Masouda ran forward and prostrated1 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 homage2 to the Master.”
But the brethren stiffened3 their backs and would not kneel. They lifted their hands to their brows in salute4, 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 knights6 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 kin5 of a certain knight7 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 skull8.”
“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 erected9 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 spoke10.
“Our land is far away, O lord, and where shall we find this long-lost ring? Let not our journey be in vain. O mighty11 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 vessel12.” 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 canopy13, rose and pointing towards the brethren, said.
“Touching these Franks, what is your will?”
The beady eyes, which seemed to search out their souls, fixed14 themselves upon them and for a long while Sinan considered. They trembled, knowing that he was passing some judgment15 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 inhuman16, snake-like man, so strange his aged17, passionless councillors, and the place of council surrounded by a dizzy gulf18, 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. Standing19 thus, they saw the curtains drawn20. 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 retired21, walking backwards22 down the length of the terrace.
Again there was silence, while the brethren wondered whose corpse23 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 blazoned24 with the bleeding dagger25, after whom walked a tall woman shrouded26 in a long veil, who was followed by a thick-set knight clad in Frankish armour27 and wearing a cape28 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, prostrating29 himself by the side of the stretcher, lay still. She who walked behind him stopped also, and, seeing the black heap upon the cushion, shuddered30.
“Woman, unveil,” commanded the voice of Sinan.
She hesitated, then swiftly undid31 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 devouring32 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, random33 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?”
“Nay34,” 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 shafts35 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 unwilling36. Now his hood37 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 traitor38, who betrayed me first to the soldiers of Saladin, ............