestles. At the head of that table +sat the king, Guy of Lusignan, a weak-faced man, clad in splendid +armour. On his right was the white-haired Count Raymond of Tripoli, and +on his left the black-bearded, frowning Master of the Templars, clad in +his white mantle on the left breast of which the red cross was +blazoned. + +Words had been running high, their faces showed it, but just then a +silence reigned as though the disputants were weary, and the king +leaned back in his chair, passing his hand to and fro across his +forehead. He looked up, and seeing the bishop, asked peevishly: + +“What is it now? Oh! I remember, some tale from those tall twin +knights. Well, bring them forward and speak it out, for we have no time +to lose.” + +So the three of them came forward and at Godwin’s prayer the bishop +Egbert told of the vision that had come to him not more than an hour +ago while he kept watch upon the mountain top. At first one or two of +the barons seemed disposed to laugh, but when they looked at Godwin’s +high and spiritual face, their laughter died away, for it did not seem +wonderful to them that such a man should see visions. Indeed, as the +tale of the rocky hill and the dead who were stretched upon it went on, +they grew white with fear, and whitest of them all was the king, Guy of +Lusignan. + +“Is all this true, Sir Godwin?” he asked, when the bishop had finished. + +“It is true, my lord king,” answered Godwin. + +“His word is not enough,” broke in the Master of the Templars. “Let him +swear to it on the Holy Rood, knowing that if he lies it will blast his +soul to all eternity.” And the council muttered, “Ay, let him swear.” + +Now there was an annexe to the tent, rudely furnished as a chapel, and +at the end of this annexe a tall, veiled object. Rufinus, the bishop of +Acre, who was clad in the armour of a knight, went to the object, and +drawing the veil, revealed a broken, blackened cross, set around with +jewels, that stood about the height of a man above the ground, for all +the lower part was gone. + +At the sight of it Godwin and every man present there fell upon his +knees, for since St. Helena found it, over seven centuries before, this +had been accounted the most precious relic in all Christendom; the very +wood upon which the Saviour suffered, as, indeed, it may have been. + +Millions had worshipped it, tens of thousands had died for it, and now, +in the hour of this great struggle between Christ and the false prophet +it was brought from its shrine that the host which escorted it might +prove invincible in battle. Soldiers who fought around the very Cross +could not be defeated, they said, for, if need were, legions of angels +would come to aid them. + +Godwin and Wulf stared at the relic with wonder, fear, and adoration. +There were the nail marks, there was the place where the scroll of +Pilate had been affixed above the holy head—almost could they seem to +see that Form divine and dying. + +“Now,” broke in the voice of the Master of the Templars, “let Sir +Godwin D’Arcy swear to the truth of his tale upon this Rood.” + +Rising from his knees Godwin advanced to the Cross, and laying his hand +upon the wood, said: “Upon the very Rood I swear that not much more +than an hour ago I saw the vision which has been told to the king’s +highness and to all; that I believe this vision was sent to me in +answer to my prayer to preserve our host and the holy city from the +power of the Saracen, and that it is a true foreshadowing of what will +come about should we advance upon the Sultan. I can say no more. I +swear, knowing that if I lie eternal damnation is my doom.” + +The bishop drew back the covering over the Cross, and in silence the +council took their seats again about the table. Now the king was very +pale, and fearful; indeed a gloom lay upon all of them. + +“It would seem,” he said, “that here a messenger has been sent to us +from heaven. Dare we disobey his message?” + +The Grand Templar lifted his rugged, frowning face. “A messenger from +heaven, said you, king? To me he seems more like a messenger from +Saladin. Tell us, Sir Godwin, were not you and your brother once the +Sultan’s guests at Damascus?” + +“That is so, my lord Templar. We left before the war was declared.” + +“And,” went on the Master, “were you not officers of the Sultan’s +bodyguard?” + +Now all looked intently at Godwin, who hesitated a little, foreseeing +how his answer would be read, whereon Wulf spoke in his loud voice: + +“Ay, we acted as such for awhile, and—doubtless you have heard the +story—saved Saladin’s life when he was attacked by the Assassins.” + +“Oh!” said the Templar with bitter sarcasm, “you saved Saladin’s life, +did you? I can well believe it. You, being Christians, who above +everything should desire the death of Saladin, saved his life! Now, Sir +Knights, answer me one more question—” + +“Sir Templar, with my tongue or with my sword?” broke in Wulf, but the +king held up his hand and bade him be silent. + +“A truce to your tavern ruffling, young sir, and answer,” went on the +Templar. “Or, rather, do you answer, Sir Godwin. Is your cousin, +Rosamund, the daughter of Sir Andrew D’Arcy, a niece of Saladin, and +has she been created by him princess of Baalbec, and is she at this +moment in his city of Damascus?” + +“She is his niece,” answered Godwin quietly; “she is the princess of +Baalbec, but at this moment she is not in Damascus.” + +“How do you know that, Sir Godwin?” + +“I know it because in the vision of which you have been told I saw her +sleeping in a tent in the camp of Saladin.” + +Now the council began to laugh, but Godwin, with a set, white face, +went on: + +“Ay, my lord Templar, and near that very blazoned tent I saw scores of +the Templars and of the Hospitallers lying dead. Remember it when the +dreadful hour comes and you see them also.” + +Now the laughter died away, and a murmur of fear ran round the board, +mixed with such words as “Wizardry.” “He has learnt it from the +Paynims.” “A black sorcerer, without doubt.” + +Only the Templar, who feared neither man nor spirit, laughed, and gave +him the lie with his eyes. + +“You do not believe me,” said Godwin, “nor will you believe me when I +say that while I was on guard on yonder hill-top I saw you wrangling +with the Count of Tripoli—ay, and draw your sword and dash it down in +front of him upon this very table.” + +Now again the council stared and muttered, for they too had seen this +thing; but the Master answered: + +“He may have learnt it otherwise than from an angel. Folk have been in +and out of this tent. My lord king, have we more time to waste upon +these visions of a knight of whom all we know for certain is, that like +his brother, he has been in the service of Saladin, which they left, he +says, in order to fight against him in this war. It may be so; it is +not for us to judge; though were the times different I would inform +against Sir Godwin D’Arcy as a sorcerer, and one who has been in +traitorous communication with our common foe.” + +“And I would thrust the lie down your throat with my sword’s point!” +shouted Wulf. + +But Godwin only shrugged: his shoulders and said nothing, and the +Master went on, taking no heed. + +“King, we await your word, and it must be spoken soon, for in four +hours it will be dawn. Do we march against Saladin like bold, Christian +men, or do we bide here like cowards?” + +Then Count Raymond of Tripoli rose, and said: + +“Before you answer, king, hear me, if it be for the last time, who am +old in war and know the Saracens. My town of Tiberias is sacked; my +vassals have been put to the sword by thousands; my wife is imprisoned +in her citadel, and soon must yield, if she be not rescued. Yet I say +to you, and to the barons here assembled, better so than that you +should advance across the desert to attack Saladin. Leave Tiberias to +its fate and my wife with it, and save your army, which is the last +hope of the Christians of the East. Christ has no more soldiers in +these lands, Jerusalem has no other shield. The army of the Sultan is +larger than yours; his cavalry are more skilled. Turn his flank—or, +better still, bide here and await his attack, and victory will be to +the soldiers of the Cross. Advance and the vision of that knight at +whom you scoff will come true, and the cause of Christendom be lost in +Syria. I have spoken, and for the last time.” + +“Like his friend the knight of Visions,” sneered the Grand Master, “the +count Raymond is an old ally of Saladin. Will you take such coward +council? On—on! and smite these heathen dogs, or be forever shamed. On, +in the name of the Cross! The Cross is with us!” + +“Ay,” answered Raymond, “for the last time.” + +Then there arose a tumult through which every man shouted to his +fellow, some saying one thing and some another, while the king sat at +the head of the board, his face hidden in his hands. Presently he +lifted it, and said: + +“I command that we march at dawn. If the count Raymond and these +brethren think the words unwise, let them leave us and remain here +under guard until the issue be known.” + +Now followed a great silence, for all there knew that the words were +fateful, in the midst of which Count Raymond said: + +“Nay, I go with you,” while Godwin echoed, “And we go also to show +whether or not we are the spies of Saladin.” + +Of these speeches none of them seemed to take heed, for all were lost +in their own thoughts. One by one they rose, bowed to the king, and +left the tent to give their commands and rest awhile, before it was +time to ride. Godwin and Wulf went also, and with them the bishop of +Nazareth, who wrung his hands and seemed ill at ease. But Wulf +comforted him, saying: + +“Grieve no more, father; let us think of the joy of battle, not of the +sorrow by which it may be followed.” + +“I find no joy in battles,” answered the holy Egbert. + +When they had slept awhile, Godwin and Wulf rose and fed their horses. +After they had washed and groomed them, they tested and did on their +armour, then took them down to the spring to drink their fill, as their +masters did. Also Wulf, who was cunning in war, brought with him four +large wineskins which he had provided against this hour, and filling +them with pure water, fastened two of them with thongs behind the +saddle of Godwin and two behind his own. Further, he filled the +water-bottles at their saddle-bows, saying: + +“At least we will be among the last to die of thirst.” + +Then they went back and watched the host break its camp, which it did +with no light heart, for many of them knew of the danger in which they +stood; moreover, the tale of Godwin’s vision had been spread abroad. +Not knowing where to go, they and Egbert, the bishop of Nazareth—who +was unarmed and rode upon a mule, for stay behind he would not—joined +themselves to the great body of knights who followed the king. As they +did so, the Templars, five hundred strong, came up, a fierce and +gallant band, and the Master, who was at their head, saw the brethren +and called out, pointing to the wineskins which were hung behind their +saddles: + +“What do these water-carriers here among brave knights who trust in God +alone?” + +Wulf would have answered, but Godwin bade him be silent, saying: + +“Fall back; we will find less ill-omened company.” + +So they stood on one side and bowed themselves as the Cross went by, +guarded by the mailed bishop of Acre. Then came Reginald of Chatillon, +Saladin’s enemy, the cause of all this woe, who saw them and cried: + +“Sir Knights, whatever they may say, I know you for brave men, for I +have heard the tale of your doings among the Assassins. There is room +for you among my suite—follow me.” + +“As well him as another,” said Godwin. “Let us go where we are led.” So +they followed him. + +By the time that the army reached Kenna, where once the water was made +wine, the July sun was already hot, and the spring was so soon drunk +dry that many men could get no water. On they pushed into the desert +lands below, which lay between them and Tiberias, and were bordered on +the right and left by hills. Now clouds of dust were seen moving across +the plains, and in the heart of them bodies of Saracen horsemen, which +continually attacked the vanguard under Count Raymond, and as +continually retreated before they could be crushed, slaying many with +their spears and arrows. Also these came round behind them, and charged +the rearguard, where marched the Templars and the light-armed troops +named Turcopoles, and the band of Reginald de Chatillon, with which +rode the brethren. + +From noon till near sundown the long harassed line, broken now into +fragments, struggled forward across the rough, stony plain, the burning +heat beating upon their armour till the air danced about it as it does +before a fire. Towards evening men and horses became exhausted, and the +soldiers cried to their captains to lead them to water. But in that +place there was no water. The rearguard fell behind, worn out with +constant attacks that must be repelled in the burning heat, so that +there was a great gap between it and the king who marched in the +centre. Messages reached them to push on, but they could not, and at +length camp was pitched in the desert near a place called Marescalcia, +and upon this camp Raymond and his vanguard were forced back. As Godwin +and Wulf rode up, they saw him come in bringing his wounded with him, +and heard him pray the king to push on and at all hazards to cut his +way through to the lake, where they might drink—ay, and heard the king +say that he could not, since the soldiers would march no more that day. +Then Raymond wrung his hands in despair and rode back to his men, +crying aloud: + +“Alas! alas! Oh! Lord God, alas! We are dead, and Thy Kingdom is lost.” + +That night none slept, for all were athirst, and who can sleep with a +burning throat? Now also Godwin and Wulf were no longer laughed at +because of the water-skins they carried on their horses. Rather did +great nobles come to them, and almost on their knees crave for the boon +of a single cup. Having watered their horses sparingly from a bowl, +they gave what they could, till at length only two skins remained, and +one of these was spilt by a thief, who crept up and slashed it with his +knife that he might drink while the water ran to waste. After this the +brethren drew their swords and watched, swearing that they would kill +any man who so much as touched the skin which was left. All that long +night through there arose a confused clamour from the camp, of which +the burden seemed to be, “Water! Give us water!” while from without +came the shouts of the Saracens calling upon Allah. Here, too, the hot +ground was covered with scrub dried to tinder by the summer drought, +and to this the Saracens set fire so that the smoke rolled down on the +Christian host and choked them, and the place became a hell. + +Day dawned at last; and the army was formed up in order of battle, its +two wings being thrown forward. Thus they struggled on, those of them +that were not too weak to stir, who were slaughtered as they lay. Nor +as yet did the Saracens attack them, since they knew that the sun was +stronger than all their spears. On they laboured towards the northern +wells, till about mid-day the battle began with a flight of arrows so +thick that for awhile it hid the heavens. + +After this came charge and counter-charge, attack and repulse, and +always above the noise of war that dreadful cry for water. What chanced +Godwin and Wulf never knew, for the smoke and dust blinded them so that +they could see but a little way. At length there was a last furious +charge, and the knights with whom they were clove the dense mass of +Saracens like a serpent of steel, leaving a broad trail of dead behind +them. When they pulled rein and wiped the sweat from their eyes it was +to find themselves with thousands of others upon the top of a steep +hill, of which the sides were thick with dry grass and bush that +already was being fired. + +“The Rood! The Rood! Rally round the Rood!” said a voice, and looking +behind them they saw the black and jewelled fragment of the true Cross +set upon a rock, and by it the bishop of Acre. Then the smoke of the +burning grass rose up and hid it from their sight. + +Now began one of the most hideous fights that is told of in the history +of the world. Again and again the Saracens attacked in thousands, and +again and again they were driven back by the desperate valour of the +Franks, who fought on, their jaws agape with thirst. A blackbearded man +stumbled up to the brethren, his tongue protruding from his lips, and +they knew him for the Master of the Templars. + +“For the love of Christ, give me to drink,” he said, recognizing them +as the knights at whom he had mocked as water-carriers. + +They gave him of the little they had left, and while they and their +horses drank the rest themselves, saw him rush down the hill refreshed, +shaking his red sword. Then came a pause, and they heard the voice of +the bishop of Nazareth, who had clung to them all this while, saying, +as though to himself: + +“And here it was that the Saviour preached the Sermon on the Mount. +Yes, He preached the words of peace upon this very spot. Oh! it cannot +be that He will desert us—it cannot be.” + +While the Saracens held off, the soldiers began to put up the king’s +pavilion, and with it other tents, around the rock on which stood the +Cross. + +“Do they mean to camp here?” asked Wulf bitterly. + +“Peace,” answered Godwin; “they hope to make a wall about the Rood. But +it is of no avail, for this is the place of my dream.” + +Wulf shrugged his shoulders. “At least, let us die well,” he said. + +Then the last attack began. Up the hillside rose dense volumes of +smoke, and with the smoke came the Saracens. Thrice they were driven +back; thrice they came on. At the fourth onset few of the Franks could +fight more, for thirst had conquered them on this waterless hill of +Hattin. They lay down upon the dry grass with gaping jaws and +protruding tongues, and let themselves be slain or taken prisoners. A +great company of Saracen horsemen broke through the ring and rushed at +the scarlet tent. It rocked to and fro, then down it fell in a red +heap, entangling the king in its folds. + +At the foot of the Cross, Rufinus, the bishop of Acre, still fought on +bravely. Suddenly an arrow struck him in the throat, and throwing his +arms wide, he fell to earth. Then the Saracens hurled themselves upon +the Rood, tore it from its place, and with mockery and spittings bore +it down the hill towards their camp, as ants may be seen carrying a +little stick into their nest, while all who were left alive of the +Christian army stared upwards, as though they awaited some miracle from +Heaven. But no angels appeared in the brazen sky, and knowing that God +had deserted them, they groaned aloud in their shame and wretchedness. + +“Come,” said Godwin to Wulf in a strange, quiet voice. “We have seen +enough. It is time to die. Look! yonder below us are the Mameluks, our +old regiment, and amongst them Saladin, for I see his banner. Having +had water, we and our horses are still fresh and strong. Now, let us +make an end of which they will tell in Essex yonder. Charge for the +flag of Saladin!” + +Wulf nodded, and side by side they sped down the hill. Scimitars +flashed at them, arrows struck upon their mail and the shields blazoned +with the Death’s-head D’Arcy crest. Through it all they went unscathed, +and while the army of the Saracens stared, at the foot of the Horn of +Hattin turned their horses’ heads straight for the royal standard of +Saladin. On they struggled, felling or riding down a foe at every +stride. On, still on, although Flame and Smoke bled from a score of +wounds. + +They were among the Mameluks, where their line was thin; by Heaven! +they were through them, and riding straight at the well-known figure of +the Sultan, mounted on his white horse with his young son and his emir, +the prince Hassan, at his side. + +“Saladin for you, Hassan for me,” shouted Wulf. + +Then they met, and all the host of Islam cried out in dismay as they +saw the Commander of the Faithful and his horse borne to the earth +before the last despairing charge of these mad Christian knights. +Another instant, and the Sultan was on his feet again, and a score of +scimitars were striking at Godwin. His horse Flame sank down dying, but +he sprang from the saddle, swinging the long sword. Now Saladin +recognized the crest upon his buckler, and cried out: + +“Yield you, Sir Godwin! You have done well—yield you!” + +But Godwin, who would not yield, answered: + +“When I am dead—not before.” + +Thereupon Saladin spoke a word, and while certain of his Mameluks +engaged Godwin in front, keeping out of reach of that red and terrible +sword, others crept up behind, and springing on him, seized his arms +and dragged him to the ground, where they bound him fast. + +Meanwhile Wulf had fared otherwise, for it was his horse Smoke, already +stabbed to the vitals, that fell as he plunged on prince Hassan. Yet he +also arose but little hurt, and cried out: + +“Thus, Hassan, old foe and friend, we meet at last in war. Come, I +would pay the debt I owe you for that drugged wine, man to man and +sword to sword.” + +“Indeed, it is due, Sir Wulf,” answered the prince, laughing. “Guards, +touch not this brave knight who has dared so much to reach me. Sultan, +I ask a boon. Between Sir Wulf and me there is an ancient quarrel that +can only be washed away in blood. Let it be decided here and now, and +let this be your decree—that if I fall in fair fight, none shall set +upon my conqueror, and no vengeance shall be taken for my blood.” + +“Good,” said Saladin. “Then Sir Wulf shall be my prisoner and no more, +as his brother is already. I owe it to the men who saved my life when +we were friends. Give the Frank to drink that the fight may be fair.” + +So they gave Wulf a cup of which he drank, and when he had done it was +handed to Godwin. For even the Mameluks knew and loved these brethren +who had been their officers, and praised the fierce charge that they +had dared to make alone. + +Hassan sprang to the ground, saying: + +“Your horse is dead, Sir Wulf, so we must fight afoot.” + +“Generous as ever,” laughed Wulf. “Even the poisoned wine was a gift!” + +“If so, for the last time, I fear me,” answered Hassan with a smile. + +Then they faced each other, and oh! the scene was strange. Up on the +slopes of Hattin the fight still raged. There amidst the smoke and +fires of the burning grass little companies of soldiers stood back to +back while the Saracens wheeled round them, thrusting and cutting at +them till they fell. Here and there knights charged singly or in +groups, and so came to death or capture. About the plain hundreds of +foot soldiers were being slaughtered, while their officers were taken +prisoners. Towards the camp of Saladin a company advanced with sounds +of triumph, carrying aloft a black stump which was the holy Rood, while +others drove or led mobs of prisoners, among them the king and his +chosen knights. + +The wilderness was red with blood, the air was rent with shouts of +victory and cries of agony or despair. And there, in the midst of it +all, ringed round with grave, courteous Saracens, stood the emir, clad +above his mail in his white robe and jewelled turban, facing