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 ebb7 down towards the sea. At the first break of dawn she looked up, and there, looming8 large in the mist, lay a galley9, 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 knight10 Lozelle.
“You here, Sir Hugh?” she gasped11.
“Where you are, there I am,” he answered, with a sneer12 upon his coarse, handsome face. “Did I not swear that it should be so, beauteous Rosamund, after your saintly cousin worsted me in the fray14?”
“You here?” she repeated, “you, a Christian15 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 bulwark16; 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 traitor17!” 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 avenge18 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 kinsman19 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 wrath20, 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 slain21, 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 traitors22 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 loathed23 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 standing24 with his face to the foe25 and sweeping26 them down with his long sword as a sickle27 sweeps corn—of her father felled by the pilgrim knave28, 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, plighting29 their troths and swearing their oaths, and between the dreams blackness.
Rosamund awoke to feel the sun streaming warmly through the shutter30 of her cabin, and to see a woman who held a cup in her hand, watching her—a stout31 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 Mediterranean32 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 repelled33, since neither silence nor rebuff would stir him. Always he sat near, talking in his false, hateful voice, and devouring34 her with the greedy eyes which she could feel fixed35 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 vessel36?”
“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 rogue37 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 awning38 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 spoke39 well, but she feigned40 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 nay41, 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 wed4 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 squire42, 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 Christians43, 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 hacked44 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, insolently45. “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 quailed46 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 withered47 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 promising48 her escape you tried to seduce
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