The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Brethren, by H. Rider Haggard

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net


Title: The Brethren

Author: H. Rider Haggard

Release Date: November 7, 2004 [EBook #2762]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRETHREN ***




Produced by JoAnn Rees otter@best.com





The Brethren

by H. Rider Haggard




Dedication





R.M.S. Mongolia, 12th May, 1904 Mayhap, Ella, here too distance
lends its enchantment, and these gallant brethren would have
quarrelled over Rosamund, or even had their long swords at each
other's throat. Mayhap that Princess and heroine might have
failed in the hour of her trial and never earned her saintly
crown. Mayhap the good horse "Smoke" would have fallen on the
Narrow Way, leaving false Lozelle a victor, and Masouda, the
royal-hearted, would have offered up a strangely different
sacrifice upon the altars of her passionate desire.

Still, let us hold otherwise, though we grow grey and know the
world for what it is. Let us for a little time think as we
thought while we were young; when faith knew no fears for
anything and death had not knocked upon our doors; when you
opened also to my childish eyes that gate of ivory and pearl
which leads to the blessed kingdom of Romance.

At the least I am sure, and I believe that you, my sister, will
agree with me, that, above and beyond its terrors and its
pitfalls, Imagination has few finer qualities, and none, perhaps,
more helpful to our hearts, than those which enable us for an
hour to dream that men and women, their fortunes and their fate,
are as we would fashion them.

 H. Rider Haggard. To Mrs. Maddison Green.



 Contents:

Author's Note
Prologue
Chapter One: By the Waters of Death Creek
Chapter Two: Sir Andrew D'Arcy
Chapter Three: The Knighting of the Brethren
Chapter Four: The Letter of Saladin
Chapter Five: The Wine Merchant
Chapter Six: The Christmas Feast at Steeple
Chapter Seven: The Banner of Saladin
Chapter Eight: The Widow Masouda
Chapter Nine: The Horses Flame and Smoke
Chapter Ten: On Board the Galley
Chapter Eleven: The City of Al-je-bal
Chapter Twelve: The Lord of Death
Chapter Thirteen: The Embassy
Chapter Fourteen: The Combat on the Bridge
Chapter Fifteen: The Flight to Emesa
Chapter Sixteen: The Sultan Saladin
Chapter Seventeen: The Brethren Depart from Damascus
Chapter Eighteen: Wulf Pays for the Drugged Wine
Chapter Nineteen: Before the Walls of Ascalon
Chapter Twenty: The Luck of the Star of Hassan
Chapter Twenty-One: What Befell Godwin
Chapter Twenty-Two: At Jerusalem
Chapter Twenty-Three: Saint Rosamund
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Dregs of the Cup

"Two lovers by the maiden sate, Without a glance of jealous
hate; The maid her lovers sat between, With open brow and equal
mien;--It is a sight but rarely spied, Thanks to man's wrath and
woman's pride."

Scott

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Standing a while ago upon the flower-clad plain
above Tiberius, by the Lake of Galilee, the writer gazed at the
double peaks of the Hill of Hattin. Here, or so tradition says,
Christ preached the Sermon on the Mount--that perfect rule of
gentleness and peace. Here, too--and this is certain--after
nearly twelve centuries had gone by, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, whom we
know as the Sultan Saladin, crushed the Christian power in
Palestine in perhaps the most terrible battle which that land of
blood has known. Thus the Mount of the Beatitudes became the
Mount of Massacre.

Whilst musing on these strangely-contrasted scenes enacted in one
place there arose in his mind a desire to weave, as best he
might, a tale wherein any who are drawn to the romance of that
pregnant and mysterious epoch, when men by thousands were glad to
lay down their lives for visions and spiritual hopes, could find
a picture, however faint and broken, of the long war between
Cross and Crescent waged among the Syrian plains and deserts. Of
Christian knights and ladies also, and their loves and sufferings
in England and the East; of the fearful lord of the Assassins
whom the Franks called Old Man of the Mountain, and his fortress
city, Masyaf. Of the great-hearted, if at times cruel Saladin
and his fierce Saracens; of the rout at Hattin itself, on whose
rocky height the Holy Rood was set up as a standard and captured,
to be seen no more by Christian eyes; and of the Iast surrender,
whereby the Crusaders lost Jerusalem forever.

Of that desire this story is the fruit.



PROLOGUE



Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, the king Strong to Aid,
Sovereign of the East, sat at night in his palace at Damascus and
brooded on the wonderful ways of God, by Whom he had been lifted
to his high estate. He remembered how, when he was but small in
the eyes of men, Nour-ed-din, king of Syria, forced him to
accompany his uncle, Shirkuh, to Egypt, whither he went, "like
one driven to his death," and how, against his own will, there he
rose to greatness. He thought of his father, the wise Ayoub, and
the brethren with whom he was brought up, all of them dead now
save one; and of his sisters, whom he had cherished. Most of all
did he think of her, Zobeide, who had been stolen away by the
knight whom she loved even to the loss of her own soul--yes, by
the English friend of his youth, his father's prisoner, Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, who, led astray by passion, had done him and his
house this grievous wrong. He had sworn, he remembered, that he
would bring her back even from England, and already had planned
to kill her husband and capture her when he learned her death.
She had left a child, or so his spies told him, who, if she still
lived, must be a woman now--his own niece, though half of noble
English blood.

Then his mind wandered from this old, half-forgotten story to the
woe and blood in which his days were set, and to the last great
struggle between the followers of the prophets Jesus and Mahomet,
that Jihad [Holy War] for which he made ready--and he sighed. For
he was a merciful man, who loved not slaughter, although his
fierce faith drove him from war to war.

Salah-ed-din slept and dreamed of peace. In his dream a maiden
stood before him. Presently, when she lifted her veil, he saw
that she was beautiful, with features like his own, but fairer,
and knew her surely for the daughter of his sister who had fled
with the English knight. Now he wondered why she visited him
thus, and in his vision prayed Allah to make the matter clear.
Then of a sudden he saw this same woman standing before him on a
Syrian plain, and on either side of her a countless host of
Saracens and Franks, of whom thousands and tens of thousands were
appointed to death. Lo! he, Salah-ed-din, charged at the head of
his squadrons, scimitar aloft, but she held up her hand and
stayed him.

"What do you hear, my niece?" he asked.

"I am come to save the lives of men through you," she answered;
"therefore was I born of your blood, and therefore I am sent to
you. Put up your sword, King, and spare them."

"Say, maiden, what ransom do you bring to buy this multitude from
doom? What ransom, and what gift?"

"The ransom of my own blood freely offered, and Heaven's gift of
peace to your sinful soul, O King." And with that outstretched
hand she drew down his keen-edged scimitar until it rested on her
breast.

Salah-ed-din awoke, and marvelled on his dream, but said nothing
of it to any man. The next night it returned to him, and the
memory of it went with him all the day that followed, but still he
said nothing.

When on the third night he dreamed it yet again, even more
vividly, then he was sure that this thing was from God, and
summoned his holy Imauns and his Diviners, and took counsel with
them. These, after they had listened, prayed and consulted,
spoke thus:

"O Sultan, Allah has warned you in shadows that the woman, your
niece, who dwells far away in England, shall by her own
nobleness and sacrifice, in some time to come, save you from
shedding a sea of blood, and bring rest upon the land. We charge
you, therefore, draw this lady to your court, and keep her ever
by your side, since if she escape you, her peace goes with her."

Salah-ed-din said that this interpretation was wise and true, for
thus also he had read his dream. Then he summoned a certain
false knight who bore the Cross upon his breast, but in secret
had accepted the Koran, a Frankish spy of his, who came from that
country where dwelt the maiden, his niece, and from him learned
about her, her father, and her home. With him and another spy
who passed as a Christian palmer, by the aid of Prince Hassan,
one of the greatest and most trusted of his Emirs, he made a
cunning plan for the capture of the maiden if she would not come
willingly, and for her bearing away to Syria.

Moreover--that in the eyes of all men her dignity might be worthy
of her high blood and fate--by his decree he created her, the
niece whom he had never seen, Princess of Baalbec, with great
possessions--a rule that her grandfather, Ayoub, and her uncle,
Izzeddin, had held before her. Also he purchased a stout galley
of war, manning it with proved sailors and with chosen
men-at-arms, under the command of the Prince Hassan, and wrote a
letter to the English lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, and to his
daughter, and prepared a royal gift of jewels, and sent them to
the lady, his niece, far away in England, and with it the Patent
of her rank. Her he commanded this company to win by peace, or
force, or fraud, as best they might, but that without her not
one of them should dare to look upon his face again. And with
these he sent the two Frankish spies, who knew the place where
the lady lived, one of whom, the false knight, was a skilled
mariner and the captain of the ship.

These things did Yusuf Salah-ed-din, and waited patiently till it
should please God to accomplish the vision with which God had
filled his soul in sleep.



Chapter One: By The Waters of Death Creek

From the sea-wall on the coast of Essex, Rosamund looked out
across the ocean eastwards. To right and left, but a little
behind her, like guards attending the person of their sovereign,
stood her cousins, the twin brethren, Godwin and Wulf, tall and
shapely men. Godwin was still as a statue, his hands folded over
the hilt of the long, scabbarded sword, of which the point was
set on the ground before him, but Wulf, his brother, moved
restlessly, and at length yawned aloud. They were beautiful to
look at, all three of them, as they appeared in the splendour of
their youth and health. The imperial Rosamund, dark-haired and
eyed, ivory skinned and slender-waisted, a posy of marsh flowers
in her hand; the pale, stately Godwin, with his dreaming face;
and the bold-fronted, blue-eyed warrior, Wulf, Saxon to his
finger-tips, notwithstanding his father's Norman blood.

At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned her head
with the slow grace which marked her every movement.

"Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet down?" she
asked in her rich, low voice, which, perhaps because of its
foreign accent, seemed quite different to that of any other
woman.

"I think so, Rosamund," he answered. "It would serve to pass the
time, and now that you have finished gathering those yellow
flowers which we rode so far to seek, the time--is somewhat
long."

"Shame on you, Wulf," she said, smiling. "Look upon yonder sea and
sky, at that sheet of bloom all gold and purple--"

"I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosamund; also at
your back and at Godwin's left arm and side-face, till in truth I
thought myself kneeling in Stangate Priory staring at my father's
effigy upon his tomb, while Prior John pattered the Mass. Why,
if you stood it on its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands
resting on the sword, the same cold, silent face staring at the
sky."

"Godwin as Godwin will no doubt one day be, or so he hopes--that
is, if the saints give him grace to do such deeds as did our
sire," interrupted his brother.

Wulf looked at him, and a curious flash of inspiration shone in
his blue eyes.

"No, I think not," he answered; "the deeds you may do, and
greater, but surely you will lie wrapped not in a shirt of mail,
but with a monk's cowl at the last--unless a woman robs you of it
and the quickest road to heaven. Tell me now, what are you
thinking of, you two--for I have been wondering in my dull way,
and am curious to learn how far I stand from truth? Rosamund,
speak first. Nay, not all the truth--a maid's thoughts are her
own--but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and
should be skimmed."

Rosamund sighed. "I? I was thinking of the East, where the sun
shines ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men
are full of strange learning--"

"And women are men's slaves!" interrupted Wulf. "Still, it is
natural that you should think of the East who have that blood in
your veins, and high blood, if all tales be true. Say,
Princess"--and he bowed the knee to her with an affectation of
mockery which could not hide his earnest reverence--"say,
Princess, my cousin, granddaughter of Ayoub and niece of the
mighty monarch, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave this
pale land and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?"

She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take fire, the
stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and the thin
nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some sweet,
remembered perfume. Indeed, at that moment, standing there on
the promontory above the seas, Rosamund looked a very queen.

Presently she answered him with another question.

"And how would they greet me there, Wulf, who am a Norman D'Arcy
and a Christian maid?"

"The first they would forgive you, since that blood is none so
ill either, and for the second--why, faiths can be changed."

Then it was that Godwin spoke for the first time.

"Wulf, Wulf," he said sternly, "keep watch upon your tongue, for
there are things that should not be said even as a silly jest.
See you, I love my cousin here better than aught else upon the
earth--"

"There, at least, we agree," broke in Wulf.

"Better than aught else on the earth," repeated Godwin; "but, by
the Holy Blood and by St. Peter, at whose shrine we are, I would
kill her with my own hand before her lips kissed the book of the
false prophet."

"Or any of his followers," muttered Wulf to himself, but
fortunately, perhaps, too low for either of his companions to
hear. Aloud he said, "You understand, Rosamund, you must be
careful, for Godwin ever keeps his word, and that would be but a
poor end for so much birth and beauty and wisdom."

"Oh, cease mocking, Wulf," she answered, laying her hand lightly
on the tunic that hid his shirt of mail. "Cease mocking, and pray
St. Chad, the builder of this church, that no such dreadful
choice may ever be forced upon you, or me, or your beloved
brother--who, indeed, in such a case would do right to slay me."

"Well, if it were," answered Wulf, and his fair face flushed as
he spoke, "I trust that we should know how to meet it. After
all, is it so very hard to choose between death and duty?"

"I know not," she replied; "but oft-times sacrifice seems easy
when seen from far away; also, things may be lost that are more
prized than life."

"What things? Do you mean place, or wealth, or--love?"

"Tell me," said Rosamund, changing her tone, "what is that boat
rowing round the river's mouth? A while ago it hung upon its oars
as though those within it watched us."

"Fisher-folk," answered Wulf carelessly. "I saw their nets."

"Yes; but beneath them something gleamed bright, like swords."

"Fish," said Wulf; "we are at peace in Essex." Although Rosamund
did not look convinced, he went on: "Now for Godwin's thoughts--
what were they?"

"Brother, if you would know, of the East also--the East and its
wars."

"Which have brought us no great luck," answered Wulf, "seeing that
our sire was slain in them and naught of him came home again save
his heart, which lies at Stangate yonder."

"How better could he die," asked Godwin, "than fighting for the
Cross of Christ? Is not that death of his at Harenc told of to
this day? By our Lady, I pray for one but half as glorious!"

"Aye, he died well--he died well," said Wulf, his blue eyes
flashing and his hand creeping to his sword hilt. "But, brother,
there is peace at Jerusalem, as in Essex."

"Peace? Yes; but soon there will be war again. The monk
Peter--he whom we saw at Stangate last Sunday, and who left Syria
but six months gone--told me that it was coming fast. Even now
the Sultan Saladin, sitting at Damascus, summons his hosts from
far and wide, while his priests preach battle amongst the tribes
and barons of the East. And when it comes, brother, shall we not
be there to share it, as were our grandfather, our father, our
uncle, and so many of our kin? Shall we rot here in this dull
land, as by our uncle's wish we have done these many years, yes,
ever since we were home from the Scottish war, and count the kine
and plough the fields like peasants, while our peers are charging
on the pagan, and the banners wave, and the blood runs red upon
the holy sands of Palestine?"

Now it was Wulf's turn to take fire.

"By our Lady in Heaven, and our lady here!"--and he looked at
Rosamund, who was watching the pair of them with her quiet
thoughtful eyes--"go when you will, Godwin, and I go with you,
and as our birth was one birth, so, if it is decreed, let our
death be one death." And suddenly his hand that had been playing
with the sword-hilt gripped it fast, and tore the long, lean
blade from its scabbard and cast it high into the air, flashing
in the sunlight, to catch it as it fell again, while in a voice
that caused the wild fowl to rise in thunder from the Saltings
beneath, Wulf shouted the old war-cry that had rung on so many a
field--"A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Meet D'Arcy, meet Death!" Then he
sheathed his sword again and added in a shamed voice, "Are we
children that we fight where no foe is? Still, brother, may we
find him soon!"

Godwin smiled grimly, but answered nothing; only Rosamund said:

"So, my cousins, you would be away, perhaps to return no more,
and that will part us. But"--and her voice broke
somewhat--"such is the woman's lot, since men like you ever love
the bare sword best of all, nor should I think well of you were
it otherwise. Yet, cousins, I know not why"--and she shivered a
little--"it comes into my heart that Heaven often answers such
prayers swiftly. Oh, Wulf! your sword looked very red in the
sunlight but now: I say that it looked very red in the sunlight.
I am afraid--of I know not what. Well, we must be going, for we
have nine miles to ride, and the dark is not so far away. But
first, my cousins, come with me into this shrine, and let us pray
St. Peter and St. Chad to guard us on our journey home."

"Our journey?" said Wulf anxiously. "What is there for you to fear
in a nine-mile ride along the shores of the Blackwater?"

"I said our journey home Wulf; and home is not in the hall at
Steeple, but yonder," and she pointed to the quiet, brooding sky.

"Well answered," said Godwin, "in this ancient place, whence so
many have journeyed home; all the Romans who are dead, when it
was their fortress, and the Saxons who came after them, and
others without count."

Then they turned and entered the old church--one of the first
that ever was in Britain, rough-built of Roman stone by the very
hands of Chad, the Saxon saint, more than five hundred years
before their day. Here they knelt a while at the rude altar and
prayed, each of them in his or her own fashion, then crossed
themselves, and rose to seek their horses, which were tied in the
shed hard by.

Now there were two roads, or rather tracks, back to the Hall at
Steeple--one a mile or so inland, that ran through the village
of Bradwell, and the other, the shorter way, along the edge of
the Saltings to the narrow water known as Death Creek, at the
head of which the traveller to Steeple must strike inland,
leaving the Priory of Stangate on his right. It was this latter
path they chose, since at low tide the going there is good for
horses--which, even in the summer, that of the inland track was
not. Also they wished to be at home by supper-time, lest the old
knight, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, the father of Rosamund and the uncle
of the orphan brethren, should grow anxious, and perhaps come out
to seek them.

For the half of an hour or more they rode along the edge of the
Saltings, for the most part in silence that was broken only by
the cry of curlew and the lap of the turning tide. No human
being did they see, indeed, for this place was very desolate and
unvisited, save now and again by fishermen. At length, just as
the sun began to sink, they approached the shore of Death
Creek--a sheet of tidal water which ran a mile or more inland,
growing ever narrower, but was here some three hundred yards in
breadth. They were well mounted, all three of them. Indeed,
Rosamund's horse, a great grey, her father's gift to her, was
famous in that country-side for its swiftness and power, also
because it was so docile that a child could ride it; while those
of the brethren were heavy-built but well-trained war steeds,
taught to stand where they were left, and to charge when they
were urged, without fear of shouting men or flashing steel.

Now the ground lay thus. Some seventy yards from the shore of
Death Creek and parallel to it, a tongue of land, covered with
scrub and a few oaks, ran down into the Saltings, its point
ending on their path, beyond which were a swamp and the broad
river. Between this tongue and the shore of the creek the track
wended its way to the uplands. It was an ancient track; indeed
the reason of its existence was that here the Romans or some
other long dead hands had built a narrow mole or quay of rough
stone, forty or fifty yards in length, out into the water of the
creek, doubtless to serve as a convenience for fisher boats,
which could lie alongside of it even at low tide. This mole had
been much destroyed by centuries of washing, so that the end of
it lay below water, although the landward part was still almost
sound and level.

Coming over the little rise at the top of the wooded tongue, the
quick eyes of Wulf, who rode first--for here the path along the
border of the swamp was so narrow that they must go in single
file--caught sight of a large, empty boat moored to an iron ring
set in the wall of the mole.

"Your fishermen have landed, Rosamund," he said, "and doubtless
gone up to Bradwell."

"That is strange," she answered anxiously, "since here no
fishermen ever come." And she checked her horse as though to
turn.

"Whether they come or not, certainly they have gone," said
Godwin, craning forward to look about him; "so, as we have nothing
to fear from an empty boat, let us push on."

On they rode accordingly, until they came to the root of the
stone quay or pier, when a sound behind them caused them to look
back. Then they saw a sight that sent the blood to their hearts,
for there behind them, leaping down one by one on to that narrow
footway, were men armed with naked swords, six or eight of them,
all of whom, they noted, had strips of linen pierced with eyelet
holes tied beneath their helms or leather caps, so as to conceal
their faces.

"A snare! a snare!" cried Wulf, drawing his sword. "Swift!
follow me up the Bradwell path!" and he struck the spurs into his
horse. It bounded forward, to be dragged next second with all
the weight of his powerful arm almost to its haunches. "God's
mercy!" he cried, "there are more of them!" And more there were,
for another band of men armed and linen-hooded like the first,
had leapt down on to that Bradwell path, amongst them a stout
man, who seemed to be unarmed, except for a long, crooked knife
at his girdle and a coat of ringed mail, which showed through the
opening of his loose tunic.

"To the boat!" shouted Godwin, whereat the stout man laughed--a
light, penetrating laugh, which even then all three of them heard
and noted.

Along the quay they rode, since there was nowhere else that they
could go, with both paths barred, and swamp and water on one side
of them, and a steep, wooded bank upon the other. When they
reached it, they found why the man had laughed, for the boat was
made fast with a strong chain that could not be cut; more, her
sail and oars were gone.

"Get into it," mocked a voice; "or, at least, let the lady get
in; it will save us the trouble of carrying her there."

Now Rosamund turned very pale, while the face of Wulf went red
and white, and he gripped his sword-hilt. But Godwin, calm as
ever, rode forward a few paces, and said quietly:

"Of your courtesy, say what you need of us. If it be money, we
have none--nothing but our arms and horses, which I think may
cost you dear."

Now the man with the crooked knife advanced a little, accompanied
by another man, a tall, supple-looking knave, into whose ear he
whispered.

"My master says," answered the tall man, "that you have with you
that which is of more value than all the king's gold--a very fair
lady, of whom someone has urgent need. Give her up now, and go
your way with your arms and horses, for you are gallant young
men, whose blood we do not wish to shed."

At this it was the turn of the brethren to laugh, which both of
them did together.

"Give her up," answered Godwin, "and go our ways dishonoured?
Aye, with our breath, but not before. Who then has such urgent
need of the lady Rosamund?"

Again there was whispering between the pair.

"My master says," was the answer, "he thinks that all who see her
will have need of her, since such loveliness is rare. But if you
wish a name, well, one comes into his mind; the name of the
knight Lozelle."

"The knight Lozelle!" murmured Rosamund, turning even paler than
before, as well she might. For this Lozelle was a powerful man
and Essex-born. He owned ships of whose doings upon the seas and
in the East evil tales were told, and once had sought Rosamund's
hand in marriage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which
Godwin, as the elder of the twins, had fought and wounded him.
Then he vanished--none knew where.

"Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?" asked Godwin, "masked like you
common cowards? If so, I desire to meet him, to finish the work I
began in the snow last Christmas twelvemonths."

"Find that out if you can," answered the tall man. But Wulf
said, speaking low between his clenched teeth:

"Brother, I see but one chance. We must place Rosamund between
us and charge them."

The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts, for again
he whispered into the ear of his companion, who called out:

"My master says that if you try to charge, you will be fools,
since we shall stab and ham-string your horses, which are too
good to waste, and take you quite easily as you fall. Come then,
yield, as you can do without shame, seeing there is no escape,
and that two men, however brave, cannot stand against a crowd.
He gives you one minute to surrender."

Now Rosamund spoke for the first time.

"My cousins," she said, "I pray you not to let me fall living
into the hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder men, to be taken
to what fate I know not. Let Godwin kill me, then, to save my
honour, as but now he said he would to save my soul, and strive
to cut your way through, and live to avenge me."

The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the water and
then at one another, and nodded. It was Godwin who spoke again,
for now that it had come to this struggle for life and their
lady, Wulf, whose tongue was commonly so ready, had grown
strangely silent, and fierce-faced also.

"Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eyes," said Godwin.
"There is but one chance for you, and, poor as it is, you must
choose between it and capture, since we cannot kill you. The
grey horse you ride is strong and true. Turn him now, and spur
into the water of Death Creek and swim it. It is broad, but the
incoming tide will help you, and perchance you will not drown."

Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards towards the boat.
Then Wulf spoke--few words and sharp: "Begone, girl! we guard the
boat."

She heard, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and her stately
head sank for a moment almost to her horse's mane.

"Oh, my knights! my knights! And would you die for me? Well, if
God wills it, so it must be. But I swear that if you die, that
no man shall be aught to me who have your memory, and if you
live--" And she looked at them confusedly, then stopped.

"Bless us, and begone," said Godwin.

So she blessed them in words low and holy; then of a sudden
wheeled round the great grey horse, and striking the spur into
its flank, drove straight at the deep water. A moment the
stallion hung, then from the low quay-end sprang out wide and
clear. Deep it sank, but not for long, for presently its rider's
head rose above the water, and regaining the saddle, from which
she had floated, Rosamund sat firm and headed the horse straight
for the distant bank. Now a shout of wonderment went up from the
woman thieves, for this was a deed that they had never thought a
girl would dare. But the brethren laughed as they saw that the
grey swam well, and, leaping from their saddles, ran forward a
few paces--eight or ten--along the mole to where it was
narrowest, as they went tearing the cloaks from their shoulders,
and, since they had none, throwing them over their left arms to
serve as bucklers.

The band cursed sullenly, only their captain gave an order to his
spokesman, who cried aloud:

"Cut them down, and to the boat! We shall take her before she
reaches shore or drowns."

For a moment they wavered, for the tall twin warriors who barred
the way had eyes that told of wounds and death. Then with a rush
they came, scrambling over the rough stones. But here the
causeway was so narrow that while their strength lasted, two men
were as good as twenty, nor, because of the mud and water, could
they be got at from either side. So after all it was but two to
two, and the brethren were the better two. Their long swords
flashed and smote, and when Wulf's was lifted again, once more it
shone red as it had been when he tossed it high in the sunlight,
and a man fell with a heavy splash into the waters of the creek,
and wallowed there till he died. Godwin's foe was down also,
and, as it seemed, sped.

Then, at a muttered word, not waiting to be attacked by others,
the brethren sprang forward. The huddled mob in front of them
saw them come, and shrank back, but before they had gone a yard,
the swords were at work behind. They swore strange oaths, they
caught their feet among the rocks, and rolled upon their faces.
In their confusion three of them were pushed into the water,
where two sank in the mud and were drowned, the third only
dragging himself ashore, while the rest made good their escape
from the causeway. But two had been cut down, and three had
fallen, for whom there was no escape. They strove to rise and
fight, but the linen masks flapped about their eyes, so that
their blows went wide, while the long swords of the brothers
smote and smote again upon their helms and harness as the hammers
of smiths smite upon an anvil, until they rolled over silent and
stirless.

"Back!" said Godwin; "for here the road is wide; and they will
get behind us."

So back they moved slowly, with their faces to the foe, stopping
just in front of the first man whom Godwin had seemed to kill,
and who lay face upwards with arms outstretched.

"So far we have done well," said Wulf, with a short laugh. "Are
you hurt?"

"Nay," answered his brother, "but do not boast till the battle is
over, for many are left and they will come on thus no more. Pray
God they have no spears or bows."

Then he turned and looked behind him, and there, far from the
shore now, swam the grey horse steadily, and there upon its back
sat Rosamund. Yes, and she had seen, since the horse must swim
somewhat sideways with the tide, for look, she took the kerchief
from her throat and waved it to them. Then the brethren knew
that she was proud of their great deeds, and thanked the saints
that they had lived to do even so much as this for her dear sake.

Godwin was right. Although their leader commanded them in a
stern voice, the band sank from the reach of those awful swords,
and, instead, sought for stones to hurl at them. But here lay
more mud than pebbles, and the rocks of which the causeway was
built were too heavy for them to lift, so that they found but
few, which when thrown either missed the brethren or did them
little hurt. Now, after some while, the man called "master"
spoke through his lieutenant, and certain of them ran into the
thorn thicket, and thence appeared again bearing the long oars of
the boat.

"Their counsel is to batter us down with the oars. What shall we
do now, brother?" asked Godwin.

"What we can," answered Wulf. "It matters little if Rosamund is
spared by the waters, for they will scarcely take her now, who
must loose the boat and man it after we are dead."

As he spoke Wulf heard a sound behind him, and of a sudden Godwin
threw up his arms and sank to his knees. Round he sprang, and
there upon his feet stood that man whom they had thought dead,
and in his hand a bloody sword. At him leapt Wulf, and so fierce
were the blows he smote that the first severed his sword arm and
the second shore through cloak and mail deep into the thief's
side; so that this time he fell, never to stir again. Then he
looked at his brother and saw that the blood was running down his
face and blinding him.

"Save yourself, Wulf, for I am sped," murmured Godwin.

"Nay, or you could not speak." And he cast his arm round him and
kissed him on the brow.

Then a thought came into his mind, and lifting Godwin as though
he were a child, he ran back to where the horses stood, and
heaved him onto the saddle.

"Hold fast!" he cried, "by mane and pommel. Keep your mind, and
hold fast, and I will save you yet."

Passing the reins over his left arm, Wulf leapt upon the back of
his own horse, and turned it. Ten seconds more, and the pirates,
who were gathering with the oars where the paths joined at the
root of the causeway, saw the two great horses thundering down
upon them. On one a sore wounded man, his bright hair dabbled
with blood, his hands gripping mane and saddle, and on the other
the warrior Wulf, with starting eyes and a face like the face of
a flame, shaking his red sword, and for the second time that day
shouting aloud: "A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Contre D'Arcy, contre
Mort!"

They saw, they shouted, they massed themselves together and held
up the oars to meet them. But Wulf spurred fiercely, and, short
as was the way, the heavy horses, trained to tourney, gathered
their speed. Now they were on them. The oars were swept aside
like reeds; all round them flashed the swords, and Wulf felt that
he was hurt, he knew not where. But his sword flashed also, one
blow--there was no time for more--yet the man beneath it sank
like an empty sack.

By St. Peter! They were through, and Godwin still swayed upon
the saddle, and yonder, nearing the further shore, the grey horse
with its burden still battled in the tide. They were through!
they were through! while to Wulf's eyes the air swam red, and the
earth seemed as though it rose up to meet them, and everywhere
was flaming fire.

But the shouts had died away behind them, and the only sound was
the sound of the galloping of their horses' hoofs. Then that
also grew faint and died away, and silence and darkness fell upon
the mind of Wulf.



Chapter Two: Sir Andew D'Arcy

Godwin dreamed that he was dead, and that beneath him floated
the world, a glowing ball, while he was borne to and fro through
the blackness, stretched upon a couch of ebony. There were bright
watchers by his couch also, watchers twain, and he knew them for
his guardian angels, given him at birth. Moreover, now and again
presences would come and question the watchers who sat at his
head and foot. One asked:

"Has this soul sinned?" And the angel at his head answered:

"It has sinned."

Again the voice asked: "Did it die shriven of its sins?"

The angel answered: "It died unshriven, red sword aloft, fighting
a good fight."

"Fighting for the Cross of Christ?"

"Nay; fighting for a woman."

"Alas! poor soul, sinful and unshriven, who died fighting for a
woman's love. How shall such a one find mercy?" wailed the
questioning voice, growing ever fainter, till it was lost far,
far away.

Now came another visitor. It was his father--the warrior sire
whom he had never seen, who fell in Syria. Godwin knew him well,
for the face was the face carven on the tomb in Stangate church,
and he wore the blood-red cross upon his mail, and the D'Arcy
Death's-head was on his shield, and in his hand shone a naked
sword.

"Is this the soul of my son?" he asked of the whiterobed
watchers. "If so, how died he?"

Then the angel at his foot answered: "He died, red sword aloft,
fighting a good fight."

"Fighting for the Cross of Christ?"

"Nay; fighting for a woman."

"Fighting for a woman's love who should have fallen in the Holy
War? Alas! poor son; alas! poor son! Alas! that we must part
again forever!" and his voice, too, passed away.

Lo! a Glory advanced through the blackness, and the angels at
head and foot stood up and saluted with their flaming spears.

"How died this child of God?" asked a voice, speaking out of the
Glory, a low and awful voice.

"He died by the sword," answered the angel.

"By the sword of the children of the enemy, fighting in the war
of Heaven?"

Then the angels were silent.

"What has Heaven to do with him, if he fought not for Heaven?"
asked the voice again.

"Let him be spared," pleaded the guardians, "who was young and
brave, and knew not. Send him back to earth, there to retrieve
his sins and be our charge once more."

"So be it," said the voice. "Knight, live on, but live as a knight
of Heaven if thou wouldst win Heaven."

"Must he then put the woman from him?" asked the angels.

"It was not said," answered the voice speaking from the Glory.
And all that wild vision vanished.

Then a space of oblivion, and Godwin awoke to hear other voices
around him, voices human, well-beloved, remembered; and to see a
face bending over him--a face most human, most well-beloved, most
remembered--that of his cousin Rosamund. He babbled some
questions, but they brought him food, and told him to sleep, so
he slept. Thus it went on, waking and sleep, sleep and waking,
till at length one morning he woke up truly in the little room
that opened out of the solar or sitting place of the Hall of
Steeple, where he and Wulf had slept since their uncle took them
to his home as infants. More, on the trestle bed opposite to him,
his leg and arm bandaged, and a crutch by his side, sat Wulf
himself, somewhat paler and thinner than of yore, but the same
jovial, careless, yet at times fierce-faced Wulf.

"Do I still dream, my brother, or is it you indeed?"

A happy smile spread upon the face of Wulf, for now he knew that
Godwin was himself again.

"Me sure enough," he answered. "Dream-folk don't have lame legs;
they are the gifts of swords and men."

"And Rosamund? What of Rosamund? Did the grey horse swim the
creek, and how came we here? Tell me quick--I faint for news!"

"She shall tell you herself." And hobbling to the curtained door,
he called, "Rosamund, my--nay, our--cousin Rosamund, Godwin is
himself again. Hear you, Godwin is himself again, and would speak
with you!"

There was a swift rustle of robes and a sound of quick feet among
the rushes that strewed the floor, and then--Rosamund herself,
lovely as ever, but all her stateliness forgot in joy. She saw
him, the gaunt Godwin sitting up upon the pallet, his grey eyes
shining in the white and sunken face. For Godwin's eyes were
grey, while Wulf's were blue, the only difference between them
which a stranger would note, although in truth Wulf's lips were
fuller than Godwin's, and his chin more marked; also he was a
larger man. She saw him, and with a little cry of delight ran and
cast her arms about him, and kissed him on the brow.

"Be careful," said Wulf roughly, turning his head aside, "or,
Rosamund, you will loose the bandages, and bring his trouble back
again; he has had enough of blood-letting."

"Then I will kiss him on the hand--the hand that saved me," she
said, and did so. More, she pressed that poor, pale hand against
her heart.

"Mine had something to do with that business also but I don't
remember that you kissed it, Rosamund. Well, I will kiss him too,
and oh! God be praised, and the holy Virgin, and the holy Peter,
and the holy Chad, and all the other holy dead folk whose names I
can't recall, who between them, with the help of Rosamund here,
and the prayers of the Prior John and brethren at Stangate, and
of Matthew, the village priest, have given you back to us, my
brother, my most beloved brother." And he hopped to the bedside,
and throwing his long, sinewy arms about Godwin embraced him
again and again.

"Be careful," said Rosamund drily, "or, Wulf, you will disturb
the bandages, and he has had enough of blood-letting."

Then before he could answer, which he seemed minded to do, there
came the sound of a slow step, and swinging the curtain aside, a
tall and noble-looking knight entered the little place. The man
was old, but looked older than he was, for sorrow and sickness
had wasted him. His snow-white hair hung upon his shoulders, his
face was pale, and his features were pinched but
finely-chiselled, and notwithstanding the difference of their
years, wonderfully like to those of the daughter Rosamund. For
this was her father, the famous lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy.

Rosamund turned and bent the knee to him with a strange and
Eastern grace, while Wulf bowed his head, and Godwin, since his
neck was too stiff to stir, held up his hand in greeting. The old
man looked at him, and there was pride in his eye.

"So you will live after all, my nephew," he said, "and for that I
thank the giver of life and death, since by God, you are a
gallant man--a worthy child of the bloods of the Norman D'Arcy
and of Uluin the Saxon. Yes, one of the best of them."

"Speak not so, my uncle," said Godwin; "or at least, here is a
worthier,"--and he patted the hand of Wulf with his lean
fingers. "It was Wulf who bore me through. Oh, I remember as much
as that--how he lifted me onto the black horse and bade me to
cling fast to mane and pommel. Ay, and I remember the charge, and
his cry of 'Contre D'Arcy, contre Mort!' and the flashing of
swords about us, and after that--nothing."

"Would that I had been there to help in that fight," said Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, tossing his white hair. "Oh, my children, it is
hard to be sick and old. A log am I--naught but a rotting log.
Still, had I only known--"

"Father, father," said Rosamund, casting her white arm about
his neck. "You should not speak thus. You have done your share."

"Yes, my share; but I should like to do more. Oh, St. Andrew,
ask it for me that I may die with sword aloft and my grandsire's
cry upon my lips. Yes, yes; thus, not like a worn-out war-horse
in his stall. There, pardon me; but in truth, my children, I am
jealous of you. Why, when I found you lying in each other's arms
I could have wept for rage to think that such a fray had been
within a league of my own doors and I not in it."

"I know nothing of all that story," said Godwin.

"No, in truth, how can you, who have been senseless this month or
more? But Rosamund knows, and she shall tell it you. Speak on,
Rosamund. Lay you back, Godwin, and listen."

"The tale is yours, my cousins, and not mine," said Rosamund.
"You bade me take the water, and into it I spurred the grey
horse, and we sank deep, so that the waves closed above my head.
Then up we came, I floating from the saddle, but I regained it,
and the horse answered to my voice and bridle, and swam out for
the further shore. On it swam, somewhat slantwise with the tide,
so that by turning my head I could see all that passed upon the
mole. I saw them come at you, and men fall before your swords; I
saw you charge them, and run back again. Lastly, after what
seemed a very long while, when I was far away, I saw Wulf lift
Godwin into the saddle--I knew it must be Godwin, because he set
him on the black horse--and the pair of you galloped down the
quay and vanished.

"By then I was near the home shore, and the grey grew very weary
and sank deep in the water. But I cheered it on with my voice,
and although twice its head went beneath the waves, in the end it
found a footing, though a soft one. After resting awhile, it
plunged forward with short rushes through the mud, and so at
length came safe to land, where it stood shaking with fear and
weariness. So soon as the horse got its breath again, I pressed
on, for I saw them loosing the boat, and came home here as the
dark closed in, to meet your uncle watching for me at the gate.
Now, father, do you take up the tale."

"There is little more to tell," said Sir Andrew. "You will
remember, nephews, that I was against this ride of Rosamund's to
seek flowers, or I know not what, at St. Peter's shrine, nine
miles away, but as the maid had set her heart on it, and there
are but few pleasures here, why, I let her go with the pair of
you for escort. You will mind also that you were starting
without your mail, and how foolish you thought me when I called
you back and made you gird it on. Well, my patron saint--or
yours--put it into my head to do so, for had it not been for
those same shirts of mail, you were both of you dead men to-day.
But that morning I had been thinking of Sir Hugh Lozelle--if
such a false, pirate rogue can be called a knight, not but that
he is stout and brave enough--and his threats after he recovered
from the wound you gave him, Godwin; how that he would come back
and take your cousin for all we could do to stay him. True, we
heard that he had sailed for the East to war against Saladin--or
with him, for he was ever a traitor--but even if this were so,
men return from the East. Therefore I bade you arm, having some
foresight of what was to come, for doubtless this onslaught must
have been planned by him."

"I think so," said Wulf, "for, as Rosamund here knows, the tall
knave who interpreted for the foreigner whom he called his
master, gave us the name of the knight Lozelle as the man who
sought to carry her off."

"Was this master a Saracen?" asked Sir Andrew, anxiously.

"Nay, uncle, how can I tell, seeing that his face was masked like
the rest and he spoke through an interpreter? But I pray you go
on with the story, which Godwin has not heard."

"It is short. When Rosamund told her tale of which I could make
little, for the girl was crazed with grief and cold and fear,
save that you had been attacked upon the old quay, and she had
escaped by swimming Death Creek--which seemed a thing
incredible--I got together what men I could. Then bidding her
stay behind, with some of them to guard her, and nurse herself,
which she was loth to do, I set out to find you or your bodies.
It was dark, but we rode hard, having lanterns with us, as we
went rousing men at every stead, until we came to where the roads
join at Moats. There we found a black horse--your horse,
Godwin--so badly wounded that he could travel no further, and I
groaned, thinking that you were dead. Still we went on, till we
heard another horse whinny, and presently found the roan also
riderless, standing by the path-side with his head down.

"'A man on the ground holds him!' cried one, and I sprang from
the saddle to see who it might be, to find that it was you, the
pair of you, locked in each other's arms and senseless, if not
dead, as well you might be from your wounds. I bade the
country-folk cover you up and carry you home, and others to run
to Stangate and pray the Prior and the monk Stephen, who is a
doctor, come at once to tend you, while we pressed onwards to
take vengeance if we could. We reached the quay upon the creek,
but there we found nothing save some bloodstains and--this is
strange--your sword, Godwin, the hilt set between two stones, and
on the point a writing."

"What was the writing?" asked Godwin.

"Here it is," answered his uncle, drawing a piece of parchment
from his robe. "Read it, one of you, since all of you are
scholars and my eyes are bad."

Rosamund took it and read what was written, hurriedly but in a
clerkly hand, and in the French tongue. It ran thus: "The sword of
a brave man. Bury it with him if he be dead, and give it back to
him if he lives, as I hope. My master would wish me to do this
honour to a gallant foe whom in that case he still may meet.
(Signed) Hugh Lozelle, or Another."

"Another, then; not Hugh Lozelle," said Godwin, "since he cannot
write, and if he could, would never pen words so knightly."

"The words may be knightly, but the writer's deeds were base
enough," replied Sir Andrew; "nor, in truth do I understand this
scroll."

"The interpreter spoke of the short man as his master," suggested
Wulf.

"Ay, nephew; but him you met. This writing speaks of a master
whom Godwin may meet, and who would wish the writer to pay him a
certain honour."

"Perhaps he wrote thus to blind us."

"Perchance, perchance. The matter puzzles me. Moreover, of whom
these men were I have been able to learn nothing. A boat was seen
passing towards Bradwell--indeed, it seems that you saw it, and
that night a boat was seen sailing southwards down St. Peter's
sands towards a ship that had anchored off Foulness Point. But
what that ship was, whence she came, and whither she went, none
know, though the tidings of this fray have made some stir."

"Well," said Wulf, "at the least we have seen the last of her
crew of women-thieves. Had they meant more mischief, they would
have shown themselves again ere now."

Sir Andrew looked grave as he answered.

"So I trust, but all the tale is very strange. How came they to
know that you and Rosamund were riding that day to St.
Peter's-on-the-Wall, and so were able to waylay you? Surely some
spy must have warned them, since that they were no common pirates
is evident, for they spoke of Lozelle, and bade you two begone
unharmed, as it was Rosamund whom they needed. Also, there is the
matter of the sword that fell from the hand of Godwin when he was
hurt, which was returned in so strange a fashion. I have known
many such deeds of chivalry done in the East by Paynim men--"

"Well, Rosamund is half an Eastern," broke in Wulf carelessly;
"and perhaps that had something to do with it all."

Sir Andrew started, and the colour rose to his pale face. Then in
a tone in which he showed he wished to speak no more of this
matter, he said:

"Enough, enough. Godwin is very weak, and grows weary, and before
I leave him I have a word to say that it may please you both to
hear. Young men, you are of my blood, the nearest to it except
Rosamund--the sons of that noble knight, my brother. I have ever
loved you well, and been proud of you, but if this was so in the
past, how much more is it thus to-day, when you have done such
high service to my house? Moreover, that deed was brave and
great; nothing more knightly has been told of in Essex this many
a year, and those who wrought it should no longer be simple
gentlemen, but very knights. This boon it is in my power to grant
to you according to the ancient custom. Still, that none may
question it, while you lay sick, but after it was believed that
Godwin would live, which at first we scarcely dared to hope, I
journeyed to London and sought audience of our lord the king.
Having told him this tale, I prayed him that he would be pleased
to grant me his command in writing that I should name you
knights.

"My nephews, he was so pleased, and here I have the brief sealed
with the royal signet, commanding that in his name and my own I
should give you the accolade publicly in the church of the Priory
at Stangate at such season as may be convenient. Therefore,
Godwin, the squire, haste you to get well that you may become Sir
Godwin the knight; for you, Wulf, save for the hurt to your leg,
are well enough already."

Now Godwin's white face went red with pride, and Wulf dropped his
bold eyes and looked modest as a girl.

"Speak you," he said to his brother, "for my tongue is blunt and
awkward."

"Sir," said Godwin in a weak voice, "we do not know how to thank
you for so great an honour, that we never thought to win till we
had done more famous deeds than the beating off of a band of
robbers. Sir, we have no more to say, save that while we live we
will strive to be worthy of our name and of you."

"Well spoken," said his uncle, adding as though to himself, "this
man is courtly as he is brave."

Wulf looked up, a flash of merriment upon his open face.

"I, my uncle, whose speech is, I fear me, not courtly, thank you
also. I will add that I think our lady cousin here should be
knighted too, if such a thing were possible for a woman, seeing
that to swim a horse across Death Creek was a greater deed than
to fight some rascals on its quay."

"Rosamund?" answered the old man in the same dreamy voice. "Her
rank is high enough--too high, far too high for safety." And
turning, he left the little chamber.

"Well, cousin," said Wulf, "if you cannot be a knight, at least
you can lessen all this dangerous rank of yours by becoming a
knight's wife." Whereat Rosamund looked at him with indignation
which struggled with a smile in her dark eyes, and murmuring that
she must see to the making of Godwin's broth, followed her father
from the place.

"It would have been kinder had she told us that she was glad,"
said Wulf when she was gone.

"Perhaps she would," answered his brother, "had it not been for
your rough jests, Wulf, which might have a meaning in them."

"Nay, I had no meaning. Why should she not become a knight's
wife?"

"Ay, but what knight's? Would it please either of us, brother,
if, as may well chance, he should be some stranger?"

Now Wulf swore a great oath, then flushed to the roots of his
fair hair, and was silent.

"Ah!" said Godwin; "you do not think before you speak, which it
is always well to do."

"She swore upon the quay yonder"--broke in Wulf.

"Forget what she swore. Words uttered in such an hour should not
be remembered against a maid."

"God's truth, brother, you are right, as ever! My tongue runs
away with me, but still I can't put those words out of my mind,
though which of us--"

"Wulf!"

"I mean to say that we are in Fortune's path to-day, Godwin. Oh,
that was a lucky ride! Such fighting as I have never seen or
dreamed of. We won it too! And now both of us are alive, and a
knighthood for each!"

"Yes, both of us alive, thanks to you, Wulf--nay, it is so,
though you would never have done less. But as for Fortune's path,
it is one that has many rough turns, and perhaps before all is
done she may lead us round some of them."

"You talk like a priest, not like a squire who is to be knighted
at the cost of a scar on his head. For my part I will kiss
Fortune while I may, and if she jilts me afterwards--"

"Wulf," called Rosamund from without the curtain, "cease
talking of kissing at the top of your voice, I pray you, and
leave Godwin to sleep, for he needs it." And she entered the
little chamber, bearing a bowl of broth in her hand.

Thereon, saying that ladies should not listen to what did not
concern them, Wulf seized his crutch and hobbled from the place.



Chapter Three: The Knighting of the Brethren

Another month had gone by, and though Godwin was still somewhat
weak and suffered from a headache at times, the brethren had
recovered from their wounds. On the last day of November, about
two o'clock in the afternoon, a great procession might have been
seen wending its way from the old Hall at Steeple. In it rode
many knights fully armed, before whom were borne their banners.
These went first. Then came old Sir Andrew D'Arcy, also fully
armed, attended by squires and retainers. He was accompanied by
his lovely daughter, the lady Rosamund, clad in beautiful apparel
under her cloak of fur, who rode at his right hand on that same
horse which had swum Death Creek. Next appeared the brethren,
modestly arrayed as simple gentlemen, followed each of them by
his squire, scions of the noble houses of Salcote and of Dengie.
After them rode yet more knights, squires, tenants of various
degree, and servants, surrounded by a great number of peasantry
and villeins, who walked and ran with their women folk and
children.

Following the road through the village, the procession turned to
the left at the great arch which marked the boundary of the
monk's lands, and headed for Stangate Abbey, some two miles
away, by the path that ran between the arable land and the Salt
marshes, which are flooded at high tide. At length they came to
the stone gate of the Abbey, that gave the place its name of
Stangate. Here they were met by a company of the Cluniac monks,
who dwelt in this wild and lonely spot upon the water's edge,
headed by their prior, John Fitz Brien. He was a venerable,
white-haired man, clad in wide-sleeved, black robes, and preceded
by a priest carrying a silver cross. Now the procession
separated, Godwin and Wulf, with certain of the knights and their
esquires, being led to the Priory, while the main body of it
entered the church, or stood about outside its door.

Arrived in the house, the two knights elect were taken to a room
where their hair was cut and their chins were shaved by a barber
who awaited them. Then, under the guidance of two old knights
named Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, they were
conducted to baths surrounded with rich cloths. Into these,
having been undressed by the squires, they entered and bathed
themselves, while Sir Anthony and Sir Roger spoke to them through
the cloths of the high duties of their vocation, ending by
pouring water over them, and signing their bare bodies with the
sign of the Cross. Next they were dressed again, and preceded by
minstrels, led to the church, at the porch of which they and
their esquires were given wine to drink.

Here, in the presence of all the company, they were clothed first
in white tunics, to signify the whiteness of their hearts; next
in red robes, symbolical of the blood they might be called upon
to shed for Christ; and lastly, in long black cloaks, emblems of
the death that must be endured by all. This done, their armour
was brought in and piled before them upon the steps of the altar,
and the congregation departed homeward, leaving them with their
esquires and the priest to spend the long winter night in orisons
and prayers.

Long, indeed, it was, in that lonesome, holy place, lit only by a
lamp which swung before the altar. Wulf prayed and prayed until
he could pray no more, then fell into a half dreamful state that
was haunted by the face of Rosamund, where even her face should
have been forgotten. Godwin, his elbow resting against the tomb
that hid his father's heart, prayed also, until even his
earnestness was outworn, and he began to wonder about many
things.

That dream of his, for instance, in his sickness, when he had
seemed to be dead, and what might be the true duty of man. To be
brave and upright? Surely. To fight for the Cross of Christ
against the Saracen? Surely, if the chance came his way. What
more? To abandon the world and to spend his life muttering
prayers like those priests in the darkness behind him? Could that
be needful or of service to God or man? To man, perhaps, because
such folk tended the sick and fed the poor. But to God? Was he
not sent into the world to bear his part in the world--to live
his full life? This would mean a half-life--one into which no
woman might enter, to which no child might be added, since to
monks and even to certain brotherhoods, all these things, which
Nature decreed and Heaven had sanctified, were deadly sin.

It would mean, for instance, that he must think no more of
Rosamund. Could he do this for the sake of the welfare of his
soul in some future state?

Why, at the thought of it even, in that solemn place and hour of
dedication, his spirit reeled, for then and there for the first
time it was borne in upon him that he loved this woman more than
all the world beside--more than his life, more, perhaps, than his
soul. He loved her with all his pure young heart--so much that it
would be a joy to him to die for her, not only in the heat of
battle, as lately had almost chanced on the Death Creek quay, but
in cold blood, of set purpose, if there came need. He loved her
with body and with spirit, and, after God, here to her he
consecrated his body and his spirit. But what value would she put
upon the gift? What if some other man--?

By his side, his elbows resting on the altar rails, his eyes
fixed upon the beaming armour that he would wear in battle, knelt
Wulf, his brother--a mighty man, a knight of knights, fearless,
noble, open-hearted; such a one as any woman might well love. And
he also loved Rosamund. Of this Godwin was sure. And, oh! did not
Rosamund love Wulf? Bitter jealousy seized upon his vitals. Yes;
even then and there, black envy got hold of Godwin, and rent him
so sore that, cold as was the place, the sweat poured from his
brow and body.

Should he abandon hope? Should he fly the battle for fear that he
might be defeated? Nay; he would fight on in all honesty and
honour, and if he were overcome, would meet his fate as a brave
knight should--without bitterness, but without shame. Let destiny
direct the matter. It was in the hands of destiny, and stretching
out his arm, he threw it around the neck of his brother, who
knelt beside him, and let it rest there, until the head of the
weary Wulf sank sleepily upon his shoulder, like the head of an
infant upon its mother's breast.

"Oh Jesu," Godwin moaned in his poor heart, "give me strength to
fight against this sinful passion that would lead me to hate the
brother whom I love. Oh Jesu, give me strength to bear it if he
should be preferred before me. Make me a perfect knight--strong
to suffer and endure, and, if need be, to rejoice even in the
joy of my supplanter."

At length the grey dawn broke, and the sunlight, passing through
the eastern window, like a golden spear, pierced the dusk of the
long church, which was built to the shape of a cross, so that
only its transepts remained in shadow. Then came a sound of
chanting, and at the western door entered the Prior, wearing all
his robes, attended by the monks and acolytes, who swung censers.
In the centre of the nave he halted and passed to the
confessional, calling on Godwin to follow. So he went and knelt
before the holy man, and there poured out all his heart. He
confessed his sins. They were but few. He told him of the vision
of his sickness, on which the Prior pondered long; of his deep
love, his hopes, his fears, and his desire to be a warrior who
once, as a lad, had wished to be a monk, not that he might shed
blood, but to fight for the Cross of Christ against the Paynim,
ending with a cry of--

"Give me counsel, O my father. Give me counsel."

"Your own heart is your best counsellor," was the priest's
answer. "Go as it guides you, knowing that, through it, it is God
who guides. Nor fear that you will fail. But if love and the joys
of life should leave you, then come back, and we will talk again.
Go on, pure knight of Christ, fearing nothing and sure of the
reward, and take with you the blessing of Christ and of his
Church."

"What penance must I bear, father?"

"Such souls as yours inflict their own penance. The saints forbid
that I should add to it," was the gentle answer.

Then with a lightened heart Godwin returned to the altar rails,
while his brother Wulf was summoned to take his place in the
confessional. Of the sins that he had to tell we need not speak.
They were such as are common to young men, and none of them very
grievous. Still, before he gave him absolution, the good Prior
admonished him to think less of his body and more of his spirit;
less of the glory of feats of arms and more of the true ends to
which he should enter on them. He bade him, moreover, to take his
brother Godwin as an earthly guide and example, since there lived
no better or wiser man of his years, and finally dismissed him,
prophesying that if he would heed these counsels, he would come
to great glory on earth and in heaven.

"Father, I will do my best," answered Wulf humbly; "but there
cannot be two Godwins; and, father, sometimes I fear me that our
paths will cross, since two men cannot win one woman."

"I know the trouble," answered the Prior anxiously, "and with
less noble-natured men it might be grave. But if it should come
to this, then must the lady judge according to the wishes of her
own heart, and he who loses her must be loyal in sorrow as in
joy. Be sure that you take no base advantage of your brother in
the hour of temptation, and bear him no bitterness should he win
the bride."

"I think I can be sure of that," said Wulf; "also that we, who
have loved each other from birth, would die before we betrayed
each other."

"I think so also," answered the Prior; "but Satan is very
strong."

Then Wulf also returned to the altar rails, and the full Mass was
sung, and the Sacrament received by the two neophytes, and the
offerings made all in their appointed order. Next they were led
back to the Priory to rest and eat a little after their long
night's vigil in the cold church, and here they abode awhile,
thinking their own thoughts, seated alone in the Prior's chamber.
At length Wulf, who seemed to be ill at ease, rose and laid his
hand upon his brother's shoulder, saying:

"I can be silent no more; it was ever thus: that which is in my
mind must out of it. I have words to say to you."

"Speak on, Wulf," said Godwin.

Wulf sat himself down again upon his stool, and for a while
stared hard at nothing, for he did not seem to find it easy to
begin this talk. Now Godwin could read his brother's mind like a
book, but Wulf could not always read Godwin's, although, being
twins who had been together from birth, their hearts were for the
most part open to each other without the need of words.

"It is of our cousin Rosamund, is it not?" asked Godwin
presently.

"Ay. Who else?"

"And you would tell me that you love her, and that now you are a
knight--almost--and hard on five-and twenty years of age, you
would ask her to become your affianced wife?"

"Yes, Godwin; it came into my heart when she rode the grey horse
into the water, there upon the pier, and I thought that I should
never see her any more. I tell you it came into my heart that
life was not worth living nor death worth dying without her."

"Then, Wulf," answered Godwin slowly, "what more is there to say?
Ask on, and prosper. Why not? We have some lands, if not many,
and Rosamund will not lack for them. Nor do I think that our
uncle would forbid you, if she wills it, seeing that you are the
properest man and the bravest in all this country side."

"Except my brother Godwin, who is all these things, and good and
learned to boot, which I am not," replied Wulf musingly. Then
there was silence for a while, which he broke.

"Godwin, our ill-luck is that you love her also, and that you
thought the same thoughts which I did yonder on the quay-head."

Godwin flushed a little, and his long fingers tightened their
grip upon his knee.

"It is so," he said quietly. "To my grief it is so. But Rosamund
knows nothing of this, and should never know it if you will keep
a watch upon your tongue. Moreover, you need not be jealous of
me, before marriage or after."

"What, then, would you have me do?" asked Wulf hotly. "Seek her
heart, and perchance--though this I doubt--let her yield it to
me, she thinking that you care naught for her?"

"Why not?" asked Godwin again, with a sigh; "it might save her
some pain and you some doubt, and make my own path clearer.
Marriage is more to you than to me, Wulf, who think sometimes
that my sword should be my spouse and duty my only aim."

"Who think, having a heart of gold, that even in such a thing as
this you will not bar the path of the brother whom you love. Nay,
Godwin, as I am a sinful man, and as I desire her above all
things on earth, I will play no such coward's game, nor conquer
one who will not lift his sword lest he should hurt me. Sooner
would I bid you all farewell, and go to seek fortune or death in
the wars without word spoken."

"Leaving Rosamund to pine, perchance. Oh, could we be sure that
she had no mind toward either of us, that would be best--to
begone together. But, Wulf, we cannot be sure, since at times, to
be honest, I have thought she loves you."

"And at times, to be honest, Godwin, I have been sure that she
loves you, although I should like to try my luck and hear it from
her lips, which on such terms I will not do."

"What, then, is your plan, Wulf?"

"My plan is that if our uncle gives us leave, we should both
speak to her--you first, as the elder, setting out your case as
best you can, and asking her to think of it and give you your
answer within a day. Then, before that day is done I also should
speak, so that she may know all the story, and play her part in
it with opened eyes, not deeming, as otherwise she might, that we
know each other's minds, and that you ask because I have no will
that way."

"It is very fair," replied Godwin; "and worthy of you, who are the
most honest of men. Yet, Wulf, I am troubled. See you, my
brother, have ever brethren loved each other as we do? And now
must the shadow of a woman fall upon and blight that love which
is so fair and precious?"

"Why so?" asked Wulf. "Come, Godwin, let us make a pact that it
shall not be thus, and keep it by the help of heaven. Let us show
the world that two men can love one woman and still love each
other, not knowing as yet which of them she will choose--if,
indeed, she chooses either. For, Godwin, we are not the only
gentlemen whose eyes have turned, or yet may turn, towards the
high-born, rich, and lovely lady Rosamund. Is it your will that
we should make such a pact?"

Godwin thought a little, then answered:

"Yes; but if so, it must be one so strong that for her sake and
for both our sakes we cannot break it and live with honour."

"So be it," said Wulf; "this is man's work, not child's
make-believe."

Then Godwin rose, and going to the door, bade his squire, who
watched without, pray the Prior John to come to them as they
sought his counsel in a matter. So he came, and, standing before
him with downcast head, Godwin told him all the tale, which,
indeed, he who knew so much already, was quick to understand, and
of their purpose also; while at a question from the prior, Wulf
answered that it was well and truly said, nothing having been
kept back. Then they asked him if it was lawful that they should
take such an oath, to which he replied that he thought it not
only lawful, but very good.

So in the end, kneeling together hand in hand before the Rood that
stood in the chamber, they repeated this oath after him, both of
them together.

"We brethren, Godwin and Wulf D'Arcy, do swear by the holy Cross
of Christ, and by the patron saint of this place, St. Mary
Magdalene, and our own patron saints, St. Peter and St. Chad,
standing in the presence of God, of our guardian angels, and of
you, John, that being both of us enamoured of our cousin,
Rosamund D'Arcy, we will ask her to wife in the manner we have
agreed, and no other. That we will abide by her decision, should
she choose either of us, nor seek to alter it by tempting her
from her troth, or in any fashion overt or covert. That he of us
whom she refuses will thenceforth be a brother to her and no
more, however Satan may tempt his heart otherwise. That so far as
may be possible to us, who are but sinful men, we will suffer
neither bitterness nor jealousy to come between our love because
of this woman, and that in war or peace we will remain faithful
comrades and brethren. Thus we swear with a true heart and
purpose, and in token thereof, knowing that he who breaks this
oath will be a knight dishonoured and a vessel fit for the wrath
of God, we kiss this Rood and one another."

This, then, these brethren said and did, and with light minds and
joyful faces received the blessing of the Prior, who had
christened them in infancy, and went down to meet the great
company that had ridden forth to lead them back to Steeple, where
their knighting should be done.

So to Steeple, preceded by the squires, who rode before them
bareheaded, carrying their swords by the scabbarded points, with
their gold spurs hanging from the hilts, they came at last. Here
the hall was set for a great feast, a space having been left
between the tables and the dais, to which the brethren were
conducted. Then came forward Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir
Roger de Merci in full armour, and presented to Sir Andrew D'Arcy,
their uncle, who stood upon the edge of the dais, also in his
armour, their swords and spurs, of which he gave back to them two
of the latter, bidding them affix these upon the candidates' right
heels. This done, the Prior John blessed the swords, after which
Sir Andrew girded them about the waists of his nephews, saying:

"Take ye back the swords that you have used so well."

Next, he drew his own silver-hilted blade that had been his
father's and his grandfather's, and whilst they knelt before
him, smote each of them three blows upon the right shoulder,
crying with a loud voice: "In the name of God, St. Michael, and
St. George, I knight ye. Be ye good knights."

Thereafter came forward Rosamund as their nearest kinswoman, and,
helped by other ladies, clad upon them their hauberks, or coats
of mail, their helms of steel, and their kite-shaped shields,
emblazoned with a skull, the cognizance of their race. This done,
with the musicians marching before them, they walked to Steeple
church--a distance of two hundred paces from the Hall, where they
laid their swords upon the altar and took them up again, swearing
to be good servants of Christ and defenders of the Church. As
they left its doors, who should meet them but the cook, carrying
his chopper in his hand and claiming as his fee the value of the
spurs they wore, crying aloud at the same time:

"If either of you young knights should do aught in despite of
your honour and of the oaths that you have sworn--from which may
God and his saints prevent you!--then with my chopper will I hack
these spurs from off your heels."

Thus at last the long ceremony was ended, and after it came a
very great feast, for at the high table were entertained many
noble knights and ladies, and below, in the hall their squires,
and other gentlemen, and outside all the yeomanry and villagers,
whilst the children and the aged had food and drink given to them
in the nave of the church itself. When the eating at length was
done, the centre of the hall was cleared, and while men drank,
the minstrels made music. All were very merry with wine and
strong ale, and talk arose among them as to which of these
brethren--Sir Godwin or Sir Wulf--was the more brave, the more
handsome, and the more learned and courteous.

Now a knight--it was Sir Surin de Salcote--seeing that the
argument grew hot and might lead to blows, rose and declared that
this should be decided by beauty alone, and that none could be
more fitted to judge than the fair lady whom the two of them had
saved from woman-thieves at the Death Creek quay. They all
called, "Ay, let her settle it," and it was agreed that she would
give the kerchief from her neck to the bravest, a beaker of wine
to the handsomest, and a Book of Hours to the most learned.

So, seeing no help for it, since except her father, the
brethren, the most of the other ladies and herself, who drank but
water, gentle and simple alike, had begun to grow heated with
wine, and were very urgent, Rosamund took the silk kerchief from
her neck. Then coming to the edge of the dais, where they were
seated in the sight of all, she stood before her cousins, not
knowing, poor maid, to which of them she should offer it. But
Godwin whispered a word to Wulf, and both of them stretching out
their right hands, snatched an end of the kerchief which she held
towards them, and rending it, twisted the severed halves round
their sword hilts. The company laughed at their wit, and cried:

"The wine for the more handsome. They cannot serve that thus."

Rosamund thought a moment; then she lifted a great silver
beaker, the largest on the board, and having filled it full of
wine, once more came forward and held it before them as though
pondering. Thereon the brethren, as though by a single movement,
bent forward and each of them touched the beaker with his lips.
Again a great laugh went up, and even Rosamund smiled.

"The book! the book!" cried the guests. "They dare not rend the
holy book!"

So for the third time Rosamund advanced, bearing the missal.

"Knights," she said, "you have torn my kerchief and drunk my wine.
Now I offer this hallowed writing--to him who can read it best."

"Give it to Godwin," said Wulf. "I am a swordsman, not a clerk."

"Well said! well said!" roared the company. "The sword for
us--not the pen!" But Rosamund turned on them and answered:

"He who wields sword is brave, and he who wields pen is wise, but
better is he who can handle both sword and pen--like my cousin
Godwin, the brave and learned."

"Hear her! hear her!" cried the revellers, knocking their horns
upon the board, while in the silence that followed a woman's
voice said, "Sir Godwin's luck is great, but give me Sir Wulf's
strong arms."

Then the drinking began again, and Rosamund and the ladies
slipped away, as well they might--for the times were rough and
coarse.

On the morrow, after most of the guests were gone, many of them
with aching heads, Godwin and Wulf sought their uncle, Sir
Andrew, in the solar where he sat alone, for they knew Rosamund
had walked to the church hard by with two of the serving women to
make it ready for the Friday's mass, after the feast of the
peasants that had been held in the nave. Coming to his oaken
chair by the open hearth which had a chimney to it--no common
thing in those days--they knelt before him.

"What is it now, my nephews?" asked the old man, smiling. "Do you
wish that I should knight you afresh?"

"No, sir," answered Godwin; "we seek a greater boon."

"Then you seek in vain, for there is none."

"Another sort of boon," broke in Wulf.

Sir Andrew pulled his beard, and looked at them. Perhaps the
Prior John had spoken a word to him, and he guessed what was
coming.

"Speak," he said to Godwin. "The gift is great that I would not
give to either of you if it be within my power."

"Sir," said Godwin, "we seek the leave to ask your daughter's
hand in marriage."

"What! the two of you?"

"Yes, sir; the two of us."

Then Sir Andrew, who seldom laughed, laughed outright.

"Truly," he said, "of all the strange things I have known, this
is the strangest--that two knights should ask one wife between
them."

"It seems strange, sir; but when you have heard our tale you will
understand."

So he listened while they told him all that had passed between
them and of the solemn oath which they had sworn.

"Noble in this as in other things," commented Sir Andrew when
they had done; "but I fear that one of you may find that vow hard
to keep. By all the saints, nephews, you were right when you said
that you asked a great boon. Do you know, although I have told
you nothing of it, that, not to speak of the knave Lozelle,
already two of the greatest men in this land have sought my
daughter Rosamund in marriage?"

"It may well be so," said Wulf.

"It is so, and now I will tell you why one or other of the pair
is not her husband, which in some ways I would he were. A simple
reason. I asked her, and she had no mind to either, and as her
mother married where her heart was, so I have sworn that the
daughter should do, or not at all--for better a nunnery than a
loveless bridal.

"Now let us see what you have to give. You are of good
blood--that of Uluin by your mother, and mine, also on one side
her own. As squires to your sponsors of yesterday, the knights
Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, you bore
yourselves bravely in the Scottish War; indeed, your liege king
Henry remembered it, and that is why he granted my prayer so
readily. Since then, although you loved the life little, because
I asked it of you, you have rested here at home with me, and done
no feats of arms, save that great one of two months gone which
made you knights, and, in truth, gives you some claim on
Rosamund.

"For the rest, your father being the younger son, your lands are
small, and you have no other gear. Outside the borders of this
shire you are unknown men, with all your deeds to do--for I will
not count those Scottish battles when you were but boys. And she
whom you ask is one of the fairest and noblest and most learned
ladies in this land, for I, who have some skill in such things,
have taught her myself from childhood. Moreover, as I have no
other heir, she will be wealthy. Well, what more have you to
offer for all this?"

"Ourselves," answered Wulf boldly. "We are true knights of whom
you know the best and worst, and we love her. We learned it for
once and for all on Death Creek quay, for till then she was our
sister and no more."

"Ay," added Godwin, "when she swore herself to us and blessed us,
then light broke on both."

"Stand up," said Sir Andrew, "and let me look at you."

So they stood side by side in the full light of the blazing fire,
for little other came through those narrow windows.

"Proper men; proper men," said the old knight; "and as like to one
another as two grains of wheat from the same sample. Six feet
high, each of you, and broad chested, though Wulf is larger made
and the stronger of the two. Brown and waving-haired both, save
for that line of white where the sword hit yours, Godwin--Godwin
with grey eyes that dream and Wulf with the blue eyes that shine
like swords. Ah! your grandsire had eyes like that, Wulf; and I
have been told that when he leapt from the tower to the wall at
the taking of Jerusalem, the Saracens did not love the light
which shone in them--nor, in faith, did I, his son, when he was
angry. Proper men, the pair of you; but Sir Wulf most
warriorlike, and Sir Godwin most courtly."

"Now which do you think would please a woman most?"

"That, sir, depends upon the woman," answered Godwin, and
straightway his eyes began to dream.

"That, sir, we seek to learn before the day is out, if you give
us leave," added Wulf; "though, if you would know, I think my
chance a poor one."

"Ah, well; it is a very pretty riddle. But I do not envy her who
has its answering, for it might well trouble a maid's mind,
neither is it certain when all is done that she will guess best
for her own peace. Would it not be wiser, then, that I should
forbid them to ask this riddle?" he added as though to himself
and fell to thinking while they trembled, seeing that he was
minded to refuse their suit.

At length he looked up again and said: "Nay, let it go as God
wills Who holds the future in His hand. Nephews, because you are
good knights and true, either of whom would ward her well--and
she may need warding--because you are my only brother's sons,
whom I have promised him to care for; and most of all because I
love you both with an equal love, have your wish, and go try your
fortunes at the hands of my daughter Rosamund in the fashion you
have agreed. Godwin, the elder, first, as is his right; then
Wulf. Nay, no thanks; but go swiftly, for I whose hours are short
wish to learn the answer to this riddle."

So they bowed and went, walking side by side. At the door of the
hall, Wulf stopped and said:

"Rosamund is in the church. Seek her there, and--oh! I would that
I could wish you good fortune; but, Godwin, I cannot. I fear me
that this may be the edge of that shadow of woman's love whereof
you spoke, falling cold upon my heart."

"There is no shadow; there is light, now and always, as we have
sworn that it should be," answered Godwin.



Chapter Four: The Letter of Saladin

Twas past three in the afternoon, and snow clouds were fast
covering up the last grey gleam of the December day, as Godwin,
wishing that his road was longer, walked to Steeple church across
the meadow. At the door of it he met the two serving women coming
out with brooms in their hands, and bearing between them a great
basket filled with broken meats and foul rushes. Of them he asked
if the Lady Rosamund were still in the church, to which they
answered, curtseying:

"Yes, Sir Godwin; and she bade us desire of you that you would
come to lead her to the Hall when she had finished making her
prayers before the altar."

"I wonder," mused Godwin, "whether I shall ever lead her from the
altar to the Hall, or whether--I shall bide alone by the altar?"

Still he thought it a good omen that she had bidden him thus,
though some might have read it otherwise.

Godwin entered the church, walking softly on the rushes with
which its nave was strewn, and by the light of the lamp that
burnt there always, saw Rosamund kneeling before a little shrine,
her gracious head bowed upon her hands, praying earnestly. Of
what, he wondered--of what?

Still, she did not hear him; so, coming into the chancel, he
stood behind her and waited patiently. At length, with a deep
sigh, Rosamund rose from her knees and turned, and he noted by
the light of the lamp that there were tear-stains upon her face.
Perhaps she, too, had spoken with the Prior John, who was her
confessor also. Who knows? At the least, when her eyes fell upon
Godwin standing like a statue before her, she started, and there
broke from her lips the words:

"Oh, how swift an answer!" Then, recovering herself, added, "To
my message, I mean, cousin."

"I met the women at the door," he said.

"It is kind of you to come," Rosamund went on; "but, in truth,
since that day on Death Creek I fear to walk a bow-shot's length
alone or in the company of women only. With you I feel safe."

"Or with Wulf?"

"Yes; or with Wulf," she repeated; "that is, when he is not
thinking of wars and adventures far away."

By now they had reached the porch of the church, to find that the
snow was falling fast.

"Let us bide here a minute," he said; "it is but a passing
cloud."

So they stayed there in the gloom, and for a while there was
silence between them. Then he spoke.

"Rosamund, my cousin and lady, I come to put a question to you,
but first--why you will understand afterwards--it is my duty to
ask that you will give me no answer to that question until a full
day has passed."

"Surely, Godwin, that is easy to promise. But what is this
wonderful question which may not be answered?"

"One short and simple. Will you give yourself to me in marriage,
Rosamund?"

She leaned back against the wall of the porch.

"My father--" she began.

"Rosamund, I have his leave."

"How can I answer since you yourself forbid me?"

"Till this time to-morrow only. Meanwhile, I pray you hear me,
Rosamund. I am your cousin, and we were brought up
together--indeed, except when I was away at the Scottish war, we
have never been apart. Therefore, we know each other well, as
well as any can who are not wedded. Therefore, too, you will know
that I have always loved you, first as a brother loves his
sister, and now as a man loves a woman."

"Nay, Godwin, I knew it not; indeed, I thought that, as it used
to be, your heart was other--where."

"Other--where? What lady--?"

"Nay, no lady; but in your dreams."

"Dreams? Dreams of what?"

"I cannot say. Perchance of things that are not here--things
higher than the person of a poor maid."

"Cousin, in part you are right, for it is not only the maid whom
I love, but her spirit also. Oh, in truth, you are to me a
dream--a symbol of all that is noble, high and pure. In you and
through you, Rosamund, I worship the heaven I hope to share with
you."

"A dream? A symbol? Heaven? Are not these glittering garments to
hang about a woman's shape? Why, when the truth came out you
would find her but a skull in a jewelled mask, and learn to
loath her for a deceit that was not her own, but yours. Godwin,
such trappings as your imagination pictures could only fit an
angel's face."

"They fit a face that will become an angel's."

"An angel's? How know you? I am half an Eastern; the blood runs
warm in me at times. I, too, have my thoughts and visions. I
think that I love power and imagery and the delights of life--a
different life from this. Are you sure, Godwin, that this poor
face will be an angel's?"

"I wish I were as sure of other things. At least I'll risk it."

"Think of your soul, Godwin. It might be tarnished. You would not
risk that for me, would you?"

He thought. Then answered:

"No; since your soul is a part of mine, and I would not risk
yours, Rosamund."

"I like you for that answer," she said. "Yes; more than for all
you have said before, because I know that it is true. Indeed, you
are an honourable knight, and I am proud--very proud--that you
should love me, though perhaps it would have been better
otherwise." And ever so little she bent the knee to him.

"Whatever chances, in life or death those words will make me
happy, Rosamund."

Suddenly she caught his arm. "Whatever chances? Ah! what is about
to chance? Great things, I think, for you and Wulf and me.
Remember, I am half an Eastern, and we children of the East can
feel the shadow of the future before it lays its hands upon us
and becomes the present. I fear it, Godwin--I tell you that I
fear it."

"Fear it not, Rosamund. Why should you fear? On God's knees lies
the scroll of our lives, and of His purposes. The words we see
and the words we guess may be terrible, but He who wrote it knows
the end of the scroll, and that it is good. Do not fear,
therefore, but read on with an untroubled heart, taking no
thought for the morrow."

She looked at him wonderingly, and asked,

"Are these the words of a wooer or of a saint in wooer's weeds? I
know not, and do you know yourself? But you say you love me and
that you would wed me, and I believe it; also that the woman whom
Godwin weds will be fortunate, since such men are rare. But I am
forbid to answer till to-morrow. Well, then I will answer as I am
given grace. So till then be what you were of old, and--the snow
has ceased; guide me home, my cousin Godwin."

So home they went through the darkness and the cold, moaning
wind, speaking no word, and entered the wide hall, where a great
fire built in its centre roared upwards towards an opening in the
roof, whence the smoke escaped, looking very pleasant and
cheerful after the winter night without.

There, standing in front of the fire, also pleasant and cheerful
to behold, although his brow seemed somewhat puckered, was Wulf.
At the sight of him Godwin turned back through the great door,
and having, as it were, stood for one moment in the light,
vanished again into the darkness, closing the door behind him.
But Rosamund walked on towards the fire.

"You seem cold, cousin," said Wulf, studying her. "Godwin has
kept you too long to pray with him in church. Well, it is his
custom, from which I myself have suffered. Be seated on this
settle and warm yourself."

She obeyed without a word, and opening her fur cloak, stretched
out her hands towards the flame, which played upon her dark and
lovely face. Wulf looked round him.

The hall was empty. Then he looked at Rosamund.

"I am glad to find this chance of speaking with you alone,
Cousin, since I have a question to ask of you; but I must pray of
you to give me no answer to it until four-and-twenty hours be
passed."

"Agreed," she said. "I have given one such promise; let it serve
for both; now for your question."

"Ah!" replied Wulf cheerfully; "I am glad that Godwin went first,
since it saves me words, at which he is better than I am."

"I do not know that, Wulf; at least, you have more of them,"
answered Rosamund, with a little smile.

"More perhaps, but of a different quality--that is what you mean.
Well, happily here mere words are not in question."

"What, then, are in question, Wulf?"

"Hearts. Your heart and my heart--and, I suppose, Godwin's heart,
if he has one--in that way."

"Why should not Godwin have a heart?"

"Why? Well, you see just now it is my business to belittle
Godwin. Therefore I declare--which you, who know more about it,
can believe or not as it pleases you--that Godwin's heart is like
that of the old saint in the reliquary at Stangate--a thing which
may have beaten once, and will perhaps beat again in heaven, but
now is somewhat dead--to this world."

Rosamund smiled, and thought to herself that this dead heart had
shown signs of life not long ago. But aloud she said:

"If you have no more to say to me of Godwin's heart, I will
begone to read with my father, who waits for me."

"Nay, I have much more to say of my own." Then suddenly Wulf
became very earnest--so earnest that his great frame shook, and
when he strove to speak he could but stammer. At length it all
came forth in a flood of burning words.

"I love you, Rosamund! I love you--all of you, as I have ever
loved you--though I did not know it till the other day--that of
the fight, and ever shall love you--and I seek you for my wife. I
know that I am only a rough soldier-man, full of faults, not holy
and learned like Godwin. Yet I swear that I would be a true
knight to you all my life, and, if the saints give me grace and
strength, do great deeds in your honour and watch you well. Oh!
what more is there to say?"

"Nothing, Wulf," answered Rosamund, lifting her downcast eyes.
"You do not wish that I should answer you, so I will thank
you--yes, from my heart, though, in truth, I am grieved that we
can be no more brother and sister, as we have been this many a
year--and be going."

"Nay, Rosamund, not yet. Although you may not speak, surely you
might give me some little sign, who am in torment, and thus must
stay until this time to-morrow. For instance, you might let me
kiss your hand--the pact said nothing about kissing."

"I know naught of this pact, Wulf," answered Rosamund sternly,
although a smile crept about the corners of her mouth, "but I do
know that I shall not suffer you to touch my hand."

"Then I will kiss your robe," and seizing a corner of her cloak,
he pressed it to his lips.

"You are strong--I am weak, Wulf, and cannot wrench my garment
from you, but I tell you that this play advantages you nothing."

He let the cloak fall.

"Your pardon. I should have remembered that Godwin would never
have presumed so far."

"Godwin," she said, tapping her foot upon the ground, "if he gave
a promise, would keep it in the spirit as well as in the letter."

"I suppose so. See what it is for an erring man to have a saint
for a brother and a rival! Nay, be not angry with me, Rosamund,
who cannot tread the path of saints."

"That I believe, but at least, Wulf, there is no need to mock
those who can."

"I mock him not. I love him as well as--you do." And he watched
her face.

It never changed, for in Rosamund's heart were hid the secret
strength and silence of the East, which can throw a mask
impenetrable over face and features.

"I am glad that you love him, Wulf. See to it that you never
forget your love and duty."

"I will; yes--even if you reject me for him."

"Those are honest words, such as I looked to hear you speak," she
replied in a gentle voice. "And now, dear Wulf, farewell, for I am
weary--"

"To-morrow--" he broke in.

"Ay," she answered in a heavy voice. "To-morrow I must speak,
and--you must listen."

The sun had run his course again, and once more it was near four
o'clock in the afternoon. The brethren stood by the great fire in
the hall looking at each other doubtfully--as, indeed, they had
looked through all the long hours of the night, during which
neither of them had closed an eye.

"It is time," said Wulf, and Godwin nodded.

As he spoke a woman was seen descending from the solar, and they
knew her errand.

"Which?" asked Wulf, but Godwin shook his head.

"Sir Andrew bids me say that he would speak with you both," said
the woman, and went her way.

"By the saints, I believe it's neither!" exclaimed Wulf, with a
little laugh.

"It may be thus," said Godwin, "and perhaps that would be best for
all."

"I don't think so," answered Wulf, as he followed him up the
steps of the solar.

Now they had passed the passage and closed the door, and before
them was Sir Andrew seated in his chair by the fire, but not
alone, for at his side, her hand resting upon his shoulder, stood
Rosamund. They noted that she was clad in her richest robes, and
a bitter thought came into their minds that this might be to show
them how beautiful was the woman whom both of them must lose. As
they advanced they bowed first to her and then to their uncle,
while, lifting her eyes from the ground, she smiled a little in
greeting.

"Speak, Rosamund," said her father. "These knights are in doubt
and pain."

"Now for the coup de grace," muttered Wulf.

"My cousins," began Rosamund in a low, quiet voice, as though she
were saying a lesson, "as to the matter of which you spoke to me
yesterday, I have taken counsel with my father and with my own
heart. You did me great honour, both of you, in asking me to be
the wife of such worthy knights, with whom I have been brought
up and have loved since childhood as a sister loves her brothers.
I will be brief as I may. Alas! I can give to neither of you the
answer which you wish."

"Coup de grace indeed," muttered Wulf, "through hauberk, gambeson,
and shirt, right home to the heart."

But Godwin only turned a trifle paler and said nothing.

Now there was silence for a little space, while from beneath his
bushy eyebrows the old knight watched their faces, on which the
light of the tapers fell.

Then Godwin spoke: "We thank you, Cousin. Come, Wulf, we have our
answer; let us be going."

"Not all of it," broke in Rosamund hastily, and they seemed to
breathe again.

"Listen," she said; "for if it pleases you, I am willing to make a
promise which my father has approved. Come to me this time two
years, and if we all three live, should both of you still wish
for me to wife, that there may be no further space of pain or
waiting, I will name the man whom I shall choose, and marry him
at once."

"And if one of us is dead?" asked Godwin.

"Then," replied Rosamund, "if his name be untarnished, and he has
done no deed that is not knightly, will forthwith wed the other."

"Pardon me--" broke in Wulf.

She held up her hand and stopped him, saying: "You think this a
strange saying, and so, perhaps, it is; but the matter is also
strange, and for me the case is hard. Remember, all my life is at
stake, and I may desire more time wherein to make my choice, that
between two such men no maiden would find easy. We are all of us
still young for marriage, for which, if God guards our lives,
there will be time and to spare. Also in two years I may learn
which of you is in truth the worthier knight, who to-day both
seem so worthy."

"Then is neither of us more to you than the other?" asked Wulf
outright.

Rosamund turned red, and her bosom heaved as she replied:

"I will not answer that question."

"And Wulf should not have asked it," said Godwin. "Brother, I read
Rosamund's saying thus: Between us she finds not much to choose,
or if she does in her secret heart, out of her kindness--since
she is determined not to marry for a while--she will not suffer
us to see it and thereby bring grief on one of us. So she says,
'Go forth, you knights, and do deeds worthy of such a lady, and
perchance he who does the highest deeds shall receive the great
reward.' For my part, I find this judgment wise and just, and I
am content to abide its issue. Nay, I am even glad of it, since
it gives us time and opportunity to show our sweet cousin here,
and all our fellows, the mettle whereof we are made, and strive
to outshine each other in the achievement of great feats which,
as always, we shall attempt side by side."

"Well spoken," said Sir Andrew. "And you, Wulf?"

Then Wulf, feeling that Rosamund was watching his face beneath
the shadow of her long eyelashes, answered:

"Before Heaven, I am content also, for whatever may be said
against it, now at least there will be two years of war in which
one or both of us well may fall, and for that while at least no
woman can come between our brotherhood. Uncle, I crave your leave
to go serve my liege in Normandy."

"And I also," said Godwin.

"In the spring; in the spring," replied Sir Andrew hastily; "when
King Henry moves his power. Meanwhile, bide you here in all good
fellowship, for, who knows--much may happen between now and then,
and perhaps your strong arms will be needed as they were not long
ago. Moreover, I look to all three of you to hear no more of this
talk of love and marriage, which, in truth, disturbs my mind and
house. For good or ill, the matter is now settled for two years
to come, by which time it is likely I shall be in my grave and
beyond all troubling.

"I do not say that things have gone altogether as I could have
wished, but they are as Rosamund wishes, and that is enough for
me. On which of you she looks with the more favour I do not know,
and be you content to remain in ignorance of what a father does
not think it wise to seek to learn. A maid's heart is her own,
and her future lies in the hand of God and His saints, where let
it bide, say I. Now we have done with all this business.
Rosamund, dismiss your knights, and be you all three brothers and
sister once more till this time two years, when those who live
will find an answer to the riddle."

So Rosamund came forward, and without a word gave her right hand
to Godwin and her left to Wulf, and suffered that they should
press their lips upon them. So for a while this was the end of
their asking of her in marriage.

The brethren left the solar side by side as they had come into
it, but changed men in a sense, for now their lives were afire
with a great purpose, which bade them dare and do and win. Yet
they were lighter-hearted than when they entered there, since at
least neither had been scorned, while both had hope, and all the
future, which the young so seldom fear, lay before them.

As they descended the steps their eyes fell upon the figure of a
tall man clad in a pilgrim's cape, hood and low-crowned hat, of
which the front was bent upwards and laced, who carried in his
hand a palmer's staff, and about his waist the scrip and
water-bottle.

"What do you seek, holy palmer?" asked Godwin, coming towards
him. "A night's lodging in my uncle's house?"

The man bowed; then, fixing on him a pair of beadlike brown eyes,
which reminded Godwin of some he had seen, he knew not when or
where, answered in the humble voice affected by his class:

"Even so, most noble knight. Shelter for man and beast, for my
mule is held without. Also--a word with the lord, Sir Andrew
D'Arcy, for whom I have a message."

"A mule?" said Wulf. "I thought that palmers always went afoot?"

"True, Sir Knight; but, as it chances, I have baggage. Nay, not
my own, whose earthly gear is all upon my back--but a chest, that
contains I know not what, which I am charged to deliver to Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, the owner of this hall, or should he be dead, then
to the lady Rosamund, his daughter."

"Charged? By whom?" asked Wulf.

"That, sir," said the palmer, bowing, "I will tell to Sir Andrew,
who, I understand, still lives. Have I your leave to bring in the
chest, and if so, will one of your servants help me, for it is
heavy?"

"We will help you," said Godwin. And they went with him into the
courtyard, where by the scant light of the stars they saw a fine
mule in charge of one of the serving men, and bound upon its back
a long-shaped package sewn over with sacking. This the palmer
unloosed, and taking one end, while Wulf, after bidding the man
stable the mule, took the other, they bore it into the hall,
Godwin going before them to summon his uncle. Presently he came
and the palmer bowed to him.

"What is your name, palmer, and whence is this box?" asked the
old knight, looking at him keenly.

"My name, Sir Andrew, is Nicholas of Salisbury, and as to who
sent me, with your leave I will whisper in your ear." And,
leaning forward, he did so.

Sir Andrew heard and staggered back as though a dart had pierced
him.

"What?" he said. "Are you, a holy palmer, the messenger of--" and
he stopped suddenly.

"I was his prisoner," answered the man, "and he--who at least ever
keeps his word--gave me my life--for I had been condemned to
die--at the price that I brought this to you, and took back your
answer, or hers, which I have sworn to do."

"Answer? To what?"

"Nay, I know nothing save that there is a writing in the chest.
Its purport I am not told, who am but a messenger bound by oath
to do certain things. Open the chest, lord, and meanwhile, if you
have food, I have travelled far and fast."

Sir Andrew went to a door, and called to his men-servants, whom
he bade give meat to the palmer and stay with him while he ate.
Then he told Godwin and Wulf to lift the box and bring it to the
solar, and with it hammer and chisel, in case they should be
needed, which they did, setting it upon the oaken table.

"Open," said Sir Andrew. So they ripped off the canvas, two folds
of it, revealing within a box of dark, foreign looking wood bound
with iron bands, at which they laboured long before they could
break them. At length it was done, and there within was another
box beautifully made of polished ebony, and sealed at the front
and ends with a strange device. This box had a lock of silver, to
which was tied a silver key.

"At least it has not been tampered with," said Wulf, examining
the unbroken seals, but Sir Andrew only repeated:

"Open, and be swift. Here, Godwin, take the key, for my hand
shakes with cold."

The lock turned easily, and the seals being broken, the lid rose
upon its hinges, while, as it did so, a scent of precious odours
filled the place. Beneath, covering the contents of the chest,
was an oblong piece of worked silk, and lying on it a parchment.

Sir Andrew broke the thread and seal, and unrolled the parchment.
Within it was written over in strange characters. Also, there was
a second unsealed roll, written in a clerkly hand in Norman
French, and headed, "Translation of this letter, in case the
knight, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, has forgotten the Arabic tongue, or
that his daughter, the lady Rosamund, has not yet learned the
same."

Sir Andrew glanced at both headings, then said:

"Nay, I have not forgotten Arabic, who, while my lady lived,
spoke little else with her, and who taught it to our daughter.
But the light is bad, and, Godwin, you are scholarly; read me the
French. We can compare them afterwards."

At this moment Rosamund entered the solar from her chamber, and
seeing the three of them so strangely employed, said:

"Is it your will that I go, father?"

"No, daughter. Since you are here, stay here. I think that this
matter concerns you as well as me. Read on, Godwin."

So Godwin read:

"In the Name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate! I,
Salah-ed-din, Yusuf ibn Ayoub, Commander of the Faithful, cause
these words to be written, and seal them with my own hand, to the
Frankish lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, husband of my sister by another
mother, Sitt Zobeide, the beautiful and faithless, on whom Allah
has taken vengeance for her sin. Or if he be dead also, then to
his daughter and hers, my niece, and by blood a princess of Syria
and Egypt, who among the English is named the lady Rose of the
World.

"You, Sir Andrew, will remember how, many years ago, what we were
friends, you, by an evil chance, became acquainted with my sister
Zobeide, while you were a prisoner and sick in my father's house.
How, too, Satan put it into her heart to listen to your words of
love, so that she became a Cross-worshipper, and was married to
you after the Frankish custom, and fled with you to England. You
will remember also, although at the time we could not recapture
her from your vessel, how I sent a messenger to you, saying that
soon or late I would yet tear her from your arms and deal with
her as we deal with faithless women. But within six years of that
time sure news reached me that Allah had taken her, therefore I
mourned for my sister and her fate awhile, and forgot her and
you.

"Know that a certain knight named Lozelle, who dwelt in the part
of England where you have your castle, has told me that Zobeide
left a daughter, who is very beautiful. Now my heart, which loved
her mother, goes out towards this niece whom I have never seen,
for although she is your child and a Cross-worshipper at
least--save in the matter of her mother's theft--you were a brave
and noble knight, of good blood, as, indeed, I remember your
brother was also, he who fell in the fight at Harenc.

"Learn now that, having by the will of Allah come to great estate
here at Damascus and throughout the East, I desire to lift your
daughter up to be a princess of my house. Therefore I invite her
to journey to Damascus, and you with her, if you live. Moreover,
lest you should fear some trap, on behalf of myself, my
successors and councillors, I promise in the Name of God, and by
the word of Salah-ed-din, which never yet was broken, that
although I trust the merciful God may change her heart so that
she enters it of her own will, I will not force her to accept the
Faith or to bind herself in any marriage which she does not
desire. Nor will I take vengeance upon you, Sir Andrew, for what
you have done in the past, or suffer others to do so, but will
rather raise you to great honour and live with you in friendship
as of yore.

"But if my messenger returns and tells me that my niece refuses
this, my loving offer, then I warn her that my arm is long, and I
will surely take her as I can.

"Therefore, within a year of the day that I receive the answer of
the lady, my niece, who is named Rose of the World, my emissaries
will appear wherever she may be, married or single, to lead her
to me, with honour if she be willing, but still to lead her to me
if she be unwilling. Meanwhile, in token of my love, I send
certain gifts of precious things, and with them my patent of her
title as Princess, and Lady of the City of Baalbec, which title,
with its revenue and prerogatives, are registered in the archives
of my empire in favour of her and her lawful heirs, and declared
to be binding upon me and my successors forever.

"The bearer of this letter and of my gifts is a certain
Cross-worshipper named Nicholas, to whom let your answer be
handed for delivery to me. This devoir he is under oath to
perform and will perform it, for he knows that if he fails
therein, then that he must die.

"Signed by Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, at Damascus,
and sealed with his seal, in the spring season of the year of the
Hegira 581.

"Take note also that this writing having been read to me by my
secretary before I set my name and seal thereunto, I perceive
that you, Sir Andrew, or you, Lady Rose of the World, may think
it strange that I should be at such pains and cost over a maid
who is not of my religion and whom I never saw, and may therefore
doubt my honesty in the matter. Know then the true reason. Since
I heard that you, Lady Rose of the World, lived, I have thrice
been visited by a dream sent from God concerning you, and in it I
saw your face.

"Now this was the dream--that the oath I made as regards your
mother is binding as regards you also; further, that in some way
which is not revealed to me, your presence here will withhold me
from the shedding of a sea of blood, and save the whole world
much misery. Therefore it is decreed that you must come and bide
in my house. That these things are so, Allah and His Prophet be
my witnesses."



Chapter Five: The Wine Merchant

Godwin laid down the letter, and all of them stared at one
another in amazement.

"Surely," said Wulf, "this is some fool's trick played off upon
our uncle as an evil jest."

By way of answer Sir Andrew bade him lift the silk that hid the
contents of the coffer and see what lay there. Wulf did so, and
next moment threw back his head like a man whom some sudden light
had blinded, as well he might, for from it came such a flare of
gems as Essex had rarely seen before. Red, green and blue they
sparkled; and among them were the dull glow of gold and the white
sheen of pearls.

"Oh, how beautiful! how beautiful!" said Rosamund.

"Ay," muttered Godwin; "beautiful enough to maze a woman's mind
till she knows not right from wrong."

Wulf said nothing, but one by one drew its treasures from the
chest--coronet, necklace of pearls, breast ornaments of rubies,
girdle of sapphires, jewelled anklets, and with them veil,
sandals, robes and other garments of gold-embroidered purple
silk. Moreover, among these, also sealed with the seals of
Salah-ed-din, his viziers, officers of state, and secretaries,
was that patent of which the letter spoke, setting out the full
titles of the Princess of Baalbec; the extent and boundaries of
her great estates, and the amount of her annual revenue, which
seemed more money than they had ever heard of.

"I was wrong," said Wulf. "Even the Sultan of the East could not
afford a jest so costly."

"Jest?" broke in Sir Andrew; "it is no jest, as I was sure from
the first line of that letter. It breathes the very spirit of
Saladin, though he be a Saracen, the greatest man on all the
earth, as I, who was a friend of his youth, know well. Ay, and he
is right. In a sense I sinned against him as his sister sinned,
our love compelling us. Jest? