“Saladin will come,” said Wulf the hopeful, and from the high place where they stood he pointed¹ to the plain beneath, across which a band of horsemen moved at full gallop². “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 lawful⁴ 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 lather⁵ of foam⁶. It seemed that he also had made trial of that perilous⁷ 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 gulf⁸ on either side. Next they returned at a trot⁹, 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 galloped¹⁰ 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 hind¹¹ 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 plied¹³ 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 emblem¹⁴ of the dagger¹⁵, 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 touching¹⁶ her forehead with it, she hid it in her bosom¹⁷.
 
“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 fray¹⁸ 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 knave¹⁹ 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 mound²⁰, 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 sentries²¹ 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 vengeance²² upon his foe²³ 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 bent²⁴ 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 fortress²⁶ of Masyaf shone the full summer moon, lighting²⁷ crag and tower as with some vast silver lamp. Forth²⁵ 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, blazoned²⁸ with the cognizance of a grinning skull²⁹, 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 mighty³⁰ 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 slain³². 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 hurled³³ themselves from towers or from precipices³⁴; to satisfy his policy they sacrificed their wives and children. And their reward—in life, the drugged cup and voluptuous³⁵ dreams; after it, as they believed, a still more voluptuous paradise.
 
All forms of human agony and doom³⁶ were known to this people; but now they were promised an unfamiliar³⁷ sight, that of Frankish knights³⁸ slaying⁴⁰ each other in single combat beneath the silent moon, tilting⁴¹ 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 frail⁴² bones break on the cruel rocks below, or—as had happened to the last queen—to watch her writhe⁴³ out her life in the pangs⁴⁴ 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 withered⁴⁶, grey-haired woman. They asked her some questions, but she shook her head. Then they cast her down, trampled⁴⁷ the life out of her beneath their horses’ hoofs¹², 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 swarming⁴⁸ 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 gateway⁴⁹, and upon its roof sat the Al-je-bal, clad in his scarlet⁵⁰ robe of festival, and by his side, the moonlight gleaming on her jewels, Rosamund. In front, draped in a rich garment, a dagger of gems⁵¹ 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, saluting⁵² with their pennoned spears. Then from the further side advanced another procession, which, opening, revealed the knight³⁹ Lozelle riding on his great black horse, and a huge man and a fierce he seemed in his armour⁵³.
 
“What!” he shouted, glowering⁵⁴ at them. “Am I to fight one against two? Is this your chivalry⁵⁵?”
 
“Nay⁵⁶, nay, Sir Traitor,” answered Wulf. “Nay, nay betrayer of Christian⁵⁷ maids to the power of the heathen dog; you have............