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 ornaments¹, looked at it greedily, and muttered:  
“Alas! that an unbeliever should wear the enchanted² 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 slew³ him in fair fight, and his soul is now in Paradise. None in my army will raise a blood feud⁴ against you on that score.”
 
Then dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand, he turned to receive a great body of Christian⁵ prisoners that, panting and stumbling like over-driven sheep, were being thrust on towards the camp with curses, blows and mockery by the victorious⁶ Saracens.
 
Among them the brethren rejoiced to see Egbert, the gentle and holy bishop⁷ of Nazareth, whom they had thought dead. Also, wounded in many places, his hacked⁸ 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 insolent⁹.
 
“So I was right,” he mocked in a husky voice, “and here you are, safe with your friends the Saracens, Sir Knights¹¹ 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 blazoned¹² 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, traitor¹³ and wizard?” he asked.
 
Then rage took hold of Godwin and he answered him:
 
“Were it not for your plight¹⁴, 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 traitors¹⁵. Is it the work of traitors to have charged alone through all this host until our horses died beneath us?”—he pointed¹⁶ to where Smoke and Flame lay with glazing¹⁷ eyes—“to have unhorsed Saladin and to have slain¹⁸ 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 bloody¹⁹ death, the Christian kingdom from destruction, and yonder holy thing from mockery,” and with a shudder²⁰ he glanced at the Rood which its captors had set up upon a rock not far away with a dead knight¹⁰ 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 foretold²¹ by the count Raymond.”
 
“That other traitor who also has escaped,” snarled²² 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 misery²³, 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 gulps²⁴, 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 spoke²⁵ again.
 
“Prince Arnat, you strove to take the holy city of Mecca and to desecrate²⁶ the tomb of the Prophet, and then I swore to kill you. Again, when in a time of peace a caravan²⁷ 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 truce²⁸ 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 subscribe²⁹ 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 bristling³⁰ with wrath³¹, and drawing his sabre, shouted aloud:
 
“You scorn Mahomet! Behold³²! I avenge³³ 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 hush³⁴ that followed this terrible deed king Guy said to Godwin:
 
“Ask the Sultan if it is my turn next.”
 
“Nay³⁵,” 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 standing³⁷ 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 fanatics³⁸ they were brave, and loved not this slaughter³⁹ of defenceless men, and even the Mameluks murmured aloud.
 
But Saladin cried again:
 
“They are worthy⁴⁰ 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 crouched⁴¹ 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 tumult⁴² 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 beseech⁴³ 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 accomplishment⁴⁴, 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 humbly⁴⁵:
 
“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 gallant⁴⁶ 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 lamenting⁴⁷ 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 passionately⁴⁸.
 
“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 cringing⁴⁹ air. Low he bowed before them, saying:
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