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 retinue¹ and companions and ride away to the nearest Christian² 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 bodyguard³, 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 reigned⁶ 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 reign⁵ 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 mosque⁷ 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 consort⁸ 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 Knights⁹, 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 watchful¹¹. 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; vexed¹³ 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 folly¹⁴ 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 sentries¹⁵ 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 grumbling¹⁶ camels; caravans¹⁷ of merchandise from Egypt or elsewhere; asses¹⁸ laden¹⁹ with firewood or the grey, prickly growth of the wild thyme for the bakers’ ovens; water-sellers with their goatskin bags and chinking brazen²⁰ cups; vendors²¹ 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 asunder²² and beat the poor with rods; beggars, halt, maimed, and blind, beseeching²³ alms; lepers, from whom all shrank away, who wailed²⁵ their woes²⁶ aloud; stately companies of soldiers, some mounted and some afoot; holy men, who gave blessings²⁷ and received alms; and so forth²⁹, 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 unfamiliar³⁰ life, weary of the insistent³¹ cries of the mullahs on the minarets³², 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 monarch³³ 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. Thither³⁴ 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 graceful³⁵ form so well, and were blazoned³⁶ 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 winced³⁷, 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-chamber³⁸ 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, ‘Nay³⁹, 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 slain⁴⁰?”
 
“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 armour⁴¹, for the knives of those fedaï are sharp.”
 
It was near midnight, and the brethren stood in the small, domed⁴² 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, standing⁴³ 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 saluted⁴⁴.
 
“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 hiss⁴⁶ of disappointed rage the fedaï came at them.
 
“A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy! Help for the Sultan!” shouted the brethren, and the fray⁴⁷ 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 sweeping⁴⁸ round them with their swords into reach of which the fedaï dare not come. Now from without the chamber rose a cry and tumult⁴⁹, 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 doom⁵⁰. Forgetting caution in their despair and rage, they hurled⁵¹ themselves upon the brethren, for they thought that if they could get them down they might still break through the door and slay⁵² 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; a............