the great +Christian knight, with harness hacked and reddened, the light of battle +shining in his fierce eyes, and a smile upon his stained features. + +For those who watched the battle was forgotten—or, rather, its interest +was centred on this point. + +“It will be a good fight,” said one of them to Godwin, whom they had +suffered to rise, “for though your brother is the younger and the +heavier man, he is hurt and weary, whereas the emir is fresh and +unwounded. Ah! they are at it!” + +Hassan had struck first and the blow went home. Falling upon the point +of Wulf’s steel helm, the heavy, razoredged scimitar glanced from it +and shore away the links from the flap which hung upon his shoulder, +causing the Frank to stagger. Again he struck, this time upon the +shield, and so heavily that Wulf came to his knees. + +“Your brother is sped,” said the Saracen captain to Godwin, but Godwin +only answered: + +“Wait.” + +As he spoke Wulf twisted his body out of reach of a third blow, and +while Hassan staggered forward with the weight of the missed stroke, +placed his hand upon the ground, and springing to his feet, ran +backwards six or eight paces. + +“He flies!” cried the Saracens; but again Godwin said, “Wait.” Nor was +there long to wait. + +For now, throwing aside his buckler and grasping the great sword in +both his hands, with a shout of “_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” Wulf leapt at +Hassan as a wounded lion leaps. The sword wheeled and fell, and lo! the +shield of the Saracen was severed in two. Again it fell, and his +turbaned helm was cloven. A third time, and the right arm and shoulder +with the scimitar that grasped it seemed to spring from his body, and +Hassan sank dying to the ground. + +Wulf stood and looked at him, while a murmur of grief went up from +those who watched, for they loved this emir. Hassan beckoned to the +victor with his left hand, and throwing down his sword to show that he +feared no treachery, Wulf came to him and knelt beside him. + +“A good stroke,” Hassan said faintly, “that could shear the double +links of Damascus steel as though it were silk. Well, as I told you +long ago, I knew that the hour of our meeting in war would be an ill +hour for me, and my debt is paid. Farewell, brave knight. Would I could +hope that we should meet in Paradise! Take that star jewel, the badge +of my House, from my turban and wear it in memory of me. Long, long and +happy be your days.” + +Then, while Wulf held him in his arms, Saladin came up and spoke to +him, till he fell back and was dead. + +Thus died Hassan, and thus ended the battle of Hattin, which broke the +power of the Christians in the East. + + + + +Chapter XIX. +Before the Walls of Ascalon + + +When Hassan was dead, at a sign from Saladin a captain of the Mameluks +named Abdullah unfastened the jewel from the emir’s turban and handed +it to Wulf. It was a glorious star-shaped thing, made of great emeralds +set round with diamonds, and the captain Abdullah, who like all +Easterns loved such ornaments, looked at it greedily, and muttered: + +“Alas! that an unbeliever should wear the enchanted Star, the ancient +Luck of the House of Hassan!” a saying that Wulf remembered. + +He took the jewel, then turned to Saladin and said, pointing to the +dead body of Hassan: + +“Have I your peace, Sultan, after such a deed?” + +“Did I not give you and your brother to drink?” asked Saladin with +meaning. “Whoever dies, you are safe. There is but one sin which I will +not pardon you—you know what it is,” and he looked at them. “As for +Hassan, he was my beloved friend and servant, but you slew him in fair +fight, and his soul is now in Paradise. None in my army will raise a +blood feud against you on that score.” + +Then dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand, he turned to +receive a great body of Christian prisoners that, panting and stumbling +like over-driven sheep, were being thrust on towards the camp with +curses, blows and mockery by the victorious Saracens. + +Among them the brethren rejoiced to see Egbert, the gentle and holy +bishop of Nazareth, whom they had thought dead. Also, wounded in many +places, his hacked harness hanging about him like a beggar’s rags, +there was the black-browed Master of the Templars, who even now could +be fierce and insolent. + +“So I was right,” he mocked in a husky voice, “and here you are, safe +with your friends the Saracens, Sir Knights of the visions and the +water-skins—” + +“From which you were glad enough to drink just now,” said Godwin. +“Also,” he added sadly, “all the vision is not done.” And turning, he +looked towards a blazoned tent which with the Sultan’s great pavilion, +and not far behind it, was being pitched by the Arab camp-setters. The +Master saw and remembered Godwin’s vision of the dead Templars. + +“Is it there that you mean to murder me, traitor and wizard?” he asked. + +Then rage took hold of Godwin and he answered him: + +“Were it not for your plight, here and now I would thrust those words +down your throat, as, should we both live, I yet shall hope to do. You +call us traitors. Is it the work of traitors to have charged alone +through all this host until our horses died beneath us?”—he pointed to +where Smoke and Flame lay with glazing eyes—“to have unhorsed Saladin +and to have slain this prince in single combat?” and he turned to the +body of the emir Hassan, which his servants were carrying away. + +“You speak of me as wizard and murderer,” he went on, “because some +angel brought me a vision which, had you believed it, Templar, would +have saved tens of thousands from a bloody death, the Christian kingdom +from destruction, and yonder holy thing from mockery,” and with a +shudder he glanced at the Rood which its captors had set up upon a rock +not far away with a dead knight tied to its black arms. “You, Sir +Templar, are the murderer who by your madness and ambition have brought +ruin on the cause of Christ, as was foretold by the count Raymond.” + +“That other traitor who also has escaped,” snarled the Master. + +Then Saracen guards dragged him away, and they were parted. + +By now the pavilion was up and Saladin entered it, saying: + +“Bring before me the king of the Franks and prince Arnat, he who is +called Reginald of Chatillon.” + +Then a thought struck him, and he called to Godwin and Wulf, saying: + +“Sir Knights, you know our tongue; give up your swords to the +officer—they shall be returned to you—and come, be my interpreters.” + +So the brethren followed him into the tent, where presently were +brought the wretched king and the grey-haired Reginald de Chatillon, +and with them a few other great knights who, even in the midst of their +misery, stared at Godwin and Wulf in wonderment. Saladin read the look, +and explained lest their presence should be misunderstood: + +“King and nobles, be not mistaken. These knights are my prisoners, as +you are, and none have shown themselves braver to-day, or done me and +mine more damage. Indeed, had it not been for my guards, within the +hour I should have fallen beneath the sword of Sir Godwin. But as they +know Arabic, I have asked them to render my words into your tongue. Do +you accept them as interpreters? If not, others must be found.” + +When they had translated this, the king said that he accepted them, +adding to Godwin: + +“Would that I had also accepted you two nights gone as an interpreter +of the will of Heaven!” + +The Sultan bade his captains be seated, and seeing their terrible +thirst, commanded slaves to bring a great bowl of sherbet made of +rose-water cooled with snow, and with his own hand gave it to king Guy. +He drank in great gulps, then passed the bowl to Reginald de Chatillon, +whereon Saladin cried out to Godwin: + +“Say to the king it is he and not I who gives this man to drink. There +is no bond of salt between me and the prince Arnat.” + +Godwin translated, sorrowfully enough, and Reginald, who knew the +habits of the Saracens, answered: + +“No need to explain, Sir Knight, those words are my death-warrant. +Well, I never expected less.” + +Then Saladin spoke again. + +“Prince Arnat, you strove to take the holy city of Mecca and to +desecrate the tomb of the Prophet, and then I swore to kill you. Again, +when in a time of peace a caravan came from Egypt and passed by +Esh-Shobek, where you were, forgetting your oath, you fell upon them +and slew them. They asked for mercy in the name of Allah, saying that +there was truce between Saracen and Frank. But you mocked them, telling +them to seek aid from Mahomet, in whom they trusted. Then for the +second time I swore to kill you. Yet I give you one more chance. Will +you subscribe the Koran and embrace the faith of Islam? Or will you +die?” + +Now the lips of Reginald turned pale, and for a moment he swayed upon +his seat. Then his courage came back to him, and he answered in a +strong voice: + +“Sultan, I will have none of your mercy at such a price, nor do I bow +the knee to your dog of a false prophet, who perish in the faith of +Christ, and, being weary of the world, am content to go to Him.” + +Saladin sprang to his feet, his very beard bristling with wrath, and +drawing his sabre, shouted aloud: + +“You scorn Mahomet! Behold! I avenge Mahomet upon you! Take him away!” +And he struck him with the flat of his scimitar. + +Then Mameluks leapt upon the prince. Dragging him to the entrance of +the tent, they forced him to his knees and there beheaded him in sight +of the soldiers and of the other prisoners. + +Thus, bravely enough, died Reginald de Chatillon, whom the Saracens +called prince Arnat. In the hush that followed this terrible deed king +Guy said to Godwin: + +“Ask the Sultan if it is my turn next.” + +“Nay,” answered Saladin; “kings do not kill kings, but that +truce-breaker has met with no more than his deserts.” + +Then came a scene still more dreadful. Saladin went to the door of his +tent, and standing over the body of Reginald, bade them parade the +captive Templars and Hospitallers before him. They were brought to the +number of over two hundred, for it was easy to distinguish them by the +red and white crosses on their breasts. + +“These also are faith-breakers,” he shouted, “and of their unclean +tribes will I rid the world. Ho! my emirs and doctors of the law,” and +he turned to the great crowd of his captains about him, “take each of +you one of them and kill him.” + +Now the emirs hung back, for though fanatics they were brave, and loved +not this slaughter of defenceless men, and even the Mameluks murmured +aloud. + +But Saladin cried again: + +“They are worthy of death, and he who disobeys my command shall himself +be slain.” + +“Sultan,” said Godwin, “we cannot witness such a crime; we ask that we +may die with them.” + +“Nay,” he answered; “you have eaten of my salt, and to kill you would +be murder. Get you to the tent of the princess of Baalbec yonder, for +there you will see nothing of the death of these Franks, your +fellow-worshippers.” + +So the brethren turned, and led by a Mameluk, fled aghast for the first +time in their lives, past the long lines of Templars and Hospitallers, +who in the last red light of the dying day knelt upon the sand and +prayed, while the emirs came up to kill them. + +They entered the tent, none forbidding them, and at the end of it saw +two women crouched together on some cushions, who rose, clinging to +each other. Then the women saw also and sprang forward with a cry of +joy, saying: + +“So you live—you live!” + +“Ay, Rosamund,” answered Godwin, “to see this shame—would God that we +did not—whilst others die. They murder the knights of the holy Orders. +To your knees and pray for their passing souls.” + +So they knelt down and prayed till the tumult died away, and they knew +that all was done. + +“Oh, my cousins,” said Rosamund, as she staggered to her feet at +length, “what a hell of wickedness and bloodshed is this in which we +dwell! Save me from it if you love me—I beseech you save me!” + +“We will do our best,” they answered; “but let us talk no more of these +things which are the decree of God—lest we should go mad. Tell us your +story.” + +But Rosamund had little to tell, except that she had been well treated, +and always kept by the person of the Sultan, marching to and fro with +his army, for he awaited the fulfilment of his dream concerning her. +Then they told her all that had chanced to them; also of the vision of +Godwin and its dreadful accomplishment, and of the death of Hassan +beneath the sword of Wulf. At that story Rosamund wept and shrank from +him a little, for though it was this prince who had stolen her from her +home, she loved Hassan. Yet when Wulf said humbly: + +“The fault is not mine; it was so fated. Would that I had died instead +of this Saracen!” + +Rosamund answered: “No, no; I am proud that you should have conquered.” + +But Wulf shook his head, and said: + +“I am not proud. Although weary with that awful battle, I was still the +younger and stronger man, though at first he well-nigh mastered me by +his skill and quickness. At least we parted friends. Look, he gave me +this,” and he showed her the great emerald badge which the dying prince +had given him. + +Masouda, who all this while had sat very quiet, came forward and looked +at it. + +“Do you know,” she asked, “that this jewel is very famous, not only for +its value, but because it is said to have belonged to one of the +children of the prophet, and to bring good fortune to its owner?” + +Wulf smiled. + +“It brought little to poor Hassan but now, when my grandsire’s sword +shore the Damascus steel as though it were wet clay.” + +“And sent him swift to Paradise, where he would be, at the hands of a +gallant foe,” answered Masouda. “Nay, all his life this emir was happy +and beloved, by his sovereign, his wives, his fellows and his servants, +nor do I think that he would have desired another end whose wish was to +die in battle with the Franks. At least there is scarce a soldier in +the Sultan’s army who would not give all he has for yonder trinket, +which is known throughout the land as the Star of Hassan. So beware, +Sir Wulf, lest you be robbed or murdered, although you have eaten the +salt of Salah-ed-din.” + +“I remember the captain Abdullah looking at it greedily and lamenting +that the Luck of the House of Hassan should pass to an unbeliever,” +said Wulf. “Well, enough of this jewel and its dangers; I think Godwin +has words to say.” + +“Yes,” said Godwin. “We are here in your tent through the kindness of +Saladin, who did not wish us to witness the death of our comrades, but +to-morrow we shall be separated again. Now if you are to escape—” + +“I will escape! I must escape, even if I am recaptured and die for it,” +broke in Rosamund passionately. + +“Speak low,” said Masouda. “I saw the eunuch Mesrour pass the door of +the tent, and he is a spy—they all are spies.” + +“If you are to escape,” repeated Godwin in a whisper, “it must be +within the next few weeks while the army is on the march. The risk is +great to all of us—even to you, and we have no plan. But, Masouda, you +are clever; make one, and tell it to us.” + +She lifted her head to speak, when suddenly a shadow fell upon them. It +was that of the head eunuch, Mesrour, a fat, cunning-faced man, with a +cringing air. Low he bowed before them, saying: + +“Your pardon, O Princess. A messenger has come from Salah-ed-din +demanding the presence of these knights at the banquet that he has made +ready for his noble prisoners.” + +“We obey,” said Godwin, and rising they bowed to Rosamund and to +Masouda, then turned to go, leaving the star jewel where they had been +seated. + +Very skilfully Mesrour covered it with a fold of his robe, and under +shelter of the fold slipped down his hand and grasped it, not knowing +that although she seemed to be turned away, Masouda was watching him +out of the corner of her eye. Waiting till the brethren reached the +tent door, she called out: + +“Sir Wulf, are you already weary of the enchanted Star of Fortune, or +would you bequeath it to us?” + +Now Wulf came back, saying heavily: + +“I forgot the thing—who would not at such a time? Where is it? I left +it on the cushion.” + +“Try the hand of Mesrour,” said Masouda, whereat with a very crooked +smile the eunuch produced it, and said: + +“I wished to show you, Sir Knight, that you must be careful with such +gems as these, especially in a camp where there are many dishonest +persons.” + +“I thank you,” answered Wulf as he took it; “you have shown me.” Then, +followed by the sound of Masouda’s mocking laughter, they left the +tent. + +The Sultan’s messenger led them forward, across ground strewn with the +bodies of the murdered Templars and Hospitallers, lying as Godwin had +seen them in his dream on the mountain top near Nazareth. Over one of +these corpses Godwin stumbled in the gloom, so heavily, that he fell to +his knees. He searched the face in the starlight, to find it was that +of a knight of the Hospitallers of whom he had made a friend at +Jerusalem—a very good and gentle Frenchman, who had abandoned high +station and large lands to join the order for the love of Christ and +charity. Such was his reward on earth—to be struck down in cold blood, +like an ox by its butcher. Then, muttering a prayer for the repose of +this knight’s soul, Godwin rose and, filled with horror, followed on to +the royal pavilion, wondering why such things were. + +Of all the strange feasts that they ever ate the brethren found this +the strangest and the most sad. Saladin was seated at the head of the +table with guards and officers standing behind him, and as each dish +was brought he tasted it and no more, to show that it was not poisoned. +Not far from him sat the king of Jerusalem and his brother, and all +down the board great captive nobles, to the number of fifty or more. +Sorry spectacles were these gallant knights in their hewn and +blood-stained armour, pale-faced, too, with eyes set wide in horror at +the dread deeds they had just seen done. Yet they ate, and ate +ravenously, for now that their thirst was satisfied, they were mad with +hunger. Thirty thousand Christians lay dead on the Horn and plain of +Hattin; the kingdom of Jerusalem was destroyed, and its king a +prisoner. The holy Rood was taken as a trophy. Two hundred knights of +the sacred Orders lay within a few score of yards of them, butchered +cruelly by those very emirs and doctors of the law who stood grave and +silent behind their master’s seat, at the express command of that +merciless master. Defeated, shamed, bereaved—yet they ate, and, being +human, could take comfort from the thought that having eaten, by the +law of the Arabs, at least their lives were safe. + +Saladin called Godwin and Wulf to him that they might interpret for +him, and gave them food, and they also ate who were compelled to it by +hunger. + +“Have you seen your cousin, the princess?” he asked; “and how found you +her?” he asked presently. + +Then, remembering over what he had fallen outside her tent, and looking +at those miserable feasters, anger took hold of Godwin, and he answered +boldly: + +“Sire, we found her sick with the sights and sounds of war and murder; +shamed to know also that her uncle, the conquering sovereign of the +East, had slaughtered two hundred unarmed men.” + +Wulf trembled at his words, but Saladin listened and showed no anger. + +“Doubtless,” he answered, “she thinks me cruel, and you also think me +cruel—a despot who delights in the death of his enemies. Yet it is not +so, for I desire peace and to save life, not to destroy it. It is you +Christians who for hard upon a hundred years have drenched these sands +with blood, because you say that you wish to possess the land where +your prophet lived and died more than eleven centuries ago. How many +Saracens have you slain? Hundreds of thousands of them. Moreover, with +you peace is no peace. Those Orders that I destroyed tonight have +broken it a score of times. Well, I will bear no more. Allah has given +me and my army the victory, and I will take your cities and drive the +Franks back into the sea. Let them seek their own lands and worship God +there after their own fashion, and leave the East in quiet. + +“Now, Sir Godwin, tell these captives for me that tomorrow I send those +of them who are unwounded to Damascus, there to await ransom while I +besiege Jerusalem and the other Christian cities. Let them have no +fear; I have emptied the cup of my anger; no more of them shall die, +and a priest of their faith, the bishop of Nazareth, shall stay with +their sick in my army to minister to them after their own rites.” + +So Godwin rose and told them, and they answered not a word, who had +lost all hope and courage. + +Afterwards he asked whether he and his brother were also to be sent to +Damascus. + +Saladin replied, “No; he would keep them for awhile to interpret, then +they might go their ways without ransom.” + +On the morrow, accordingly, the captives were sent to Damascus, and +that day Saladin took the castle of Tiberias, setting at liberty +Eschiva, the wife of Raymond, and her children. Then he moved on to +Acre, which he took, relieving four thousand Moslem captives, and so on +to other towns, all of which fell before him, till at length he came to +Ascalon, which he besieged in form, setting up his mangonels against +its walls. + +The night was dark outside of Ascalon, save when the flashes of +lightning in the storm that rolled down from the mountains to the sea +lit it up, showing the thousands of white tents set round the city, the +walls and the sentries who watched upon them, the feathery palms that +stood against the sky, the mighty, snow-crowned range of Lebanon, and +encircling all the black breast of the troubled ocean. In a little open +space of the garden of an empty house that stood without the walls, a +man and a woman were talking, both of them wrapped in dark cloaks. They +were Godwin and Masouda. + +“Well,” said Godwin eagerly, “is all ready?” + +She nodded and answered: + +“At length, all. To-morrow afternoon an assault will be made upon +Ascalon, but even if it is taken the camp will not be moved that night. +There will be great confusion, and Abdullah, who is somewhat sick, will +be the captain of the guard over the princess’s tent. He will allow the +soldiers to slip away to assist in the sack of the city, nor will they +betray him. At sunset but one eunuch will be on watch—Mesrour; and I +will find means to put him to sleep. Abdullah will bring the princess +to this garden disguised as his young son, and there you two and I +shall meet them.” + +“What then?” asked Godwin. + +“Do you remember the old Arab who brought you the horses Flame and +Smoke, and took no payment for them, he who was named Son of the Sand? +Well, as you know, he is my uncle, and he has more horses of that +breed. I have seen him, and he is well pleased at the tale of Flame and +Smoke and the knights who rode them, and more particularly at the way +in which they came to their end, which he says has brought credit to +their ancient blood. At the foot of this garden is a cave, which was +once a sepulchre. There we shall find the horses—four of them—and with +them my uncle, Son of the Sand, and by the morning light we will be a +hundred miles away and lie hid with his tribe until we can slip to the +coast and board a Christian ship. Does it please you?” + +“Very well; but what is Abdullah’s price?” + +“One only—the enchanted star, the Luck of the House of Hassan; for +nothing else will he take such risks. Will Sir Wulf give it?” + +“Surely,” answered Godwin with a laugh. + +“Good. Then it must be done to-night. When I return I will send +Abdullah to your tent. Fear not; if he takes the jewel he will give the +price, since otherwise he thinks it will bring him ill fortune.” + +“Does the lady Rosamund know?” asked Godwin again. + +She shook her head. + +“Nay, she is mad to escape; she thinks of little else all day long. But +what is the use of telling her till the time comes? The fewer in such a +plot the better, and if anything goes wrong, it is well that she should +be innocent, for then—” + +“Then death, and farewell to all things,” said Godwin; “nor indeed +should I grieve to say them good-bye. But, Masouda, you run great +peril. Tell me now, honestly, why do you do this?” + +As he spoke the lightning flashed and showed her face as she stood +there against a background of green leaves and red lily flowers. There +was a strange look upon it—a look that made Godwin feel afraid, he knew +not of what. + +“Why did I take you into my inn yonder in Beirut when you were the +pilgrims Peter and John? Why did I find you the best horses in Syria +and guide you to the Al-je-bal? Why did I often dare death by torment +for you there? Why did I save the three of you? And why, for all this +weary while, have I—who, after all, am nobly born—become the mock of +soldiers and the tire-woman of the princess of Baalbec? + +“Shall I answer?” she went on, laughing. “Doubtless in the beginning +because I was the agent of Sinan, charged to betray such knights as you +are into his hands, and afterwards because my heart was filled with +pity and love for—the lady Rosamund.” + +Again the lightning flashed, and this time that strange look had spread +from Masouda’s face to the face of Godwin. + +“Masouda,” he said in a whisper, “oh! think me no vain fool, but since +it is best perhaps that both should know full surely, tell me, is it as +I have sometimes—” + +“Feared?” broke in Masouda with her little mocking laugh. “Sir Godwin, +it is so. What does your faith teach—the faith in which I was bred, and +lost, but that now is mine again—because it is yours? That men and +women are free, or so some read it. Well, it or they are wrong. We are +not free. Was I free when first I saw your eyes in Beirut, the eyes for +which I had been watching all my life, and something came from you to +me, and I—the cast-off plaything of Sinan—loved you, loved you, loved +you—to my own doom? Yes, and rejoiced that it was so, and still rejoice +that it is so, and would choose no other fate, because in that love I +learned that there is a meaning in this life, and that there is an +answer to it in lives to be, otherwhere if not here. Nay, speak not. I +know your oath, nor would I tempt you to its breaking. But, Sir Godwin, +a woman such as the lady Rosamund cannot love two men,” and as she +spoke Masouda strove to search his face while the shaft went home. + +But Godwin showed neither surprise nor pain. + +“So you know what I have known for long,” he said, “so long that my +sorrow is lost in the hope of my brother’s joy. Moreover, it is well +that she should have chosen the better knight.” + +“Sometimes,” said Masouda reflectively, “sometimes I have watched the +lady Rosamund, and said to myself, ‘What do you lack? You are +beautiful, you are highborn, you are learned, you are brave, and you +are good.’ Then I have answered, ‘You lack wisdom and true sight, else +you would not have chosen Wulf when you might have taken Godwin. Or +perchance your eyes are blinded also.’” + +“Speak not thus of one who is my better in all things, I pray you,” +said Godwin in a vexed voice. + +“By which you mean, whose arm is perhaps a little stronger, and who at +a pinch could cut down a few more Saracens. Well, it takes more than +strength to make a man—you must add spirit.” + +“Masouda,” went on Godwin, taking no note of her words, “although we +may guess her mind, our lady has said nothing yet. Also Wulf may fall, +and then I fill his place as best I can. I am no free man, Masouda.” + +“The love-sick are never free,” she answered. + +“I have no right to love the woman who loves my brother; to her are due +my friendship and my reverence—no more.” + +“She has not declared that she loves your brother; we may guess wrongly +in this matter. They are your words—not mine.” + +“And we may guess rightly. What then?” + +“Then,” answered Masouda, “there are many knightly Orders, or +monasteries, for those who desire such places—as you do in your heart. +Nay, talk no more of all these things that may or may not be. Back to +your tent, Sir Godwin, where I will send Abdullah to you to receive the +jewel. So, farewell, farewell.” + +He took her outstretched hand, hesitated a moment, then lifted it to +his lips, and went. It was cold as that of a corpse, and fell against +her side again like the hand of a corpse. Masouda shrank back among the +flowers of the garden as though to hide herself from him and all the +world. When he had gone a few paces, eight or ten perhaps, Godwin +turned and glanced behind him, and at that moment there came a great +blaze of lightning. In its fierce and fiery glare he saw Masouda +standing with outstretched arms, pale, upturned face, closed eyes, and +parted lips. Illumined by the ghastly sheen of the levin her face +looked like that of one new dead, and the tall red lilies which climbed +up her dark, pall-like robe to her throat—yes, they looked like streams +of fresh-shed blood. + +Godwin shuddered a little and went his way, but as she slid thence into +the black, embracing night, Masouda said to herself: + +“Had I played a little more upon his gentleness and pity, I think that +he would have offered me his heart—after Rosamund had done with it and +in payment for my services. Nay, not his heart, for he has none on +earth, but his hand and loyalty. And, being honourable, he would have +kept his promise, and I, who have passed through the harem of +Al-je-bal, might yet have become the lady D’Arcy, and so lived out my +life and nursed his babes. Nay, Sir Godwin; when you love me—not +before; and you will never love me—until I am dead.” + +Snatching a bloom of the lilies into her hand, the hand that he had +kissed, Masouda pressed it convulsively against her breast, till the +red juice ran from the crushed flower and stained her like a wound. +Then she glided away, and was lost in the storm and the darkness. + + + + +Chapter XX. +The Luck of the Star of Hassan + + +An hour later the captain Abdullah might have been seen walking +carelessly towards the tent where the brethren slept. Also, had there +been any who cared to watch, something else might have been seen in +that low moonlight, for now the storm and the heavy rain which followed +it had passed. Namely, the fat shape of the eunuch Mesrour, slipping +after him wrapped in a dark camel-hair cloak, such as was commonly worn +by camp followers, and taking shelter cunningly behind every rock and +shrub and rise of the ground. Hidden among some picketed dromedaries, +he saw Abdullah enter the tent of the brethren, then, waiting till a +cloud crossed the moon, Mesrour ran to it unseen, and throwing himself +down on its shadowed side, lay there like a drunken man, and listened +with all his ears. But the thick canvas was heavy with wet, nor would +the ropes and the trench that was dug around permit him, who did not +love to lie in the water, to place his head against it. Also, those +within spoke low, and he could only hear single words, such as +“garden,” “the star,” “princess.” + +So important did these seem to him, however, that at length Mesrour +crept under the cords, and although he shuddered at its cold, drew his +body into the trench of water, and with the sharp point of his knife +cut a little slit in the taut canvas. To this he set his eye, only to +find that it served him nothing, for there was no light in the tent. +Still, men were there who talked in the darkness. + +“Good,” said a voice—it was that of one of the brethren, but which he +could not tell, for even to those who knew them best they seemed to be +the same. “Good; then it is settled. To-morrow, at the hour arranged, +you bring the princess to the place agreed upon, disguised as you have +said. In payment for this service I hand you the Luck of Hassan which +you covet. Take it; here it is, and swear to do your part, since +otherwise it will bring no luck to you, for I will kill you the first +time we meet—yes, and the other also.” + +“I swear it by Allah and his prophet,” answered Abdullah in a hoarse, +trembling voice. + +“It is enough; see that you keep the oath. And now away; it is not safe +that you should tarry here.” + +Then came the sound of a man leaving the tent. Passing round it +cautiously, he halted, and opening his hand, looked at its contents to +make sure that no trick had been played upon him in the darkness. +Mesrour screwed his head round to look also, and saw the light gleam +faintly on the surface of the splendid jewel, which he, too, desired so +eagerly. In so doing his foot struck a stone, and instantly Abdullah +glanced down to see a dead or drunken man lying almost at his feet. +With a swift movement he hid the jewel and started to walk away. Then +bethinking him that it would be well to make sure that this fellow was +dead or sleeping, he turned and kicked the prostrate Mesrour upon the +back and with all his strength. Indeed, he did this thrice, putting the +eunuch to the greatest agony. + +“I thought I saw him move,” Abdullah muttered after the third kick; “it +is best to make sure,” and he drew his knife. + +Now, had not terror paralysed him, Mesrour would have cried out, but +fortunately for himself, before he found his voice Abdullah had buried +the knife three inches deep in his fat thigh. With an effort Mesrour +bore this also, knowing that if he showed signs of life the next stroke +would be in his heart. Then, satisfied that this fellow, whoever he +might be, was either a corpse or insensible, Abdullah drew out the +knife, wiped it on his victim’s robe, and departed. + +Not long afterwards Mesrour departed also, towards the Sultan’s house, +bellowing with rage and pain and vowing vengeance. + +It was not long delayed. + +That very night Abdullah was seized and put to the question. In his +suffering he confessed that he had been to the tent of the brethren and +received from one of them the jewel which was found upon him, as a +bribe to bring the princess to a certain garden outside the camp. But +he named the wrong garden. Further, when they asked which of the +brethren it was who bribed him, he said he did not know, as their +voices were alike, and their tent was in darkness; moreover, that he +believed there was only one man in it—at least he heard or saw no +other. He added that he was summoned to the tent by an Arab man whom he +had never seen before, but who told him that if he wished for what he +most desired and good fortune, he was to be there at a certain hour +after sunset. Then he fainted, and was put back in prison till the +morning by the command of Saladin. + +When the morning came Abdullah was dead, who desired no more torments +with doom at the end of them, having made shift to strangle himself +with his robe. But first he had scrawled upon the wall with a piece of +charcoal: + +“May that accursed Star of Hassan which tempted me bring better luck to +others, and may hell receive the soul of Mesrour.” + +Thus died Abdullah, as faithful as he could be in such sore straits, +since he had betrayed neither Masouda nor his son, both of whom were in +the plot, and said that only one of the brethren was present in the +tent, whereas he knew well that the two of them were there and which of +these spoke and gave him the jewel. + +Very early that morning the brethren, who were lying wakeful, heard +sounds without their tent, and looking out saw that it was surrounded +by Mameluks. + +“The plot is discovered,” said Godwin to Wulf quietly, but with despair +in his face. “Now, my brother, admit nothing, even under torture, lest +others perish with us.” + +“Shall we fight?” asked Wulf as they threw on their mail. + +But Godwin answered: + +“Nay, it would serve us nothing to kill a few brave men.” + +Then an officer entered the tent, and commanded them to give up their +swords and to follow him to Saladin to answer a charge that had been +laid against them both, nor would he say any more. So they went as +prisoners, and after waiting awhile, were ushered into a large room of +the house where Saladin lodged, which was arranged as a court with a +dais at one end. Before this they were stood, till presently the Sultan +entered through the further door, and with him certain of his emirs and +secretaries. Also Rosamund, who looked very pale, was brought there, +and in attendance on her Masouda, calm-faced as ever. + +The brethren bowed to them, but Saladin, whose eyes were full of rage, +took no notice of their salutation. For a moment there was silence, +then Saladin bade a secretary read the charge, which was brief. It was +that they had conspired to steal away the princess of Baalbec. + +“Where is the evidence against us?” asked Godwin boldly. “The Sultan is +just, and convicts no man save on testimony.” + +Again Saladin motioned to the secretary, who read the words that had +been taken down from the lips of the captain Abdullah. They demanded to +be allowed to examine the captain Abdullah, and learned that he was +already dead. Then the eunuch Mesrour was carried forward, for walk he +could not, owing to the wound that Abdullah had given him, and told all +his tale, how he had suspected Abdullah, and, following him, had heard +him and one of the brethren speaking in the tent, and the words that +passed, and afterwards seen Abdullah with the jewel in his hand. + +When he had finished Godwin asked which of them he had heard speaking +with Abdullah, and he answered that he could not say, as their voices +were so alike, but one voice only had spoken. + +Then Rosamund was ordered to give her testimony, and said, truly +enough, that she knew nothing of the plot and had not thought of this +flight. Masouda also swore that she now heard of it for the first time. +After this the secretary announced that there was no more evidence, and +prayed of the Sultan to give judgment in the matter. + +“Against which of us,” asked Godwin, “seeing that both the dead and the +living witness declared they heard but one voice, and whose that voice +was they did not know? According to your own law, you cannot condemn a +man against whom there is no good testimony.” + +“There is testimony against one of you,” answered Saladin sternly, +“that of two witnesses, as is required, and, as I have warned you long +ago, that man shall die. Indeed, both of you should die, for I am sure +that both are guilty. Still, you have been put upon your trial +according to the law, and as a just judge I will not strain the law +against you. Let the guilty one die by beheading at sundown, the hour +at which he planned to commit his crime. The other may go free with the +citizens of Jerusalem who depart to-night, bearing my message to the +Frankish leaders in that holy town.” + +“Which of us, then, is to die, and which to go free?” asked Godwin. +“Tell us, that he who is doomed may prepare his soul.” + +“Say you, who know the truth,” answered Saladin. + +“We admit nothing,” said Godwin; “yet, if one of us must die, I as the +elder claim that right.” + +“And I claim it as the younger. The jewel was Hassan’s gift to me; who +else could give it to Abdullah?” added Wulf, speaking for the first +time, whereat all the Saracens there assembled, brave men who loved a +knightly deed, murmured in admiration, and even Saladin said: + +“Well spoken, both of you. So it seems that both must die.” + +Then Rosamund stepped forward and threw herself upon her knees before +him, exclaiming: + +“Sire, my uncle, such is not your justice, that two should be slain for +the offence of one, if offence there be. If you know not which is +guilty, spare them both, I beseech you.” + +He stretched out his hand and raised her from her knees: then thought +awhile, and said: + +“Nay, plead not with me, for however much you love him the guilty man +must suffer, as he deserves. But of this matter Allah alone knows the +truth, therefore let it be decided by Allah,” and he rested his head +upon his hand, looking at Wulf and Godwin as though to read their +souls. + +Now behind Saladin stood that old and famous imaum who had been with +him and Hassan when he commanded the brethren to depart from Damascus, +who all this while had listened to everything that passed with a sour +smile. Leaning forward, he whispered in his master’s ear, who +considered a moment, then answered him: + +“It is good. Do so.” + +So the imaum left the court, and returned presently carrying two small +boxes of sandalwood tied with silk and sealed, so like each other that +none could tell them apart, which boxes he passed continually from his +right hand to his left and from his left hand to his right, then gave +them to Saladin. + +“In one of these,” said the Sultan, “is that jewel known as the +enchanted Star and the Luck of the House of Hassan, which the prince +presented to his conqueror on the day of Hattin, and for the desire of +which my captain Abdullah became a traitor and was brought to death. In +the other is a pebble of the same weight. Come, my niece, take you +these boxes and give them to your kinsmen, to each the box you will. +The jewel that is called the Star of Hassan is magical, and has virtue, +so they say. Let it choose, therefore, which of these knights is ripe +for death, and let him perish in whose box the Star is found.” + +“Now,” muttered the imaum into the ear of his master, “now at length we +shall learn which it is of these two men that the lady loves.” + +“That is what I seek to know,” answered Saladin in the same low voice. + +As she heard this decree Rosamund looked round wildly and pleaded: + +“Oh! be not so cruel. I beseech you spare me this task. Let it be +another hand that is chosen to deal death to one of those of my own +blood with whom I have dwelt since childhood. Let me not be the blind +sword of fate that frees his spirit, lest it should haunt my dreams and +turn all my world to woe. Spare me, I beseech you.” + +But Saladin looked at her very sternly and answered: + +“Princess, you know why I have brought you to the East and raised you +to great honour here, why also I have made you my companion in these +wars. It is for my dream’s sake, the dream which told me that by some +noble act of yours you should save the lives of thousands. Yet I am +sure that you desire to escape, and plots are made to take you from me, +though of these plots you say that you and your woman”—and he looked +darkly at Masouda—“know nothing. But these men know, and it is right +that you, for whose sake if not by whose command the thing was done, +should mete out its reward, and that the blood of him whom you appoint, +which is spilt for you, should be on your and no other head. Now do my +bidding.” + +For a moment Rosamund stared at the boxes, then suddenly she closed her +eyes, and taking them up at hazard, stretched out her arms, leaning +forward over the edge of the dais. Thereon, calmly enough the brethren +took, each of them, the box that was nearest to him, that in Rosamund’s +left hand falling to Godwin and that in her right to Wulf. Then she +opened her eyes again, stood still, and watched. + +“Cousin,” said Godwin, “before we break this cord that is our chain of +doom, know well that, whatever chances, we blame you not at all. It is +God Who acts through you, and you are as innocent of the death of +either of us as of that plot whereof we stand accused.” + +Then he began to unknot the silk which was bound about his box. Wulf, +knowing that it would tell all the tale, did not trouble himself as +yet, but looked around the room, thinking that, whether he lived or +died, never would he see a stranger sight. Every eye in it was fixed +upon the box in Godwin’s hand; even Saladin stared as though it held +his own destiny. No; not every one, for those of the old imaum were +fixed upon the face of Rosamund, which was piteous to see, for all its +beauty had left it, and even her parted lips were ashy. Masouda alone +still stood upright and unmoved, as though she watched some play, but +he noted that her rich-hued cheek grew pale and that beneath her robe +her hand was pressed upon her heart. The silence also was intense, and +broken only by the little grating noise of Godwin’s nails as, having no +knife to cut it, he patiently untied the silk. + +“Trouble enough about one man’s life in a land where lives are cheap!” +exclaimed Wulf, thinking aloud, and at the sound of his voice all men +started, as though it had thundered suddenly in a summer sky. Then with +a laugh he tore the silk about his box asunder with his strong fingers, +and breaking the seal, shook out its contents. Lo! there on the floor +before him, gleaming green and white with emerald and diamond, lay the +enchanted Star of Hassan. + +Masouda saw, and the colour crept back to her cheek. Rosamund saw also, +and nature was too strong for her, for in one bitter cry the truth +broke from her lips at last: + +“Not Wulf! Not Wulf!” she wailed, and sank back senseless into +Masouda’s arms. + +“Now, sire,” said the old imaum with a chuckle, “you know which of +those two the lady loves. Being a woman, as usual she chooses badly, +for the other has the finer spirit.” + +“Yes, I know now,” said Saladin, “and I am glad to know, for the matter +has vexed me much.” + +But Wulf, who had paled for a moment, flushed with joy as the truth +came home to him, and he understood the end of all their doubts. + +“This Star is well named ‘The Luck,’” he said, as bending down he took +it from the floor and fastened it to his cloak above his heart, “nor do +I hold it dearly earned.” Then he turned to his brother, who stood by +him white and still, saying: + +“Forgive me, Godwin, but such is the fortune of love and war. Grudge it +not to me, for when I am sped tonight this Luck—and all that hangs to +it—will be yours.” + +So that strange scene ended. + +The afternoon drew towards evening, and Godwin stood before Saladin in +his private chamber. + +“What seek you now?” said the Sultan sternly. + +“A boon,” answered Godwin. “My brother is doomed to die before +nightfall. I ask to die instead of him.” + +“Why, Sir Godwin?” + +“For two reasons, sire. As you learned to-day, at length the riddle is +answered. It is Wulf who is beloved of the lady Rosamund, and therefore +to kill him would be a crime. Further, it is I and not he whom the +eunuch heard bargaining with the captain Abdullah in the tent—I swear +it. Take your vengeance upon me, and let him go to fulfil his fate.” + +Saladin pulled at his beard, then answered: + +“If this is to be so, time is short, Sir Godwin. What farewells have +you to make? You say that you would speak with my niece Rosamund? Nay, +the princess you shall not see, and indeed cannot, for she lies +swooning in her chamber. Do you desire to meet your brother for the +last time?” + +“No, sire, for then he might learn the truth and—” + +“Refuse this sacrifice, Sir Godwin, which perchance will be scarcely to +his liking.” + +“I wish to say good-bye to Masouda, she who is waiting woman to the +princess.” + +“That you cannot do, for, know, I mistrust this Masouda, and believe +that she was at the bottom of your plot. I have dismissed her from the +person of the princess and from my camp, which she is to leave—if she +has not already left—with some Arabs who are her kin. Had it not been +for her services in the land of the Assassins and afterwards, I should +have put her to death.” + +“Then,” said Godwin with a sigh, “I desire only to see Egbert the +bishop, that he may shrive me according to our faith and make note of +my last wishes.” + +“Good; he shall be sent to you. I accept your statement that you are +the guilty man and not Sir Wulf, and take your life for his. Leave me +now, who have greater matters on my mind. The guard will seek you at +the appointed time.” + +Godwin bowed and walked away with a steady step while Saladin, looking +after him, muttered: + +“The world could ill spare so brave and good a man.” + +Two hours later guards summoned Godwin from the place where he was +prisoned, and, accompanied by the old bishop who had shriven him, he +passed its door with a happy countenance, such as a bridegroom might +have worn. In a fashion, indeed, he was happy, whose troubles were done +with, who had few sins to mourn, whose faith was the faith of a child, +and who laid down his life for his friend and brother. They took him to +a vault of the great house where Saladin was lodged—a large, rough +place, lit with torches, in which waited the headsman and his +assistants. Presently Saladin entered, and, looking at him curiously, +said: + +“Are you still of the same mind, Sir Godwin?” + +“I am.” + +“Good. Yet I have changed mine. You shall say farewell to your cousin, +as you desired. Let the princess of Baalbec be brought hither, sick or +well, that she may see her work. Let her come alone.” + +“Sire,” pleaded Godwin, “spare her such a sight.” + +But he pleaded in vain, for Saladin answered only, “I have said.” + +A while passed, and Godwin, hearing the sweep of robes, looked up, and +saw the tall shape of a veiled woman standing in the corner of the +vault where the shadow was so deep that the torchlight only glimmered +faintly upon her royal ornaments. + +“They told me that you were sick, princess, sick with sorrow, as well +you may be, because the man you love was about to die for you,” said +Saladin in a slow voice. “Now I have had pity on your grief, and his +life has been bought with another life, that of the knight who stands +yonder.” + +The veiled form started wildly, then sank back against the wall. + +“Rosamund,” broke in Godwin, speaking in French, “I beseech you, be +silent and do not unman me with words or tears. It is best thus, and +you know that it is best. Wulf you love as he loves you, and I believe +that in time you will be brought together. Me you do not love, save as +a friend, and never have. Moreover, I tell you this that it may ease +your pain and my conscience; I no longer seek you as my wife, whose +bride is death. I pray you, give to Wulf my love and blessing, and to +Masouda, that truest and most sweet woman, say, or write, that I offer +her the homage of my heart; that I thought of her in my last moments, +and that my prayer is we may meet again where all crooked paths are +straightened. Rosamund, farewell; peace and joy go with you through +many years, ay, and with your children’s children. Of Godwin I only ask +you to remember this, that he lived serving you, and so died.” + +She heard and stretched out her arms, and, none forbidding him, Godwin +walked to where she stood. Without lifting her veil she bent forward +and kissed him, first upon the brow and next upon the lips; then with a +low, moaning cry, she turned and fled from that gloomy place, nor did +Saladin seek to stay her. Only to himself the Sultan wondered how it +came about that if it was Wulf whom Rosamund loved, she still kissed +Godwin thus upon the lips. + +As he walked back to the death-place Godwin wondered also, first that +Rosamund should have spoken no single word, and secondly because she +had kissed him thus, even in that hour. Why or wherefore he did not +know, but there rose in his mind a memory of that wild ride down the +mountain steeps at Beirut, and of lips which then had touched his +cheek, and of the odour of hair that then was blown about his breast. +With a sigh he thrust the thought aside, blushing to think that such +memories should come to him who had done with earth and its delights, +knelt down before the headsman, and, turning to the bishop, said: + +“Bless me, father, and bid them strike.” + +Then it was that he heard a well-known footstep, and looked up to see +Wulf staring at him. + +“What do you here, Godwin?” asked Wulf. “Has yonder fox snared both of +us?” and he nodded at Saladin. + +“Let the fox speak,” said the Sultan with a smile. “Know, Sir Wulf, +that your brother was about to die in your place, and of his own wish. +But I refuse such sacrifice who yet have made use of it to teach my +niece, the princess, that should she continue in her plottings to +escape, or allow you to continue in them, certainly it will bring you +to your deaths, and, if need be, her also. Knights, you are brave men +whom I prefer to kill in war. Good horses stand without; take them as +my gift, and ride with these foolish citizens of Jerusalem. We may meet +again within its streets. Nay, thank me not. I thank you who have +taught Salah-ed-din how perfect a thing can be the love of brothers.” + +The brethren stood awhile bewildered, for it is a strange thing thus to +come back from death to life. Each of them had made sure that he must +die within some few minutes, and pass through the blackness which walls +man in, to find he knew not what. And now, behold! the road that led to +that blackness turned again at its very edge, and ran forward through +the familiar things of earth to some end unknown. They were brave, both +of them, and accustomed to face death daily, as in such a place and +time all men must be; moreover, they had been shriven, and looked to +see the gates of Paradise open on their newborn sight. + +Yet, since no man loves that journey, it was very sweet to know it done +with for a while, and that they still might hope to dwell in this world +for many years. Little wonder, then, that their brains swam, and their +eyes grew dim, as they passed from the shadow to the light again. It +was Wulf who spoke the first. + +“A noble deed, Godwin, yet one for which I should not have thanked you +had it been accomplished, who then must have lived on by grace of your +sacrifice. Sultan, we are grateful for your boon of life, though had +you shed this innocent blood surely it would have stained your soul. +May we bid farewell to our cousin Rosamund before we ride?” + +“Nay,” answered Saladin; “Sir Godwin has done that already—let it serve +for both. To-morrow she shall learn the truth of the story. Now go, and +return no more.” + +“That must be as fate wills,” answered Godwin, and they bowed and went. + +Outside that gloomy place of death their swords were given them, and +two good horses, which they mounted. Hence guides led them to the +embassy from Jerusalem that was already in the saddle, who were very +glad to welcome two such knights to their company. Then, having bid +farewell to the bishop Egbert, who wept for joy at their escape, +escorted for a while by Saladin’s soldiers, they rode away from Ascalon +at the fall of night. + +Soon they had told each other all there was to tell. When he heard of +the woe of Rosamund Wulf well-nigh shed tears. + +“We have our lives,” he said, “but how shall we save her? While Masouda +stayed with her there was some hope, but now I can see none.” + +“There is none, except in God,” answered Godwin, “Who can do all +things—even free Rosamund and make her your wife. Also, if Masouda is +at liberty, we shall hear from her ere long; so let us keep a good +heart.” + +But though he spoke thus, the soul of Godwin was oppressed with a fear +which he could not understand. It seemed as though some great terror +came very close to him, or to one who was near and dear. Deeper and +deeper he sank into that pit of dread of he knew not what, until at +length he could have cried aloud, and his brow was bathed with a sweat +of anguish. Wulf saw his face in the moonlight, and asked: + +“What ails you, Godwin? Have you some secret wound?” + +“Yes, brother,” he answered, “a wound in my spirit. Ill fortune +threatens us—great ill fortune.” + +“That is no new thing,” said Wulf, “in this land of blood and sorrows. +Let us meet it as we have met the rest.” + +“Alas! brother,” exclaimed Godwin, “I fear that Rosamund is in sore +danger—Rosamund or another.” + +“Then,” answered Wulf, turning pale, “since we cannot, let us pray that +some angel may deliver her.” + +“Ay,” said Godwin, and as they rode through the desert sands beneath +the silent stars, they prayed to the Blessed Mother, and to their +saints, St. Peter and St. Chad—prayed with all their strength. Yet the +prayer availed not. Sharper and sharper grew Godwin’s agony, till, as +the slow hours went by, his very soul reeled beneath this spiritual +pain, and the death which he had escaped seemed a thing desirable. + +The dawn was breaking, and at its first sign the escort of Saladin’s +soldiers had turned and left them, saying that now they were safe in +their own country. All night they had ridden fast and far. The plain +was behind them, and their road ran among hills. Suddenly it turned, +and in the flaming lights of the new-born day showed them a sight so +beautiful that for a moment all that little company drew rein to gaze. +For yonder before them, though far away as yet, throned upon her hills, +stood the holy city of Jerusalem. There were her walls and towers, and +there, stained red as though with the blood of its worshippers, soared +the great cross upon the mosque of Omar—that cross which was so soon to +fall. + +Yes, yonder was the city for which throughout the ages men had died by +tens and hundreds of thousands, and still must die until the doom was +done. Saladin had offered to spare her citizens if they consented to +surrender, but they would not. This embassy had told him that they had +sworn to perish with the holy Places, and now, looking at it in its +splendour, they knew that the hour was near, and groaned aloud. + +Godwin groaned also, but not for Jerusalem. Oh! now the last terror was +upon him. Blackness surged round him, and in the blackness swords, and +a sound as of a woman’s voice murmuring his name. Clutching the pommel +of his saddle, he swayed to and fro, till suddenly the anguish passed. +A strange wind seemed to blow about him and lift his hair; a deep, +unearthly peace sank into his spirit; the world seemed far away and +heaven very near. + +“It is over,” he said to Wulf. “I fear that Rosamund is dead.” + +“If so, we must make haste to follow her,” answered Wulf with a sob. + + + + +Chapter XXI. +What Befell Godwin + + +At the village of Bittir, some seven miles from Jerusalem, the embassy +dismounted to rest, then again they pressed forward down the valley in +the hope of reaching the Zion Gate before the mid-day heat was upon +them. At the end of this valley swelled the shoulder of a hill whence +the eye could command its length, and on the crest of that shoulder +appeared suddenly a man and a woman, seated on beautiful horses. The +company halted, fearing lest these might herald some attack and that +the woman was a man disguised to deceive them. While they waited thus +irresolute, the pair upon the hill turned their horses’ heads, and +notwithstanding its steepness, began to gallop towards them very +swiftly. Wulf looked at them curiously and said to Godwin: + +“Now I am put in mind of a certain ride which once we took outside the +walls of Beirut. Almost could I think that yonder Arab was he who sat +behind my saddle, and yonder woman she who rode with you, and that +those two horses were Flame and Smoke reborn. Note their whirlwind +pace, and strength, and stride.” + +Almost as he finished speaking the strangers pulled up their steeds in +front of the company, to whom the man bowed his salutations. Then +Godwin saw his face, and knew him at once as the old Arab called Son of +the Sand, who had given them the horses Flame and Smoke. + +“Sir,” said the Arab to the leader of the embassy, “I have come to ask +a favour of yonder knights who travel with you, which I think that +they, who have ridden my horses, will not refuse me. This woman,” and +he pointed to the closely-veiled shape of his companion, “is a relative +of mine whom I desire to deliver to friends in Jerusalem, but dare not +do so myself because the hilldwellers between here and there are +hostile to my tribe. She is of the Christian faith and no spy, but +cannot speak your language. Within the south gate she will be met by +her relatives. I have spoken.” + +“Let the knights settle it,” said the commander, shrugging his +shoulders impatiently and spurring his horse. + +“Surely we will take her,” said Godwin, “though what we shall do with +her if her friends are wanting I do not know. Come, lady, ride between +us.” + +She turned her head to the Arab as though in question, and he repeated +the words, whereon she fell into the place that was shown to her +between and a little behind the brethren. + +“Perhaps,” went on the Arab to Godwin, “by now you have learned more of +our tongue than you knew when we met in past days at Beirut, and rode +the mountain side on the good horses Flame and Smoke. Still, if so, I +pray you of your knightly courtesy disturb not this woman with your +words, nor ask her to unveil her face, since such is not the custom of +her people. It is but an hour’s journey to the city gate during which +you will be troubled with her. This is the payment that I ask of you +for the two good horses which, as I am told, bore you none so ill upon +the Narrow Way and across plain and mountain when you fled from Sinan, +also on the evil day of Hattin when you unhorsed Salah-ed-din and slew +Hassan.” + +“It shall be as you wish,” said Godwin; “and, Son of the Sand, we thank +you for those horses.” + +“Good. When you want more, let it be known in the market places that +you seek me,” and he began to turn his horse’s head. + +“Stay,” said Godwin. “What do you know of Masouda, your niece? Is she +with you?” + +“Nay,” answered the Arab in a low voice, “but she bade me be in a +certain garden of which you have heard, near Ascalon, at an appointed +hour, to take her away, as she is leaving the camp of Salah-ed-din. So +thither I go. Farewell.” Then with a reverence to the veiled lady, he +shook his reins and departed like an arrow by the road along which they +had come. + +Godwin gave a sigh of relief. If Masouda had appointed to meet her +uncle the Arab, at least she must be safe. So it was no voice of hers +which seemed to whisper his name in the darkness of the night when +terror had ahold of him—terror, born perhaps of all that he had endured +and the shadow of death through which he had so lately passed. Then he +looked up, to find Wulf staring back at the woman behind him, and +reproved him, saying that he must keep to the spirit of the bargain as +well as to the letter, and that if he might not speak he must not look +either. + +“That is a pity,” answered Wulf, “for though she is so tied up, she +must be a tall and noble lady by the way she sits her horse. The horse, +too, is noble, own cousin or brother to Smoke, I think. Perhaps she +will sell it when we get to Jerusalem.” + +Then they rode on, and because they thought their honour in it, neither +spoke nor looked more at the companion of this adventure, though, had +they known it, she looked hard enough at them. + +At length they reached the gate of Jerusalem, which was crowded with +folk awaiting the return of their ambassadors. They all passed through, +and the embassy was escorted thence by the chief people, most of the +multitude following them to know if they brought peace or war. + +Now Godwin and Wulf stared at each other, wondering whither they were +to go and where to find the relatives of their veiled companion, of +whom they saw nothing. Out of the street opened an archway, and beyond +this archway was a garden, which seemed to be deserted. They rode into +it to take counsel, and their companion followed, but, as always, a +little behind them. + +“Jerusalem is reached, and we must speak to her now,” said Wulf, “if +only to ask her whither she wishes to be taken.” + +Godwin nodded, and they wheeled their horses round. + +“Lady,” he said in Arabic, “we have fulfilled our charge. Be pleased to +tell us where are those kindred to whom we must lead you.” + +“Here,” answered a soft voice. + +They stared about the deserted garden in which stones and sacks of +earth had been stored ready for a siege, and finding no one, said: + +“We do not see them.” + +Then the lady let slip her cloak, though not her veil revealing the +robe beneath. + +“By St. Peter!” said Godwin. “I know the broidery on that dress. +Masouda! Say, is it you, Masouda?” + +As he spoke the veil fell also, and lo! before them was a woman like to +Masouda and yet not Masouda. The hair was dressed like hers; the +ornaments and the necklace made of the claws of the lion which Godwin +killed were hers; the skin was of the same rich hue; there even was the +tiny mole upon her cheek, but as the head was bent they could not see +her eyes. Suddenly, with a little moan she lifted it, and looked at +them. + +“Rosamund! It is Rosamund herself!” gasped Wulf. “Rosamund disguised as +Masouda!” + +And he fell rather than leapt from his saddle and ran to her, +murmuring, “God! I thank Thee!” + +Now she seemed to faint and slid from her horse into his arms, and lay +there a moment, while Godwin turned aside his head. + +“Yes,” said Rosamund, freeing herself, “it is I and no other, yet I +rode with you all this way and neither of you knew me.” + +“Have we eyes that can pierce veils and woollen garments?” asked Wulf +indignantly; but Godwin said in a strange, strained voice: + +“You are Rosamund disguised as Masouda. Who, then, was that woman to +whom I bade farewell before Saladin while the headsman awaited me; a +veiled woman who wore the robes and gems of Rosamund?” + +“I know not, Godwin,” she answered, “unless it were Masouda clad in my +garments as I left her. Nor do I know anything of this story of the +headsman who awaited you. I thought—I thought it was for Wulf that he +waited—oh! Heaven, I thought that.” + +“Tell us your tale,” said Godwin hoarsely. + +“It is short,” she answered. “After the casting of the lot, of which I +shall dream till my death-day, I fainted. When I found my senses again +I thought that I must be mad, for there before me stood a woman dressed +in my garments, whose face seemed like my face, yet not the same. + +“‘Have no fear,’ she said; ‘I am Masouda, who, amongst many other +things, have learned how to play a part. Listen; there is no time to +lose. I have been ordered to leave the camp; even now my uncle the Arab +waits without, with two swift horses. You, Princess, will leave in my +place. Look, you wear my robes and my face—almost; and are of my +height, and the man who guides you will know no difference. I have seen +to that, for although a soldier of Salah-ed-din, he is of my tribe. I +will go with you to the door, and there bid you farewell before the +eunuchs and the guards with weeping, and who will guess that Masouda is +the princess of Baalbec and that the princess of Baalbec is Masouda?’ + +“‘And whither shall I go?’ I asked. + +“‘My uncle, Son of the Sand, will give you over to the embassy which +rides to Jerusalem, or failing that, will take you to the city, or +failing that, will hide you in the mountains among his own people. See, +here is a letter that he must read; I place it in your breast.’ + +“‘And what of you, Masouda?’ I asked again. + +“‘Of me? Oh! it is all planned, a plan that cannot fail,’ she answered. +‘Fear not; I escape to-night—I have no time to tell you how—and will +join you in a day or two. Also, I think that you will find Sir Godwin, +who will bring you home to England.’ + +“‘But Wulf? What of Wulf?’ I asked again. ‘He is doomed to die, and I +will not leave him.’ + +“‘The living and the dead can keep no company,’ she answered. +‘Moreover, I have seen him, and all this is done by his most urgent +order. If you love him, he bids that you will obey.’” + +“I never saw Masouda! I never spoke such words! I knew nothing of this +plot!” exclaimed Wulf, and the brethren looked at each other with white +faces. + +“Speak on,” said Godwin; “afterwards we can debate.” + +“Moreover,” continued Rosamund, bowing her head, “Masouda added these +words, ‘I think that Sir Wulf will escape his doom. If you would see +him again, obey his word, for unless you obey you can never hope to +look upon him living. Go, now, before we are both discovered, which +would mean your death and mine, who, if you go, am safe.’” + +“How knew she that I should escape?” asked Wulf. + +“She did not know it. She only said she knew to force Rosamund away,” +answered Godwin in the same strained voice. “And then?” + +“And then—oh! having Wulf’s express commands, then I went, like one in +a dream. I remember little of it. At the door we kissed and parted +weeping, and while the guard bowed before her, she blessed me beneath +her breath. A soldier stepped forward and said, ‘Follow me, daughter of +Sinan,’ and I followed him, none taking any note, for at that hour, +although perhaps you did not see it in your prisons, a strange shadow +passed across the sun, of which all folk were afraid, thinking that it +portended evil, either to Saladin or Ascalon.* + +* The eclipse, which overshadowed Palestine and caused much terror at +Jerusalem on 4th September, 1187, the day of the surrender of +Ascalon.—Author + + +“In the gloom we came to a place, where was an old Arab among some +trees, and with him two led horses. The soldier spoke to the Arab, and +I gave him Masouda’s letter, which he read. Then he put me on one of +the led horses and the soldier mounted the other, and we departed at a +gallop. All that evening and last night we rode hard, but in the +darkness the soldier left us, and I do not know whither he went. At +length we came to that mountain shoulder and waited there, resting the +horses and eating food which the Arab had with him, till we saw the +embassy, and among them two tall knights. + +“‘See,’ said the old Arab, ‘yonder come the brethren whom you seek. See +and give thanks to Allah and to Masouda, who has not lied to you, and +to whom I must now return.’ + +“Oh! my heart wept as though it would burst, and I wept in my joy—wept +and blessed God and Masouda. But the Arab, Son of the Sand, told me +that for my life’s sake I must be silent and keep myself close veiled +and disguised even from you until we reached Jerusalem, lest perhaps if +they knew me the embassy might refuse escort to the princess of Baalbec +and niece of Saladin, or even give me up to him. + +“Then I promised and asked, ‘What of Masouda?’ He said that he rode +back at speed to save her also, as had been arranged, and that was why +he did not take me to Jerusalem himself. But how that was to be done he +was not sure as yet; only he was sure that she was hidden away safely, +and would find a way of escape when she wished it. And—and—you know the +rest, and here, by the grace of God, we three are together again.” + +“Ay,” said Godwin, “but where is Masouda, and what will happen to her +who has dared to venture such a plot as this? Oh! know you what this +woman did? I was condemned to die in place of Wulf—how, does not +matter; you will learn it afterwards—and the princess of Baalbec was +brought to say me farewell. There, under the very eyes of Saladin, +Masouda played her part and mimicked you so well that the Sultan was +deceived, and I, even I, was deceived. Yes, when for the first and last +time I embraced her, I was deceived, although, it is true, I wondered. +Also since then a great fear has been with me, although here again I +was deceived, for I thought I feared—for you. + +“Now, hark you, Wulf; take Rosamund and lodge her with some lady in +this city, or, better still, place her in sanctuary with the nuns of +the Holy Cross, whence none will dare to drag her, and let her don +their habit. The abbess may remember you, for we have met her, and at +least she will not refuse Rosamund a refuge.” + +“Yes, yes; I mind me she asked us news of folk in England. But you? +Where do you go, Godwin?” said his brother. + +“I? I ride back to Ascalon to find Masouda.” + +“Why?” asked Wulf. “Cannot Masouda save herself, as she told her uncle, +the Arab, she would do? And has he not returned thither to take her +away?” + +“I do not know,” answered Godwin; “but this I do know, that for the +sake of Rosamund, and perhaps for my sake also, Masouda has run a +fearful risk. Bethink you, what will be the mood of Saladin when at +length he finds that she upon whom he had built such hopes has gone, +leaving a waiting woman decked out in her attire.” + +“Oh!” broke in Rosamund. “I feared it, but I awoke to find myself +disguised, and she persuaded me that all was well; also that this was +done by the will of Wulf, whom she thought would escape.” + +“That is the worst of if,” said Godwin. “To carry out her plan she held +it necessary to lie, as I think she lied when she said that she +believed we should both escape, though it is true that so it came +about. I will tell you why she lied. It was that she might give her +life to set you free to join me in Jerusalem.” + +Now Rosamund, who knew the secret of Masouda’s heart, looked at him +strangely, wondering within herself how it came about that, thinking +Wulf dead or about to die, she should sacrifice herself that she, +Rosamund, might be sent to the care of Godwin. Surely it could not be +for love of her, although they loved each other well. From love of +Godwin then? How strange a way to show it! + +Yet now she began to understand. So true and high was this great love +of Masouda’s that for Godwin’s sake she was ready to hide herself in +death, leaving him—now that, as she thought, his rival was removed—to +live on with the lady whom he loved; ay, and at the price of her own +life giving that lady to his arms. Oh! how noble must she be who could +thus plan and act, and, whatever her past had been, how pure and high +of soul! Surely, if she lived, earth had no grander woman; and if she +were dead, heaven had won a saint indeed. + +Rosamund looked at Godwin, and Godwin looked at Rosamund, and there was +understanding in their eyes, for now both of them saw the truth in all +its glory and all its horror. + +“I think that I should go back also,” said Rosamund. + +“That shall not be,” answered Wulf. “Saladin would kill you for this +flight, as he has sworn.” + +“That cannot be,” added Godwin. “Shall the sacrifice of blood be +offered in vain? Moreover it is our duty to prevent you.” + +Rosamund looked at him again and stammered: + +“If—if—that dreadful thing has happened, Godwin—if the sacrifice—oh! +what will it serve?” + +“Rosamund, I know not what has chanced; I go to see. I care not what +may chance; I go to meet it. Through life, through death, and if there +be need, through all the fires of hell, I ride on till I find Masouda, +and kneel to her in homage—” + +“And in love,” exclaimed Rosamund, as though the words broke from her +lips against her will. + +“Mayhap,” Godwin answered, speaking more to himself than to her. + +Then seeing the look upon his face, the set mouth and the flashing +eyes, neither of them sought to stay him further. + +“Farewell, my liege-lady and cousin Rosamund,” Godwin said; “my part is +played. Now I leave you in the keeping of God in heaven and of Wulf on +earth. Should we meet no more, my counsel is that you two wed here in +Jerusalem and travel back to Steeple, there to live in peace, if it may +be so. Brother Wulf, fare you well also. We part to-day for the first +time, who from our birth have lived together and loved together and +done many a deed together, some of which we can look back upon without +shame. Go on your course rejoicing, taking the love and gladness that +Heaven has given you and living a good and Christian knight, mindful of +the end which draws on apace, and of eternity beyond.” + +“Oh! Godwin, speak not thus,” said Wulf, “for in truth it breaks my +heart to hear such fateful words. Moreover, we do not part thus easily. +Our lady here will be safe enough among the nuns—more safe than I can +keep her. Give me an hour, and I will set her there and join you. Both +of us owe a debt to Masouda, and it is not right that it should be paid +by you alone.” + +“Nay,” answered Godwin; “look upon Rosamund, and think what is about to +befall this city. Can you leave her at such a time?” + +Then Wulf dropped his head, and trusting himself to speak no more +words, Godwin mounted his horse, and, without so much as looking back, +rode into the narrow street and out through the gateway, till presently +he was lost in the distance and the desert. + +Wulf and Rosamund watched him go in silence, for they were choked with +tears. + +“Little did I look to part with my brother thus,” said Wulf at length +in a thick and angry voice. “By God’s Wounds! I had more gladly died at +his side in battle than leave him to meet his doom alone.” + +“And leave me to meet my doom alone,” murmured Rosamund; then added, +“Oh! I would that I were dead who have lived to bring all this woe upon +you both, and upon that great heart, Masouda. I say, Wulf, I would that +I were dead.” + +“Like enough the wish will be fulfilled before all is done,” answered +Wulf wearily, “only then I pray that I may be dead with you, for now, +Rosamund, Godwin has gone, forever as I fear, and you alone are left to +me. Come; let us cease complaining, since to dwell upon these griefs +cannot help us, and be thankful that for a while, at least, we are +free. Follow me, Rosamund, and we will ride to this nunnery to find you +shelter, if we may.” + +So they rode on through the narrow streets that were crowded with +scared people, for now the news was spread that the embassy had +rejected the terms of Saladin. He had offered to give the city food and +to suffer its inhabitants to fortify the walls, and to hold them till +the following Whitsuntide if, should no help reach them, they would +swear to surrender then. But they had answered that while they had life +they would never abandon the place where their God had died. + +So now war was before them—war to the end; and who were they that must +bear its brunt? Their leaders were slain or captive, their king a +prisoner, their soldiers skeletons on the field of Hattin. Only the +women and children, the sick, the old, and the wounded remained—perhaps +eighty thousand souls in all—but few of whom could bear arms. Yet these +few must defend Jerusalem against the might of the victorious Saracen. +Little wonder that they wailed in the streets till the cry of their +despair went up to heaven, for in their hearts all of them knew that +the holy place was doomed and their lives were forfeited. + +Pushing their path through this sad multitude, who took little note of +them, at length they came to the nunnery on the sacred Via Dolorosa, +which Wulf had seen when Godwin and he were in Jerusalem after they had +been dismissed by Saladin from Damascus. Its door stood in the shadow +of that arch where the Roman Pilate had uttered to all generations the +words “Behold the man!” + +Here the porter told him that the nuns were at prayer in their chapel. +Wulf replied that he must see the lady abbess upon a matter which would +not delay, and they were shown into a cool and lofty room. Presently +the door opened, and through it came the abbess in her white robes—a +tall and stately Englishwoman, of middle age, who looked at them +curiously. + +“Lady Abbess,” said Wulf, bowing low, “my name is Wulf D’Arcy. Do you +remember me?” + +“Yes. We met in Jerusalem—before the battle of Hattin,” she answered. +“Also I know something of your story in this land—a very strange one.” + +“This lady,” went on Wulf, “is the daughter and heiress of Sir Andrew +D’Arcy, my dead uncle, and in Syria the princess of Baalbec and the +niece of Saladin.” + +The abbess started, and asked: “Is she, then, of their accursed faith, +as her garb would seem to show?” + +“Nay, mother,” said Rosamund, “I am a Christian, if a sinful one, and I +come here to seek sanctuary, lest when they know who I am and he +clamours at their gates, my fellow Christians may surrender me to my +uncle, the Sultan.” + +“Tell me the story,” said the abbess; and they told her briefly, while +she listened, amazed. When they had finished, she said: + +“Alas! my daughter, how can we save you, whose own lives are at stake? +That belongs to God alone. Still, what we can we will do gladly, and +here, at least, you may rest for some short while. At the most holy +altar of our chapel you shall be given sanctuary, after which no +Christian man dare lay a hand upon you, since to do so is a sacrilege +that would cost him his soul. Moreover, I counsel that you be enrolled +upon our books as a novice, and don our garb. Nay,” she added with a +smile, noting the look of alarm on the face of Wulf, “the lady Rosamund +need not wear it always, unless such should be her wish. Not every +novice proceeds to the final vows.” + +“Long have I been decked in gold-embroidered silks and priceless gems,” +answered Rosamund, “and now I seem to desire that white robe of yours +more than anything on earth.” + +So they led Rosamund to the chapel, and in sight of all their order and +of priests who had been summoned, at the altar there, upon that holy +spot where they said that once Christ had answered Pilate, they placed +her hand and gave her sanctuary, and threw over her tired head the +white veil of a novice. There, too, Wulf left her, and riding away, +reported himself to Balian of Ibelin, the elected commander of the +city, who was glad enough to welcome so stout a knight where knights +were few. + +Oh! weary, weary was that ride of Godwin’s beneath the sun, beneath the +stars. Behind him, the brother who had been his companion and closest +friend, and the woman whom he had loved in vain; and in front, he knew +not what. What went he forth to seek? Another woman, who had risked her +life for them all because she loved him. And if he found her, what +then? Must he wed her, and did he wish this? Nay, he desired no woman +on the earth; yet what was right that he would do. And if he found her +not, what then? Well, at least he would give himself up to Saladin, who +must think ill of them by whom he had dealt well, and tell him that of +this plot they had no knowledge. Indeed, to him he would go first, if +it were but to beg forgiveness for Masouda should she still be in his +hands. Then—for he could not hope to be believed or pardoned a second +time—then let death come, and he would welcome it, who greatly longed +for peace. + +It was evening, and Godwin’s tired horse stumbled slowly through the +great camp of the Saracens without the walls of fallen Ascalon. None +hindered him, for having been so long a prisoner he was known by many, +while others thought that he was but one of the surrendered Christian +knights. So he came to the great house where Saladin lodged, and bade +the guard take his name to the Sultan, saying that he craved audience +of him. Presently he was admitted, and found Saladin seated in council +among his ministers. + +“Sir Godwin,” he said sternly, “seeing how you have dealt by me, what +brings you back into my camp? I gave you brethren your lives, and you +have robbed me of one whom I would not lose.” + +“We did not rob you, sire,” answered Godwin, “who knew nothing of this +plot. Nevertheless, as I was sure that you would think thus, I am come +from Jerusalem, leaving the princess and my brother there, to tell the +truth and to surrender myself to you, that I may bear in her place any +punishment which you think fit to inflict upon the woman Masouda.” + +“Why should you bear it?” asked Saladin. + +“Because, Sultan,” answered Godwin sadly, and with bent head, “whatever +she did, she did for love of me, though without my knowledge. Tell me, +is she still here, or has she fled?” + +“She is still here,” answered Saladin shortly. “Would you wish to see +her?” + +Godwin breathed a sigh of relief. At least, Masouda still lived, and +the terror that had struck him in the night was but an evil dream born +of his own fears and sufferings. + +“I do,” he answered, “once, if no more. I have words to say to her.” + +“Doubtless she will be glad to learn how her plot prospered,” said +Saladin, with a grim smile. “In truth it was well laid and boldly +executed.” + +Calling to one of his council, that same old imaum who had planned the +casting of the lots, the Sultan spoke with him aside. Then he said: + +“Let this knight be led to the woman Masouda. Tomorrow we will judge +him.” + +Taking a silver lamp from the wall, the imaum beckoned to Godwin, who +bowed to the Sultan and followed. As he passed wearily through the +throng in the audience room, it seemed to Godwin that the emirs and +captains gathered there looked at him with pity in their eyes. So +strong was this feeling in him that he halted in his walk, and asked: + +“Tell me, lord, do I go to my death?” + +“All of us go thither,” answered Saladin in the silence, “but Allah has +not written that death is yours to-night.” + +They passed down long passages; they came to a door which the imaum, +who hobbled in front, unlocked. + +“She is under ward then?” said Godwin. + +“Ay,” was the answer, “under ward. Enter,” and he handed him the lamp. +“I remain without.” + +“Perchance she sleeps, and I shall disturb her,” said Godwin, as he +hesitated upon the threshold. + +“Did you not say she loved you? Then doubtless, even if she sleeps, +she, who has dwelt at Masyaf will not take your visit ill, who have +ridden so far to find her,” said the imaum with a sneering laugh. +“Enter, I say.” + +So Godwin took the lamp and went in, and the door was shut behind him. +Surely the place was familiar to him? He knew that arched roof and +these rough, stone walls. Why, it was here that he had been brought to +die, and through that very door the false Rosamund had come to bid him +farewell, who now returned to greet her in this same darksome den. +Well, it was empty—doubtless she would soon come, and he waited, +looking at the door. It did not stir; he heard no footsteps; nothing +broke that utter silence. He turned again and stared about him. +Something glinted on the ground yonder, towards the end of the vault, +just where he had knelt before the executioner. A shape lay there; +doubtless it was Masouda, imprisoned and asleep. + +“Masouda,” he said, and the sounding echoes from the arched walls +answered back, “Masouda!” + +He must awaken her; there was no choice. Yes, it was she, asleep, and +she still wore the royal robes of Rosamund, and a clasp of Rosamund’s +still glittered on her breast. + +How sound Masouda slept! Would she never wake? He knelt down beside her +and put out his hand to lift the long hair that hid her face. + +Now it touched her, and lo! the head fell over. + +Then, with horror in his heart, Godwin held down the lamp and looked. +Oh! those robes were red, and those lips were ashen. It was Masouda, +whose spirit had passed him in the desert; Masouda, slain by the +headsman’s sword! This was the evil jest that had been played upon him, +and thus—thus they met again. + +Godwin rose to his feet and stood over her still shape as a man stands +in a dream, while words broke from his lips and a fountain in his heart +was unsealed. + +“Masouda,” he whispered, “I know now that I love you and you only, +henceforth and forever, O woman with a royal heart. Wait for me, +Masouda, wherever you may dwell.” + +While the whispered words left his lips, it seemed to Godwin that once +more, as when he rode with Wulf from Ascalon, the strange wind blew +about his brow, bringing with it the presence of Masouda, and that once +more the unearthly peace sank into his soul. + +Then all was past and over, and he turned to see the old imaum standing +at his side. + +“Did I not tell you that you would find her sleeping?” he said, with +his bitter, chuckling laugh. “Call on her, Sir Knight; call on her! +Love, they say, can bridge great gulfs—even that between severed neck +and bosom.” + +With the silver lamp in his hand Godwin smote, and the man went down +like a felled ox, leaving him once more in silence and in darkness. + +For a moment Godwin stood thus, till his brain was filled with fire, +and he too fell—fell across the corpse of Masouda, and there lay still. + + + + +Chapter XXII. +At Jerusalem + + +Godwin knew that he lay sick, but save that Masouda seemed to tend him +in his sickness he knew no more, for all the past had gone from him. +There she was always, clad in a white robe, and looking at him with +eyes full of ineffable calm and love, and he noted that round her neck +ran a thin, red line, and wondered how it came there. + +He knew also that he travelled while he was ill, for at dawn he would +hear the camp break up with a mighty noise, and feel his litter lifted +by slaves who bore him along for hours across the burning sand, till at +length the evening came, and with a humming sound, like the sound of +hiving bees, the great army set its bivouac. Then came the night and +the pale moon floating like a boat upon the azure sea above, and +everywhere the bright, eternal stars, to which went up the constant cry +of “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! God is the greatest, there is none but +He.” + +“It is a false god,” he would say. “Tell them to cry upon the Saviour +of the World.” + +Then the voice of Masouda would seem to answer: + +“Judge not. No god whom men worship with a pure and single heart is +wholly false. Many be the ladders that lead to heaven. Judge not, you +Christian knight.” + +At length that journey was done, and there arose new noises as of the +roar of battle. Orders were given and men marched out in thousands; +then rose that roar, and they marched back again, mourning their dead. + +At last came a day when, opening his eyes, Godwin turned to rest them +on Masouda, and lo! she was gone, and in her accustomed place there sat +a man whom he knew well—Egbert, once bishop of Nazareth, who gave him +to drink of sherbet cooled with snow. Yes, the Woman had departed and +the Priest was there. + +“Where am I?” he asked. + +“Outside the walls of Jerusalem, my son, a prisoner in the camp of +Saladin,” was the answer. + +“And where is Masouda, who has sat by me all these days?” + +“In heaven, as I trust,” came the gentle answer, “for she was a brave +lady. It is I who have sat by you.” + +“Nay,” said Godwin obstinately, “it was Masouda.” + +“If so,” answered the bishop again, “it was her spirit, for I shrove +her and have prayed over her open grave—her spirit, which came to visit +you from heaven, and has gone back to heaven now that you are of the +earth again.” + +Then Godwin remembered the truth, and groaning, fell asleep. +Afterwards, as he grew stronger, Egbert told him all the story. He +learned that when he was found lying senseless on the body of Masouda +the emirs wished Saladin to kill him, if for no other reason because he +had dashed out the eye of the holy imaum with a lamp. But the Sultan, +who had discovered the truth, would not, for he said that it was +unworthy of the imaum to have mocked his grief, and that Sir Godwin had +dealt with him as he deserved. Also, that this Frank was one of the +bravest of knights, who had returned to bear the punishment of a sin +which he did not commit, and that, although he was a Christian, he +loved him as a friend. + +So the imaum lost both his eye and his vengeance. + +Thus it had come about that the bishop Egbert was ordered to nurse him, +and, if possible to save his life; and when at last they marched upon +Jerusalem, soldiers were told off to bear his litter, and a good tent +was set apart to cover him. Now the siege of the holy city had begun, +and there was much slaughter on both sides. + +“Will it fall?” asked Godwin. + +“I fear so, unless the saints help them,” answered Egbert. “Alas! I +fear so.” + +“Will not Saladin be merciful?” he asked again. + +“Why should he be merciful, my son, since they have refused his terms +and defied him? Nay, he has sworn that as Godfrey took the place nigh +upon a hundred years ago and slaughtered the Mussulmen who dwelt there +by thousands, men, women, and children together, so will he do to the +Christians. Oh! why should he spare them? They must die! They must +die!” and wringing his hands Egbert left the tent. + +Godwin lay still, wondering what the answer to this riddle might be. He +could think of one, and one only. In Jerusalem was Rosamund, the +Sultan’s niece, whom he must desire to recapture, above all things, not +only because she was of his blood, but since he feared that if he did +not do so his vision concerning her would come to nothing. + +Now what was this vision? That through Rosamund much slaughter should +be spared. Well, if Jerusalem were saved, would not tens of thousands +of Moslem and Christian lives be saved also? Oh! surely here was the +answer, and some angel had put it into his heart, and now he prayed for +strength to plant it in the heart of Saladin, for strength and +opportunity. + +This very day Godwin found the opportunity. As he lay dozing in his +tent that evening, being still too weak to rise, a shadow fell upon +him, and opening his eyes he saw the Sultan himself standing alone by +his bedside. Now he strove to rise to salute him, but in a kind voice +Saladin bade him lie still, and seating himself, began to talk. + +“Sir Godwin,” he said, “I am come to ask your pardon. When I sent you +to visit that dead woman, who had suffered justly for her crime, I did +an act unworthy of a king. But my heart was bitter against her and you, +and the imaum, he whom you smote, put into my mind the trick that cost +him his eye and almost cost a worn-out and sorrowful man his life. I +have spoken.” + +“I thank you, sire, who were always noble,” answered Godwin. + +“You say so. Yet I have done things to you and yours that you can +scarcely hold as noble,” said Saladin. “I stole your cousin from her +home, as her mother had been stolen from mine, paying back ill with +ill, which is against the law, and in his own hall my servants slew her +father and your uncle, who was once my friend. Well, these things I did +because a fate drove me on—the fate of a dream, the fate of a dream. +Say, Sir Godwin, is that story which they tell in the camps true, that +a vision came to you before the battle of Hattin, and that you warned +the leaders of the Franks not to advance against me?” + +“Yes, it is true,” answered Godwin, and he told the vision, and of how +he had sworn to it on the Rood. + +“And what did they say to you?” + +“They laughed at me, and hinted that I was a sorcerer, or a traitor in +your pay, or both.” + +“Blind fools, who would not hear the truth when it was sent to them by +the pure mouth of a prophet,” muttered Saladin. “Well, they paid the +price, and I and my faith are the gainers. Do you wonder, then, Sir +Godwin, that I also believe my vision which came to me thrice in the +night season, bringing with it the picture of the very face of my +niece, the princess of Baalbec?” + +“I do not wonder,” answered Godwin. + +“Do you wonder also that I was mad with rage when I learned that at +last yonder brave dead woman had outwitted me and all my spies and +guards, and this after I had spared your lives? Do you wonder that I am +still so wroth, believing as I do that a great occasion has been taken +from me?” + +“I do not wonder. But, Sultan, I who have seen a vision speak to you +who also have seen a vision—a prophet to a prophet. And I tell you that +the occasion has not been taken—it has been brought, yes, to your very +door, and that all these things have happened that it might thus be +brought.” + +“Say on,” said Saladin, gazing at him earnestly. + +“See now, Salah-ed-din, the princess Rosamund is in Jerusalem. She has +been led to Jerusalem that you may spare it for her sake, and thus make +an end of bloodshed and save the lives of folk uncounted.” + +“Never!” said the Sultan, springing up. “They have rejected my mercy, +and I have sworn to sweep them away, man, woman, and child, and be +avenged upon all their unclean and faithless race.” + +“Is Rosamund unclean that you would be avenged upon her? Will her dead +body bring you peace? If Jerusalem is put to the sword, she must perish +also.” + +“I will give orders that she is to be saved—that she may be judged for +her crime by me,” he added grimly. + +“How can she be saved when the stormers are drunk with slaughter, and +she but one disguised woman among ten thousand others?” + +“Then,” he answered, stamping his foot, “she shall be brought or +dragged out of Jerusalem before the slaughter begins.” + +“That, I think, will not happen while Wulf is there to protect her,” +said Godwin quietly. + +“Yet I say that it must be so—it shall be so.” + +Then, without more words, Saladin left the tent with a troubled brow. + +Within Jerusalem all was misery, all was despair. There were crowded +thousands and tens of thousands of fugitives, women and children, many +of them, whose husbands and fathers had been slain at Hattin or +elsewhere. The fighting men who were left had few commanders, and thus +it came about that soon Wulf found himself the captain of very many of +them. + +First Saladin attacked from the west between the gates of Sts. Stephen +and of David, but here stood strong fortresses called the Castle of the +Pisans and the Tower of Tancred, whence the defenders made sallies upon +him, driving back his stormers. So he determined to change his ground, +and moved his army to the east, camping it near the valley of the +Kedron. When they saw the tents being struck the Christians thought +that he was abandoning the siege, and gave thanks to God in all their +churches; but lo! next morning the white array of these appeared again +on the east, and they knew that their doom was sealed. + +There were in the city many who desired to surrender to the Sultan, and +fierce grew the debates between them and those who swore that they +would rather die. At length it was agreed that an embassy should be +sent. So it came under safe conduct, and was received by Saladin in +presence of his emirs and counsellors. He asked them what was their +wish, and they replied that they had come to discuss terms. Then he +answered thus: + +“In Jerusalem is a certain lady, my niece, known among us as the +princess of Baalbec, and among the Christians as Rosamund D’Arcy, who +escaped thither a while ago in the company of the knight, Sir Wulf +D’Arcy, whom I have seen fighting bravely among your warriors. Let her +be surrendered to me that I may deal with her as she deserves, and we +will talk again. Till then I have no more to say.” + +Now most of the embassy knew nothing of this lady, but one or two said +they thought that they had heard of her, but had no knowledge of where +she was hidden. + +“Then return and search her out,” said Saladin, and so dismissed them. + +Back came the envoys to the council and told what Saladin had said. + +“At least,” exclaimed Heraclius the Patriarch, “in this matter it is +easy to satisfy the Sultan. Let his niece be found and delivered to +him. Where is she?” + +Now one declared that was known by the knight, Sir Wulf D’Arcy, with +whom she had entered the city. So he was sent for, and came with armour +rent and red sword in hand, for he had just beaten back an attack upon +the barbican, and asked what was their pleasure. + +“We desire to know, Sir Wulf,” said the patriarch, “where you have +hidden away the lady known as the princess of Baalbec, whom you stole +from the Sultan?” + +“What is that to your Holiness?” asked Wulf shortly. + +“A great deal, to me and to all, seeing that Saladin will not even +treat with us until she is delivered to him.” + +“Does this council, then, propose to hand over a Christian lady to the +Saracens against her will?” asked Wulf sternly. + +“We must,” answered Heraclius. “Moreover, she belongs to them.” + +“She does not belong,” answered Wulf. “She was kidnapped by Saladin in +England, and ever since has striven to escape from him.” + +“Waste not our time,” exclaimed the patriarch impatiently. “We +understand that you are this woman’s lover, but however that may be, +Saladin demands her, and to Saladin she must go. So tell us where she +is without more ado, Sir Wulf.” + +“Discover that for yourself, Sir Patriarch,” replied Wulf in fury. “Or, +if you cannot, send one of your own women in her place.” + +Now there was a murmur in the council, but of wonder at his boldness +rather than of indignation, for this patriarch was a very evil liver. + +“I care not if I speak the truth,” went on Wulf, “for it is known to +all. Moreover, I tell this man that it is well for him that he is a +priest, however shameful, for otherwise I would cleave his head in two +who has dared to call the lady Rosamund my lover.” Then, still shaking +with wrath, the great knight turned and stalked from the council +chamber. + +“A dangerous man,” said Heraclius, who was white to the lips; “a very +dangerous man. I propose that he should be imprisoned.” + +“Ay,” answered the lord Balian of Ibelin, who was in supreme command of +the city, “a very dangerous man—to his foes, as I can testify. I saw +him and his brother charge through the hosts of the Saracens at the +battle of Hattin, and I have seen him in the breach upon the wall. +Would that we had more such dangerous men just now!” + +“But he has insulted me,” shouted the patriarch, “me and my holy +office.” + +“The truth should be no insult,” answered Balian with meaning. “At +least, it is a private matter between you and him on account of which +we cannot spare one of our few captains. Now as regards this lady, I +like not the business—” + +As he spoke a messenger entered the room and said that the hiding-place +of Rosamund had been discovered. She had been admitted a novice into +the community of the Virgins of the Holy Cross, who had their house by +the arch on the Via Dolorosa. + +“Now I like it still less,” Balian went on, “for to touch her would be +sacrilege.” + +“His Holiness, Heraclius, will give us absolution,” said a mocking +voice. + +Then another leader rose—he was one of the party who desired peace—and +pointed out that this was no time to stand on scruples, for the Sultan +would not listen to them in their sore plight unless the lady were +delivered to him to be judged for her offence. Perhaps, being his own +niece, she would, in fact, suffer no harm at his hands, and whether +this were so or not, it was better that one should endure wrong, or +even death, than many. + +With such words he over-persuaded the most of them, so that in the end +they rose and went to the convent of the Holy Cross, where the +patriarch demanded admission for them, which, indeed, could not be +refused. The stately abbess received them in the refectory, and asked +their pleasure. + +“Daughter,” said the patriarch, “you have in your keeping a lady named +Rosamund D’Arcy, with whom we desire to speak. Where is she?” + +“The novice Rosamund,” answered the abbess, “prays by the holy altar in +the chapel.” + +Now one murmured, “She has taken sanctuary,” but the patriarch said: + +“Tell us, daughter, does she pray alone?” + +“A knight guards her prayers,” was the answer. + +“Ah! as I thought, he has been beforehand with us. Also, daughter, +surely your discipline is somewhat lax if you suffer knights thus to +invade your chapel. But lead us thither.” + +“The dangers of the times and of the lady must answer for it,” the +abbess replied boldly, as she obeyed. + +Presently they were in the great, dim place, where the lamps burned day +and night. There by the altar, built, it was said, upon the spot where +the Lord stood to receive judgment, they saw a kneeling woman, who, +clad in the robe of a novice, grasped the stonework with her hands. +Without the rails, also kneeling, was the knight Wulf, still as a +statue on a sepulchre. Hearing them, he rose, turned him about, and +drew his great sword. + +“Sheathe that sword,” commanded Heraclius. + +“When I became a knight,” answered Wulf, “I swore to defend the +innocent from harm and the altars of God from sacrilege at the hands of +wicked men. Therefore I sheathe not my sword.” + +“Take no heed of him,” said one; and Heraclius, standing back in the +aisle, addressed Rosamund: + +“Daughter,” he cried, “with bitter grief we are come to ask of you a +sacrifice, that you should give yourself for the people, as our Master +gave Himself for the people. Saladin demands you as a fugitive of his +blood, and until you are delivered to him he will not treat with us for +the saving of the city. Come forth, then, we pray you.” + +Now Rosamund rose and faced them, with her hand resting upon the altar. + +“I risked my life and I believe another gave her life,” she said, “that +I might escape from the power of the Moslems. I will not come forth to +return to them.” + +“Then, our need being sore, we must take you,” answered Heraclius +sullenly. + +“What!” she cried. “You, the patriarch of this sacred city, would tear +me from the sanctuary of its holiest altar? Oh! then, indeed shall the +curse fall upon it and you. Hence, they say, our sweet Lord was haled +to sacrifice by the command of an unjust judge, and thereafter +Jerusalem was taken by the sword. Must I too be dragged from the spot +that His feet have hallowed, and even in these weeds”—and she pointed +to her white robe—“thrown as an offering to your foes, who mayhap will +bid me choose between death and the Koran? If so, I say assuredly that +offering will be made in vain, and assuredly your streets shall run red +with the blood of those who tore me from my sanctuary.” + +Now they consulted together, some taking one side and some the other, +but the most of them declared that she must be given up to Saladin. + +“Come of your own will, I pray you,” said the patriarch, “since we +would not take you by force.” + +“By force only will you take me,” answered Rosamund. + +Then the abbess spoke. + +“Sirs, will you commit so great a crime? Then I tell you that it cannot +go without its punishment. With this lady I say”—and she drew up her +tall shape—“that it shall be paid for in your blood, and mayhap in the +blood of all of us. Remember my words when the Saracens have won the +city, and are putting its children to the sword.” + +“I absolve you from the sin,” shouted the patriarch, “if sin it is.” + +“Absolve yourself,” broke in Wulf sternly, “and know this. I am but one +man, but I have some strength and skill. If you seek but to lay a hand +upon the novice Rosamund to hale her away to be slain by Saladin, as he +has sworn that he would do should she dare to fly from him, before I +die there are those among you who have looked the last upon the light.” + +Then, standing there before the altar rails, he lifted his great blade +and settled the skull-blazoned shield upon his arm. + +Now the patriarch raved and stormed, and one among them cried that they +would fetch bows and shoot Wulf down from a distance. + +“And thus,” broke in Rosamund, “add murder to sacrilege! Oh! sirs, +bethink what you do—ay, and remember this, that you do it all in vain. +Saladin has promised you nothing, except that if you deliver me to him, +he will talk with you, and then you may find that you have sinned for +nothing. Have pity on me and go your ways, leaving the issue in the +hand of God.” + +“That is true,” cried some. “Saladin made no promises.” + +Now Balian, the guardian of the city, who had followed them to the +chapel and standing in the background heard what passed there, stepped +forward and said: + +“My lord Patriarch, I pray you let this thing be, since from such a +crime no good could come to us or any. That altar is the holiest and +most noted place of sanctuary in all Jerusalem. Will you dare to tear a +maiden from it whose only sin is that she, a Christian, has escaped the +Saracens by whom she was stolen? Do you dare to give her back to them +and death, for such will be her doom at the hands of Saladin? Surely +that would be the act of cowards, and bring upon us the fate of +cowards. Sir Wulf, put up your sword and fear nothing. If there is any +safety in Jerusalem, your lady is safe. Abbess, lead her to her cell.” + +“Nay,” answered the abbess with fine sarcasm, “it is not fitting that +we should leave this place before his Holiness.” + +“Then you have not long to wait,” shouted the patriarch in fury. “Is +this a time for scruples about altars? Is this a time to listen to the +prayers of a girl or to threats of a single knight, or the doubts of a +superstitious captain? Well, take your way and let your lives pay its +cost. Yet I say that if Saladin asked for half the noble maidens in the +city, it would be cheap to let him have them in payment for the blood +of eighty thousand folk,” and he stalked towards the door. + +So they went away, all except Wulf, who stayed to make sure that they +were gone, and the abbess, who came to Rosamund and embraced her, +saying that for the while the danger was past, and she might rest +quiet. + +“Yes, mother,” answered Rosamund with a sob, “but oh! have I done +right? Should I not have surrendered myself to the wrath of Saladin if +the lives of so many hang upon it? Perhaps, after all, he would forget +his oath and spare my life, though at best I should never be suffered +to escape again while there is a castle in Baalbec or a guarded harem +in Damascus. Moreover, it is hard to bid farewell to all one loves +forever,” and she glanced towards Wulf, who stood out of hearing. + +“Yes,” answered the abbess, “it is hard, as we nuns know well. But, +daughter, that sore choice has not yet been thrust upon you. When +Saladin says that he sets you against the lives of all this cityful, +then you must judge.” + +“Ay,” repeated Rosamund, “then I—must judge.” + +The siege went on; from terror to terror it went on. The mangonels +hurled their stones unceasingly, the arrows flew in clouds so that none +could stand upon the walls. Thousands of the cavalry of Saladin hovered +round St. Stephen’s Gate, while the engines poured fire and bolts upon +the doomed town, and the Saracen miners worked their way beneath the +barbican and the wall. The soldiers within could not sally because of +the multitude of the watching horsemen; they could not show themselves, +since he who did so was at once destroyed by a thousand darts, and they +could not build up the breaches of the crumbling wall. As day was added +to day, the despair grew ever deeper. In every street might be met long +processions of monks bearing crosses and chanting penitential psalms +and prayers, while in the house-doors women wailed to Christ for mercy, +and held to their breasts the children which must so soon be given to +death, or torn from them to deck some Mussulman harem. + +The commander Balian called the knights together in council, and showed +them that Jerusalem was doomed. + +“Then,” said one of the leaders, “let us sally out and die fighting in +the midst of foes.” + +“Ay,” added Heraclius, “and leave our children and our women to death +and dishonour. Then that surrender is better, since there is no hope of +succour.” + +“Nay,” answered Balian, “we will not surrender. While God lives, there +is hope.” + +“He lived on the day of Hattin, and suffered it,” said Heraclius; and +the council broke up, having decided nothing. + +That afternoon Balian stood once more before Saladin and implored him +to spare the city. + +Saladin led him to the door of the tent and pointed to his yellow +banners floating here and there upon the wall, and to one that at this +moment rose upon the breach itself. + +“Why should I spare what I have already conquered, and what I have +sworn to destroy?” he asked. “When I offered you mercy you would have +none of it. Why do you ask it now?” + +Then Balian answered him in those words that will ring through history +forever. + +“For this reason, Sultan. Before God, if die we must, we will first +slaughter our women and our little children, leaving you neither male +nor female to enslave. We will burn the city and its wealth; we will +grind the holy Rock to powder and make of the mosque el-Aksa, and the +other sacred places, a heap of ruins. We will cut the throats of the +five thousand followers of the Prophet who are in our power, and then, +every man of us who can bear arms, we will sally out into the midst of +you and fight on till we fall. So I think Jerusalem shall cost you +dear.” + +The Sultan stared at him and stroked his beard. + +“Eighty thousand lives,” he muttered; “eighty thousand lives, besides +those of my soldiers whom you will slay. A great slaughter—and the holy +city destroyed forever. Oh! it was of such a massacre as this that once +I dreamed.” + +Then Saladin sat still and thought a while, his head bowed upon his +breast. + + + + +Chapter XXIII. +Saint Rosamund + + +From the day when he saw Saladin Godwin began to grow strong again, and +as his health came back, so he fell to thinking. Rosamund was lost to +him and Masouda was dead, and at times he wished that he were dead +also. What more had he to do with his life, which had been so full of +sorrow, struggle and bloodshed? Go back to England to live there upon +his lands, and wait until old age and death overtook him? The prospect +would have pleased many, but it did not please Godwin, who felt that +his days were not given to him for this purpose, and that while he +lived he must also labour. + +As he sat thinking thus, and was very unhappy, the aged bishop Egbert, +who had nursed him so well, entered his tent, and, noting his face, +asked: + +“What ails you, my son?” + +“Would you wish to hear?” said Godwin. + +“Am I not your confessor, with a right to hear?” answered the gentle +old man. “Show me your trouble.” + +So Godwin began at the beginning and told it all—how as a lad he had +secretly desired to enter the Church; how the old prior of the abbey at +Stangate counselled him that he was too young to judge; how then the +love of Rosamund had entered into his life with his manhood, and he had +thought no more of religion. He told him also of the dream that he had +dreamed when he lay wounded after the fight on Death Creek; of the vows +which he and Wulf had vowed at the time of their knighting, and of how +by degrees he had learned that Rosamund’s love was not for him. Lastly, +he told him of Masouda, but of her Egbert, who had shriven her, knew +already. + +The bishop listened in silence till he had finished. Then he looked up, +saying: + +“And now?” + +“Now,” answered Godwin, “I know not. Yet it seems to me that I hear the +sound of my own feet walking upon cloister stones, and of my own voice +lifted up in prayer before the altar.” + +“You are still young to talk thus, and though Rosamund be lost to you +and Masouda dead, there are other women in the world,” said Egbert. + +Godwin shook his head. + +“Not for me, my father.” + +“Then there are the knightly Orders, in which you might rise high.” + +Again he shook his head. + +“The Templars and the Hospitallers are crushed. Moreover, I watched +them in Jerusalem and the field, and love them not. Should they change +their ways, or should I be needed to fight against the Infidel, I can +join them by dispensation in days to come. But counsel me—what shall I +do now?” + +“Oh! my son,” the old bishop said, his face lighting up, “if God calls +you, come to God. I will show you the road.” + +“Yes, I will come,” Godwin answered quietly. “I will come, and, unless +the Cross should once more call me to follow it in war, I will strive +to spend the time that is left to me in His service and that of men. +For I think, my father, that to this end I was born.” + +Three days later Godwin was ordained a priest, there in the camp of +Saladin, by the hand of the bishop Egbert, while around his tent the +servants of Mahomet, triumphant at the approaching downfall of the +Cross, shouted that God is great and Mahomet His only prophet. + + +Saladin lifted his head and looked at Balian. + +“Tell me,” he said, “what of the princess of Baalbec, whom you know as +the lady Rosamund D’Arcy? I told you that I would speak no more with +you of the safety of Jerusalem until she was delivered to me for +judgment. Yet I see her not.” + +“Sultan,” answered Balian, “we found this lady in the convent of the +Holy Cross, wearing the robe of a novice of that order. She had taken +the sanctuary there by the altar which we deem so sacred and +inviolable, and refused to come.” + +Saladin laughed. + +“Cannot all your men-at-arms drag one maiden from an altar +stone?—unless, indeed, the great knight Wulf stood before it with sword +aloft,” he added. + +“So he stood,” answered Balian, “but it was not of him that we thought, +though assuredly he would have slain some of us. To do this thing would +have been an awful crime, which we were sure must bring down the +vengeance of our God upon us and upon the city.” + +“What of the vengeance of Salah-ed-din?” + +“Sore as is our case, Sultan, we still fear God more than Saladin.” + +“Ay, Sir Balian, but Salah-ed-din may be a sword in the hand of God.” + +“Which sword, Sultan, would have fallen swiftly had we done this deed.” + +“I think that it is about to fall,” said Saladin, and again was silent +and stroked his beard. + +“Listen, now,” he said at length. “Let the princess, my niece, come to +me and ask it of my grace, and I think that I will grant you terms for +which, in your plight, you may be thankful.” + +“Then we must dare the great sin and take her,” answered Balian sadly, +“having first slain the knight Wulf, who will not let her go while he +is alive.” + +“Nay, Sir Balian, for that I should be sorry, nor will I suffer it, for +though a Christian he is a man after my own heart. This time I said +‘Let her come to me,’ not ‘Let her be brought.’ Ay, come of her own +free will, to answer to me for her sin against me, understanding that I +promise her nothing, who in the old days promised her much, and kept my +word. Then she was the princess of Baalbec, with all the rights +belonging to that great rank, to whom I had sworn that no husband +should be forced upon her, nor any change of faith. Now I take back +these oaths, and if she comes, she comes as an escaped +Cross-worshipping slave, to whom I offer only the choice of Islam or of +a shameful death.” + +“What high-born lady would take such terms?” asked Balian in dismay. +“Rather, I think, would she choose to die by her own hand than by that +of your hangman, since she can never abjure her faith.” + +“And thereby doom eighty thousand of her fellow Christians, who must +accompany her to that death,” answered Saladin sternly. “Know, Sir +Balian, I swear it before Allah and for the last time, that if my niece +Rosamund does not come, of her own free will, unforced by any, +Jerusalem shall be put to sack.” + +“Then the fate of the holy city and all its inhabitants hangs upon the +nobleness of a single woman?” stammered Balian. + +“Ay, upon the nobleness of a single woman, as my vision told me it +should be. If her spirit is high enough, Jerusalem may yet be saved. If +it be baser than I thought, as well may chance, then assuredly with her +it is doomed. I have no more to say, but my envoys shall ride with you +bearing a letter, which with their own hands they must present to my +niece, the princess of Baalbec. Then she can return with them to me, or +she can bide where she is, when I shall know that I saw but a lying +vision of peace and mercy flowing from her hands, and will press on +this war to its bloody end.” + +Within an hour Balian rode to the city under safe conduct, taking with +him the envoys of Saladin and the letter, which they were charged to +deliver to Rosamund. + +It was night, and in their lamp-lit chapel the Virgins of the Holy +Cross upon bended knees chanted the slow and solemn Miserere. From +their hearts they sang, to whom death and dishonour were so near, +praying their Lord and the merciful Mother of God to have pity, and to +spare them and the inhabitants of the hallowed town where He had dwelt +and suffered, and to lead them safe through the shadow of a fate as +awful as His own. They knew that the end was near, that the walls were +tottering to their fall, that the defenders were exhausted, and that +soon the wild soldiers of Saladin would be surging through the narrow +streets. + +Then would come the sack and the slaughter, either by the sword of the +Saracens, or, perchance, if these found time and they were not +forgotten, more mercifully at the hands of Christian men, who thus +would save them from the worst. + +Their dirge ended, the abbess rose and addressed them. Her bearing was +still proud, but her voice quavered. + +“My daughters in the Lord,” she said, “the doom is almost at our door, +and we must brace our hearts to meet it. If the commanders of the city +do what they have promised, they will send some here to behead us at +the last, and so we shall pass happily to glory and be ever with the +Lord. But perchance they will forget us, who are but a few among eighty +thousand souls, of whom some fifty thousand must thus be killed. Or +their arms may grow weary, or themselves they may fall before ever they +reach this house—and what, my daughters, shall we do then?” + +Now some of the nuns clung together and sobbed in their affright, and +some were silent. Only Rosamund drew herself to her full height, and +spoke proudly. + +“My Mother,” she said, “I am a newcomer among you, but I have seen the +slaughter of Hattin, and I know what befalls Christian women and +children among the unbelievers. Therefore I ask your leave to say my +say.” + +“Speak,” said the abbess. + +“This is my counsel,” went on Rosamund, “and it is short and plain. +When we know that the Saracens are in the city, let us set fire to this +convent and get us to our knees and so perish.” + +“Well spoken; it is best,” muttered several. But the abbess answered +with a sad smile: + +“High counsel indeed, such as might be looked for from high blood. Yet +it may not be taken, since self-slaughter is a deadly sin.” + +“I see little difference between it,” said Rosamund, “and the +stretching out of our necks to the swords of friends. Yet, although for +others I cannot judge, for myself I do judge who am bound by no final +vows. I tell you that rather than fall into the hands of the Paynims, I +will dare that sin and leave them nothing but the vile mould which once +held the spirit of a woman.” + +And she laid her hand upon the dagger hilt that was hidden in her robe. + +Then again the abbess spoke. + +“To you, daughter, I cannot forbid the deed, but to those who have +fully sworn to obey me I do forbid it, and to them I show another if a +more piteous way of escape from the last shame of womanhood. Some of us +are old and withered, and have naught to fear but death, but others are +still young and fair. To these I say, when the end is nigh, let them +take steel and score face and bosom and seat themselves here in this +chapel, red with their own blood and made loathsome to the sight of +man. Then will the end come upon them quickly, and they will pass hence +unstained to be the brides of Heaven.” + +Now a great groan of horror went up from those miserable women, who +already saw themselves seated in stained robes, and hideous to behold, +there in the carved chairs of their choir, awaiting death by the swords +of furious and savage men, as in a day to come their sisters of the +Faith were to await it in the doomed convent of the Virgins of St. +Clare at Acre.* + +* Those who are curious to know the story of the end of those holy +heroines, the Virgins of St. Clare, I think in the year 1291, may read +it in my book, “A Winter Pilgrimage,” pp. 270 and 271—AUTHOR. + + +Yet one by one, except the aged among them, they came up to the abbess +and swore that they would obey her in this as in everything, while the +abbess said that herself she would lead them down that dreadful road of +pain and mutilation. Yes, save Rosamund, who declared that she would +die undisfigured as God had made her, and two other novices, they swore +it one by one, laying their hands upon the altar. + +Then again they got them to their knees and sang the Miserere. + +Presently, above their mournful chant, the sound of loud, insistent +knockings echoed down the vaulted roofs. They sprang up screaming: + +“The Saracens are here! Give us knives! Give us knives!” + +Rosamund drew the dagger from its sheath. + +“Wait awhile,” cried the abbess. “These may be friends, not foes. +Sister Ursula, go to the door and seek tidings.” + +The sister, an aged woman, obeyed with tottering steps, and, reaching +the massive portal, undid the guichet, or lattice, and asked with a +quavering voice: + +“Who are you that knock?” while the nuns within held their breath and +strained their ears to catch the answer. + +Presently it came, in a woman’s silvery tones, that sounded strangely +still and small in the spaces of that tomb-like church. + +“I am the Queen Sybilla, with her ladies.” + +“And what would you with us, O Queen? The right of sanctuary?” + +“Nay; I bring with me some envoys from Saladin, who would have speech +with the lady named Rosamund D’Arcy, who is among you.” + +Now at these words Rosamund fled to the altar, and stood there, still +holding the naked dagger in her hand. + +“Let her not fear,” went on the silvery voice, “for no harm shall come +to her against her will. Admit us, holy Abbess, we beseech you in the +name of Christ.” + +Then the abbess said, “Let us receive the queen with such dignity as we +may.” Motioning to the nuns to take their appointed seats. in the choir +she placed herself in the great chair at the head of them, whilst +behind her at the raised altar stood Rosamund, the bare knife in her +hand. + +The door was opened, and through it swept a strange procession. First +came the beauteous queen wearing her insignia of royalty, but with a +black veil upon her head. Next followed ladies of her court—twelve of +them—trembling with fright but splendidly apparelled, and after these +three stern and turbaned Saracens clad in mail, their jewelled +scimitars at their sides. Then appeared a procession of women, most of +them draped in mourning, and leading scared children by the hand; the +wives, sisters, and widows of nobles, knights and burgesses of +Jerusalem. Last of all marched a hundred or more of captains and +warriors, among them Wulf, headed by Sir Balian and ended by the +patriarch Heraclius in his gorgeous robes, with his attendant priests +and acolytes. + +On swept the queen, up the length of the long church, and as she came +the abbess and her nuns rose and bowed to her, while one offered her +the chair of state that was set apart to be used by the bishop in his +visitations. But she would have none of it. + +“Nay,” said the queen, “mock me with no honourable seat who come here +as a humble suppliant, and will make my prayer upon my knees.” + +So down she went upon the marble floor, with all her ladies and the +following women, while the solemn Saracens looked at her wondering and +the knights and nobles massed themselves behind. + +“What can we give you, O Queen,” asked the abbess, “who have nothing +left save our treasure, to which you are most welcome, our honour, and +our lives?” + +“Alas!” answered the royal lady. “Alas, that I must say it! I come to +ask the life of one of you.” + +“Of whom, O Queen?” + +Sybilla lifted her head, and with her outstretched arm pointed to +Rosamund, who stood above them all by the high altar. + +For a moment Rosamund turned pale, then spoke in a steady voice: + +“Say, what service can my poor life be to you, O Queen, and by whom is +it sought?” + +Thrice Sybilla strove to answer, and at last murmured: + +“I cannot. Let the envoys give her the letter, if she is able to read +their tongue.” + +“I am able,” answered Rosamund, and a Saracen emir drew forth a roll +and laid it against his forehead, then gave it to the abbess, who +brought it to Rosamund. With her dagger blade she cut its silk, opened +it, and read aloud, always in the same quiet voice, translating as she +read:— + +“In the name of Allah the One, the All-merciful, to my niece, aforetime +the princess of Baalbec, Rosamund D’Arcy by name, now a fugitive hidden +in a convent of the Franks in the city el-Kuds Esh-sherif, the holy +city of Jerusalem: + +“Niece,—All my promises to you I have performed, and more, since for +your sake I spared the lives of your cousins, the twin knights. But you +have repaid me with ingratitude and trickery, after the manner of those +of your false and accursed faith, and have fled from me. I promised you +also, again and yet again, that if you attempted this thing, death +should be your portion. No longer, therefore, are you the princess of +Baalbec, but only an escaped Christian slave, and as such doomed to die +whenever my sword reaches you. + +“Of my vision concerning you, which caused me to bring you to the East +from England, you know well. Repeat it in your heart before you answer. +That vision told me that by your nobleness and sacrifice you should +save the lives of many. I demanded that you should be brought back to +me, and the request was refused—why, it matters not. Now I understand +the reason—that this was so ordained. I demand no more that force +should be used to you. I demand that you shall come of your own free +will, to suffer the bitter and shameful reward of your sin. Or, if you +so desire, bide where you are of your own free will, and be dealt with +as God shall decree. This hangs upon your judgment. If you come and ask +it of me, I will consider the question of the sparing of Jerusalem and +its inhabitants. If you refuse to come, I will certainly put every one +of them to the sword, save such of the women and children as may be +kept for slaves. Decide, then, Niece, and quickly, whether you will +return with my envoys, or bide where they find you.— + +“Yusuf Salah-ed-din.” + +Rosamund finished reading, and the letter fluttered from her hand down +to the marble floor. + +Then the queen said: + +“Lady, we ask this sacrifice of you in the name of these and all their +fellows,” and she pointed to the women and the children behind her. + +“And my life?” mused Rosamund aloud. “It is all I have. When I have +paid it away I shall be beggared,” and her eyes wandered to where the +tall shape of Wulf stood by a pillar of the church. + +“Perchance Saladin will be merciful,” hazarded the queen. + +“Why should he be merciful,” answered Rosamund, “who has always warned +me that if I escaped from him and was recaptured, certainly I must die? +Nay, he will offer me Islam, or death, which means—death by the rope—or +in some worse fashion.” + +“But if you stay here you must die,” pleaded the queen, “or at best +fall into the hands of the soldiers. Oh! lady, your life is but one +life, and with it you can buy those of eighty thousand souls.” + +“Is that so sure?” asked Rosamund. “The Sultan has made no promise; he +says only that, if I pray it of him, he will consider the question of +the sparing of Jerusalem.” + +“But—but,” went on the queen, “he says also that if you do not come he +will surely put Jerusalem to the sword, and to Sir Balian he said that +if you gave yourself up he thought he might grant terms which we should +be glad to take. Therefore we dare to ask of you to give your life in +payment for such a hope. Think, think what otherwise must be the lot of +these”—and again she pointed to the women and children—“ay, and your +own sisterhood and of all of us. Whereas, if you die, it will be with +much honour, and your name shall be worshipped as a saint and martyr in +every church in Christendom. + +“Oh! refuse not our prayer, but show that you indeed are great enough +to step forward to meet the death which comes to every one of us, and +thereby earn the blessings of half the world and make sure your place +in heaven, nigh to Him Who also died for men. Plead with her, my +sisters—plead with her!” + +Then the women and the children threw themselves down before her, and +with tears and sobbing prayed her that she would give up her life for +theirs. Rosamund looked at them and smiled, then said in a clear voice: + +“What say you, my cousin and betrothed, Sir Wulf D’Arcy? Come hither, +and, as is fitting in this strait, give me your counsel.” + +So the grey-eyed, war-worn Wulf strode up the aisle, and, standing by +the altar rails, saluted her. + +“You have heard,” said Rosamund. “Your counsel. Would you have me die?” + +“Alas!” he answered in a hoarse voice. “It is hard to speak. Yet, they +are many—you are but one.” + +Now there was a murmur of applause. For it was known that this knight +loved his lady dearly, and that but the other day he had stood there to +defend her to the death against those who would give her up to Saladin. + +Now Rosamund laughed out, and the sweet sound of her laughter was +strange in that solemn place and hour. + +“Ah, Wulf!” she said. “Wulf, who must ever speak the truth, even when +it costs him dear. Well, I would not have it otherwise. Queen, and all +you foolish people, I did but try your tempers. Could you, then, think +me so base that I would spare to spend this poor life of mine, and to +forego such few joys as God might have in store for me on earth, when +those of tens of thousands may hang upon the issue? Nay, nay; it is far +otherwise.” + +Then Rosamund sheathed the dagger that all this while she had held in +her hand, and, lifting the letter from the floor, touched her brow with +it in signal of obedience, saying in Arabic to the envoys: + +“I am the slave of Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful. I am the +small dust beneath his feet. Take notice, Emirs, that in presence of +all here gathered, of my own free will I, Rosamund D’Arcy, aforetime +princess and sovereign lady of Baalbec, determine to accompany you to +the Sultan’s camp, there to make prayer for the sparing of the lives of +the citizens of Jerusalem, and afterwards to suffer the punishment of +death in payment of my flight, according to my royal uncle’s high +decree. One request I make only, if he be pleased to grant it—that my +body be brought back to Jerusalem for burial before this altar, where +of my own act I lay down my life. Emirs, I am ready.” + +Now the envoys bowed before her in grave admiration, and the air grew +thick with blessings. As Rosamund stepped down from the altar the queen +threw her arms about her neck and kissed her, while lords and knights, +women and children, pressed their lips upon her hands, upon the hem of +her white robe, and even on her feet, calling her “Saint” and +“Deliverer.” + +“Alas!” she answered, waving them back. “As yet I am neither of these +things, though the latter of them I hope to be. Come; let us be going.” + +“Ay,” echoed Wulf, stepping to her side, “let us be going.” + +Rosamund started at the words, and all there stared. “Listen, Queen, +Emirs, and People,” he went on. “I am this lady’s kinsman and her +betrothed knight, sworn to serve her to the end. If she be guilty of a +crime against the Sultan, I am more guilty, and on me also shall fall +his vengeance. Let us be going.” + +“Wulf, Wulf,” she said, “it shall not be. One life is asked—not both.” + +“Yet, lady, both shall be given that the measure of atonement may run +over, and Saladin moved to mercy. Nay, forbid me not. I have lived for +you, and for you I die. Yes, if they hold me by force, still I die, if +need be, on my own sword. When I counselled you just now, I counselled +myself also. Surely you never dreamed that I would suffer you to go +alone, when by sharing it I could make your doom easier.” + +“Oh, Wulf!” she cried. “You will but make it harder.” + +“No, no; faced hand in hand, death loses half its terrors. Moreover, +Saladin is my friend, and I also would plead with him for the people of +Jerusalem.” + +Then he whispered in her ear, “Sweet Rosamund, deny me not, lest you +should drive me to madness and self-murder, who will have no more of +earth without you.” + +Now, her eyes full of tears and shining with love, Rosamund murmured +back: + +“You are too strong for me. Let it befall as God wills.” + +Nor did the others attempt to stay him any more. + +Going to the abbess, Rosamund would have knelt before her, but it was +the abbess who knelt and called her blessed, and kissed her. The +sisters also kissed her one by one in farewell. Then a priest was +brought—not the patriarch, of whom she would have none, but another, a +holy man. + +To him apart at the altar, first Rosamund and then Wulf made confession +of their sins, receiving absolution and the sacrament in that form in +which it was given to the dying; while, save the emirs, all in the +church knelt and prayed as for souls that pass. + +The solemn ritual was ended. They rose, and, followed by two of the +envoys—for already the third had departed under escort to the court of +Saladin to give him warning—the queen, her ladies and all the company, +walked from the church and through the convent halls out into the +narrow Street of Woe. Here Wulf, as her kinsman, took Rosamund by the +hand, leading her as a man leads his sister to her bridal. Without it +was bright moonlight, moonlight clear as day, and by now tidings of +this strange story had spread through all Jerusalem, so that its narrow +streets were crowded with spectators, who stood also upon every roof +and at every window. + +“The lady Rosamund!” they shouted. “The blessed Rosamund, who goes to a +martyr’s death to save us. The pure Saint Rosamund and her brave knight +Wulf!” And they tore flowers and green leaves from the gardens and +threw them in their path. + +Down the long, winding streets, with bent heads and humble mien, +companioned ever by the multitude, through which soldiers cleared the +way, they walked thus, while women held up their children to touch the +robe of Rosamund or to look upon her face. At length the gate was +reached, and while it was unbarred they halted. Then came forward Sir +Balian of Ibelin, bareheaded, and said: + +“Lady, on behalf of the people of Jerusalem and of the whole of +Christendom, I give you honour and thanks, and to you also, Sir Wulf +D’Arcy, the bravest and most faithful of all knights.” + +A company of priests also, headed by a bishop, advanced chanting and +swinging censers, and blessed them solemnly in the name of the Church +and of Christ its Master. + +“Give us not praise and thanks, but prayers,” answered Rosamund; +“prayers that we may succeed in our mission, to which we gladly offer +up our lives, and afterwards, when we are dead, prayers for the welfare +of our sinful souls. But should we fail, as it may chance, then +remember of us only that we did our best. Oh! good people, great +sorrows have come upon this land, and the Cross of Christ is veiled +with shame. Yet it shall shine forth once more, and to it through the +ages shall all men bow the knee. Oh! may you live! May no more death +come among you! It is our last petition, and with it, this—that when at +length you die we may meet again in heaven! Now fare you well.” + +Then they passed through the gate, and as the envoys declared that none +might accompany them further, walked forward followed by the sound of +the weeping of the multitude towards the camp of Saladin, two strange +and lonesome figures in the moonlight. + +At last these lamentations could be heard no more, and there, on the +outskirts of the Moslem lines, an escort met them, and bearers with a +litter. + +But into this Rosamund would not enter, so they walked onwards up the +hill, till they came to the great square in the centre of the camp upon +the Mount of Olives, beyond the grey trees of the Garden of Gethsemane. +There, awaiting them at the head of the square, sat Saladin in state, +while all about, rank upon rank, in thousands and tens of thousands, +was gathered his vast army, who watched them pass in silence. + +Thus they came into the presence of the Sultan and knelt before him, +Rosamund in her novice’s white robe, and Wulf in his battered mail. + + + + +Chapter XXIV. +The Dregs of the Cup + + +Saladin looked at them, but gave them no greeting. Then he spoke: + +“Woman, you have had my message. You know that your rank is taken from +you, and that with it my promises are at an end; you know also that you +come hither to suffer the death of faithless women. Is it so?” + +“I know all these things, great Salah-ed-din,” answered Rosamund. + +“Tell me, then, do you come of your own free will, unforced by any, and +why does the knight Sir Wulf, whose life I spared and do not seek, +kneel at your side?” + +“I come of my own free will, Salah-ed-din, as your emirs can tell you; +ask them. For the rest, my kinsman must answer for himself.” + +“Sultan,” said Wulf, “I counselled the lady Rosamund that she should +come—not that she needed such counsel—and, having given it, I +accompanied her by right of blood and of Justice, since her offence +against you is mine also. Her fate is my fate.” + +“I have no quarrel against you whom I forgave, therefore you must take +your own way to follow the path she goes.” + +“Doubtless,” answered Wulf, “being a Christian among many sons of the +Prophet, it will not be hard to find a friendly scimitar to help me on +that road. I ask of your goodness that her fate may be my fate.” + +“What!” said Saladin. “You are ready to die with her, although you are +young and strong, and there are so many other women in the world?” + +Wulf smiled and nodded his head. + +“Good. Who am I that I should stand between a fool and his folly? I +grant the boon. Your fate shall be her fate; Wulf D’Arcy, you shall +drink of the cup of my slave Rosamund to its last bitterest dregs.” + +“I desire no less,” said Wulf coolly. + +Now Saladin looked at Rosamund and asked, + +“Woman, why have you come here to brave my vengeance? Speak on if you +have aught to ask.” + +Then Rosamund rose from her knees, and, standing before him, said: + +“I am come, O my mighty lord, to plead for the people of Jerusalem, +because it was told me that you would listen to no other voice than +that of this your slave. See, many moons ago, you had a vision +concerning me. Thrice you dreamed in the night that I, the niece whom +you had never seen, by some act of mine should be the means of saving +much life and a way of peace. Therefore you tore me from my home and +brought my father to a bloody death, as you are about to bring his +daughter; and after much suffering and danger I fell into your power, +and was treated with great honour. Still I, who am a Christian, and who +grew sick with the sight of the daily slaughter and outrage of my kin, +strove to escape from you, although you had warned me that the price of +this crime was death; and in the end, through the wit and sacrifice of +another woman, I did escape. + +“Now I return to pay that price, and behold! your vision is +fulfilled—or, at the least, you can fulfil it if God should touch your +heart with grace, seeing that of my own will I am come to pray you, +Salah-ed-din, to spare the city, and for its blood to accept mine as a +token and an offering. + +“Oh, my lord! as you are great, be merciful. What will it avail you in +the day of your own judgment that you have added another eighty +thousand to the tally of your slain, and with them many more thousands +of your own folk, since the warriors of Jerusalem will not die +unavenged? Give them their lives and let them go free, and win thereby +the gratitude of mankind and the forgiveness of God above.” + +So Rosamund spoke, and stretching out her arms towards him, was silent. + +“These things I offered to them, and they were refused,” answered +Saladin. “Why should I grant them now that they are conquered?” + +“My lord, Strong-to-Aid,” said Rosamund, “do you, who are so brave, +blame yonder knights and soldiers because they fought on against +desperate odds? Would you not have called them cowards if they had +yielded up the city where their Saviour died and struck no blow to save +it? Oh! I am outworn! I can say no more; but once again, most humbly +and on my knees, I beseech you speak the word of mercy, and let not +your triumph be dyed red with the blood of women and of little +children.” + +Then casting herself upon her face, Rosamund clasped the hem of his +royal robe with her hands, and pressed it to her forehead. + +So for a while she lay there in the shimmering moonlight, while utter +silence fell upon all that vast multitude of armed men as they waited +for the decree of fate to be uttered by the conqueror’s lips. But +Saladin sat still as a statue, gazing at the domes and towers of +Jerusalem outlined against the deep blue sky. + +“Rise,” he said at length, “and know, niece, that you have played your +part in a fashion worthy of my race, and that I, Salah-ed-din, am proud +of you. Know also that I will weigh your prayer as I have weighed that +of none other who breathes upon the earth. Now I must take counsel with +my own heart, and to-morrow it shall be granted—or refused. To you, who +are doomed to die, and to the knight who chooses to die with you, +according to the ancient law and custom, I offer the choice of Islam, +and with it life and honour.” + +“We refuse,” answered Rosamund and Wulf with one voice. The Sultan +bowed his head as though he expected no other answer, and glanced +round, as all thought to order the executioners to do their office. But +he said only to a captain of his Mameluks: + +“Take them; keep them under guard and separate them, till my word of +death comes to you. Your life shall answer for their safety. Give them +food and drink, and let no harm touch them until I bid you.” + +The Mameluk bowed and advanced with his company of soldiers. As they +prepared to go with them, Rosamund asked: + +“Tell me of your grace, what of Masouda, my friend?” + +“She died for you; seek her beyond the grave,” answered Saladin, +whereat Rosamund hid her face with her hands and sighed. + +“And what of Godwin, my brother?” cried Wulf; but no answer was given +him. + +Now Rosamund turned; stretching out her arms towards Wulf, she fell +upon his breast. There, then, in the presence of that countless army, +they kissed their kiss of betrothal and farewell. They spoke no word, +only ere she went Rosamund lifted her hand and pointed upwards to the +sky. + +Then a murmur rose from the multitude, and the sound of it seemed to +shape itself into one word: “Mercy!” + +Still Saladin made no sign, and they were led away to their prisons. + +Among the thousands who watched this strange and most thrilling scene +were two men wrapped in long cloaks, Godwin and the bishop Egbert. +Thrice did Godwin strive to approach the throne. But it seemed that the +soldiers about him had their commands, for they would not suffer him to +stir or speak; and when, as Rosamund passed, he strove to break a way +to her, they seized and held him. Yet as she went by he cried: + +“The blessing of Heaven be upon you, pure saint of God—on you and your +true knight.” + +Catching the tones of that voice above the tumult, Rosamund stopped and +looked around her, but saw no one, for the guard hemmed her in. So she +went on, wondering if perchance it was Godwin’s voice which she had +heard, or whether an angel, or only some Frankish prisoner had spoken. + +Godwin stood wringing his hands while the bishop strove to comfort him, +saying that he should not grieve, since such deaths as those of +Rosamund and Wulf were most glorious, and more to be desired than a +hundred lives. + +“Ay, ay,” answered Godwin, “would that I could go with them!” + +“Their work is done, but not yours,” said the bishop gently. “Come to +our tent and let us to our knees. God is more powerful than the Sultan, +and mayhap He will yet find a way to save them. If they are still alive +tomorrow at the dawn we will seek audience of Saladin to plead with +him.” + +So they entered the tent and prayed there, as the inhabitants of +Jerusalem prayed behind their shattered walls, that the heart of +Saladin might be moved to spare them all. While they knelt thus the +curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and an emir stood before them. + +“Rise,” he said, “both of you, and follow me. The Sultan commands your +presence.” + +Egbert and Godwin went, wondering, and were led through the pavilion to +the royal sleeping place, which guards closed behind them. On a silken +couch reclined Saladin, the light from the lamp falling on his bronzed +and thoughtful face. + +“I have sent for you two Franks,” he said, “that you may bear a message +from me to Sir Balian of Ibelin and the inhabitants of Jerusalem. This +is the message:—Let the holy city surrender to-morrow and all its +population acknowledge themselves my prisoners. Then for forty days I +will hold them to ransom, during which time none shall be harmed. Every +man who pays ten pieces of gold shall go free, and two women or ten +children shall be counted as one man at a like price. Of the poor, +seven thousand shall be set free also, on payment of thirty thousand +bezants. Such who remain or have no money for their ransom—and there is +still much gold in Jerusalem—shall become my slaves. These are my +terms, which I grant at the dying prayer of my niece, the lady +Rosamund, and to her prayer alone. Deliver them to Sir Balian, and bid +him wait on me at the dawn with his chief notables, and answer whether +he is willing to accept them on behalf of the people. If not, the +assault goes on until the city is a heap of ruins covering the bones of +its children.” + +“We bless you for this mercy,” said the bishop Egbert, “and we hasten +to obey. But tell us, Sultan, what shall we do? Return to the camp with +Sir Balian?” + +“If he accepts my terms, nay, for in Jerusalem you will be safe, and I +give you your freedom without ransom.” + +“Sire,” said Godwin, “ere I go, grant me leave to bid farewell to my +brother and my cousin Rosamund.” + +“That for the third time you may plot their escape from my vengeance?” +said Saladin. “Nay, bide in Jerusalem and await my word; you shall meet +them at the last, no more.” + +“Sire,” pleaded Godwin, “of your mercy spare them, for they have played +a noble part. It is hard that they should die who love each other and +are so young and fair and brave.” + +“Ay,” answered Saladin, “a noble part; never have I seen one more +noble. Well, it fits them the better for heaven, if Cross-worshippers +enter there. Have done; their doom is written and my purpose cannot be +turned, nor shall you see them till the last, as I have said. But if it +pleases you to write them a letter of farewell and to send it back by +the embassy, it shall be delivered to them. Now go, for greater matters +are afoot than this punishment of a pair of lovers. A guard awaits +you.” + +So they went, and within an hour stood before Sir Balian and gave him +the message of Saladin, whereat he rose and blessed the name of +Rosamund. While he called his counsellors from their sleep and bade his +servants saddle horses, Godwin found pen and parchment, and wrote +hurriedly: + +“To Wulf, my brother, and Rosamund, my cousin and his betrothed,—I +live, though well-nigh I died by dead Masouda—Jesus rest her gallant +and most beloved soul! Saladin will not suffer me to see you, though he +has promised that I shall be with you at the last, so watch for me +then. I still dare to hope that it may please God to change the +Sultan’s heart and spare you. If so, this is my prayer and desire—that +you two should wed as soon as may be, and get home to England, where, +if I live, I hope to visit you in years to come. Till then seek me not, +who would be lonely a while. But if it should be fated otherwise, then +when my sins are purged I will seek you among the saints, you who by +your noble deed have earned the sure grace of God. + +“The embassy rides. I have no time for more, though there is much to +say. Farewell.—Godwin.” + +The terms of Saladin had been accepted. With rejoicing because their +lives were spared, but with woe and lamentation because the holy city +had fallen again into the hands of the Moslem, the people of Jerusalem +made ready to leave the streets and seek new homes elsewhere. The great +golden cross was torn from the mosque el-Aksa, and on every tower and +wall floated the yellow banners of Saladin. All who had money paid +their ransoms, and those who had none begged and borrowed it as they +could, and if they could not, gave themselves over to despair and +slavery. Only the patriarch Heraclius, forgetting the misery of these +wretched ones, carried off his own great wealth and the gold plate of +the churches. + +Then Saladin showed his mercy, for he freed all the aged without +charge, and from his own treasure paid the ransom of hundreds of ladies +whose husbands and fathers had fallen in battle, or lay in prison in +other cities. + +So for forty days, headed by Queen Sybilla and her ladies, that sad +procession of the vanquished marched through the gates, and there were +many of them who, as they passed the conqueror seated in state, halted +to make a prayer to him for those who were left behind. A few also who +remembered Rosamund, and that it was because of her sacrifice that they +continued to look upon the sun, implored him that if they were not +already dead, he would spare her and her brave knight. + +At length it was over, and Saladin took possession of the city. Having +purged the Great Mosque, washing it with rose-water, he worshipped in +it after his own fashion, and distributed the remnant of the people who +could pay no ransom as slaves among his emirs and followers. Thus did +the Crescent triumph aver the Cross in Jerusalem, not in a sea of +blood, as ninety years before the Cross had triumphed over the Crescent +within its walls, but with what in those days passed for gentleness, +peace, and mercy. + +For it was left to the Saracens to teach something of their own +doctrines to the followers of Christ. + +During all those forty days Rosamund and Wulf lay in their separate +prisons, awaiting their doom of death. The letter of Godwin was brought +to Wulf, who read it and rejoiced to learn that his brother lived. Then +it was taken from him to Rosamund, who, although she rejoiced also, +wept over it, and wondered a little what it might mean. Of one thing +she was sure from its wording—that they had no hope of life. + +They knew that Jerusalem had fallen, for they heard the shouts of +triumph of the Moslems, and from far away, through their prison bars +could see the endless multitude of fugitives passing the ancient gates +laden with baggage, and leading their children by the hand, to seek +refuge in the cities of the coast. At this sight, although it was so +sad, Rosamund was happy, knowing also that now she would not suffer in +vain. + +At length the camp broke up, Saladin and many of the soldiers entering +Jerusalem; but still the pair were left languishing in their dismal +cells, which were fashioned from old tombs. One evening, while Rosamund +was kneeling; at prayer before she sought her bed, the door of the +place was opened, and there appeared a glittering captain and a guard +of soldiers, who saluted her and bade her follow him. + +“Is it the end?” she asked. + +“Lady,” he answered, “it is the end.” So she bowed her head meekly and +followed. Without a litter was ready, in which they placed her and bore +her through the bright moonlight into the city of Jerusalem and along +the Way of Sorrow, till they halted at a great door, which she knew +again, for by it stood the ancient arch. + +“They have brought me back to the Convent of the Holy Cross to kill me +where I asked that I might be buried,” she murmured to herself as she +descended from the litter. + +Then the doors were thrown open, and she entered the great courtyard of +the convent, and saw that it was decorated as though for a festival, +for about it and in the cloisters round hung many lamps. More; these +cloisters and the space in front of them were crowded with Saracen +lords, wearing their robes of state, while yonder sat Saladin and his +court. + +“They would make a brave show of my death,” thought Rosamund again. +Then a little cry broke from her lips, for there, in front of the +throne of Saladin, the moonlight and the lamp-blaze shining on his +armour, stood a tall Christian knight. At that cry he turned his head, +and she grew sure that it was Wulf, wasted somewhat and grown pale, but +still Wulf. + +“So we are to die together,” she whispered to herself, then walked +forward with a proud step amidst the deep silence, and, having bowed to +Saladin, took the hand of Wulf and held it. + +The Sultan looked at them and said: + +“However long it may be delayed, the day of fate must break at last. +Say, Franks, are you prepared to drink the dregs of that cup I promised +you?” + +“We are prepared,” they answered with one voice. + +“Do you grieve now that you laid down your lives to save those of all +Jerusalem?” he asked again. + +“Nay,” Rosamund answered, glancing at Wulf’s face; “we rejoice +exceedingly that God has been so good to us.” + +“I too rejoice,” said Saladin; “and I too thank Allah Who in bygone +days sent me that vision which has given me back the holy city of +Jerusalem without bloodshed. Now all is accomplished as it was fated. +Lead them away.” + +For a moment they clung together, then emirs took Wulf to the right and +Rosamund to the left, and she went with a pale face and high head to +meet her executioner, wondering if she would see Godwin ere she died. +They led her to a chamber where women waited but no swordsman that she +could see, and shut the door upon her. + +“Perchance I am to be strangled by these women,” thought Rosamund, as +they came towards her, “so that the blood royal may not be shed.” + +Yet it was not so, for with gentle hands, but in silence, they unrobed +her, and washed her with scented waters and braided her hair, twisting +it up with pearls and gems. Then they clad her in fine linen, and put +over it gorgeous, broidered garments, and a royal mantle of purple, and +her own jewels which she had worn in bygone days, and with them others +still more splendid, and threw about her head a gauzy veil worked with +golden stars. It was just such a veil as Wulf’s gift which she had worn +on the night when Hassan dragged her from her home at Steeple. She +noted it and smiled at the sad omen, then said: + +“Ladies, why should I mock my doom with these bright garments?” + +“It is the Sultan’s will,” they answered; “nor shall you rest to-night +less happily because of them.” + +Now all was ready, and the door opened and she stepped through it, a +radiant thing, glittering in the lamplight. Then trumpets blew and a +herald cried: “Way! Way there! Way for the high sovereign lady and +princess of Baalbec!” + +Thus followed by the train of honourable women who attended her, +Rosamund glided forward to the courtyard, and once more bent the knee +to Saladin, then stood still, lost in wonder. + +Again the trumpets blew, and on the right a herald cried, “Way! Way +there! Way for the brave and noble Frankish knight, Sir Wulf D’Arcy!” + +Lo! attended by emirs and notables, Wulf came forth, clad in splendid +armour inlaid with gold, wearing on his shoulder a mantel set with gems +and on his breast the gleaming Star of the Luck of Hassan. To Rosamund +he strode and stood by her, his hands resting on the hilt of his long +sword. + +“Princess,” said Saladin, “I give you back your rank and titles, +because you have shown a noble heart; and you, Sir Wulf, I honour also +as best I may, but to my decree I hold. Let them go together to the +drinking of the cup of their destiny as to a bridal bed.” + +Again the trumpets blew and the heralds called, and they led them to +the doors of the chapel, which at their knocking were thrown wide. From +within came the sound of women’s voices singing, but it was no sad song +they sang. + +“The sisters of the Order are still there,” said Rosamund to Wulf, “and +would cheer us on our road to heaven.” + +“Perchance,” he answered. “I know not. I am amazed.” + +At the door the company of Moslems left them, but they crowded round +the entrance as though to watch what passed. Now down the long aisle +walked a single whiterobed figure. It was the abbess. + +“What shall we do, Mother?” said Rosamund to her. + +“Follow me, both of you,” she said, and they followed her through the +nave to the altar rails, and at a sign from her knelt down. + +Now they saw that on either side of the altar stood a Christian priest. +The priest to the right—it was the bishop Egbert—came forward and began +to read over them the marriage service of their faith. + +“They’d wed us ere we die,” whispered Rosamund to Wulf. + +“So be it,” he answered; “I am glad.” + +“And I also, beloved,” she whispered back. + +The service went on—as in a dream, the service went on, while the +white-robed sisters sat in their carven chairs and watched. The rings +that were handed to them had been interchanged; Wulf had taken Rosamund +to wife, Rosamund had taken Wulf to husband, till death did them part. + +Then the old bishop withdrew to the altar, and another hooded monk came +forward and uttered over them the benediction in a deep and sonorous +voice, which stirred their hearts most strangely, as though some echo +reached them from beyond the grave. He held his hands above them in +blessing and looked upwards, so that his hood fell back, and the light +of the altar lamp fell upon his face. + +It was the face of Godwin, and on his head was the tonsure of a monk. + +Once more they stood before Saladin, and now their train was swelled by +the abbess and sisters of the Holy Cross. + +“Sir Wulf D’Arcy,” said the Sultan, “and you, Rosamund, my niece, +princess of Baalbec, the dregs of your cup, sweet or bitter, or +bitter-sweet, are drunk; the doom which I decreed for you is +accomplished, and, according to your own rites, you are man and wife +till Allah sends upon you that death which I withhold. Because you +showed mercy upon those doomed to die and were the means of mercy, I +also give you mercy, and with it my love and honour. Now bide here if +you will in my freedom, and enjoy your rank and wealth, or go hence if +you will, and live out your lives across the sea. The blessing of Allah +be upon you, and turn your souls light. This is the decree of Yusuf +Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, Conqueror and Caliph of the +East.” + +Trembling, full of joy and wonder, they knelt before him and kissed his +hand. Then, after a few swift words between them, Rosamund spoke. + +“Sire, that God whom you have invoked, the God of Christian and of +Moslem, the God of all the world, though the world worship Him in many +ways and shapes, bless and reward you for this royal deed. Yet listen +to our petition. It may be that many of our faith still lie unransomed +in Jerusalem. Take my lands and gems, and let them be valued, and their +price given to pay for the liberty of some poor slaves. It is our +marriage offering. As for us, we will get us to our own country.” + +“So be it,” answered Saladin. “The lands I will take and devote the sum +of them as you desire—yes, to the last bezant. The jewels also shall be +valued, but I give them back to you as my wedding dower. To these nuns +further I grant permission to bide here in Jerusalem to nurse the +Christian sick, unharmed and unmolested, if so they will, and this +because they sheltered you. Ho! minstrels and heralds lead this new-wed +pair to the place that has been prepared for them.” + +Still trembling and bewildered, they turned to go, when lo! Godwin +stood before them smiling, and kissed them both upon the cheek, calling +them “Beloved brother and sister.” + +“And you, Godwin?” stammered Rosamund. + +“I, Rosamund, have also found my bride, and she is named the Church of +Christ.” + +“Do you, then, return to England, brother?” asked Wulf. + +“Nay,” Godwin answered, in a fierce whisper and with flashing eyes, +“the Cross is down, but not forever. That Cross has Richard of England +and many another servant beyond the seas, and they will come at the +Church’s call. Here, brother, before all is done, we may meet again in +war. Till then, farewell.” + +So spoke Godwin and then was gone. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRETHREN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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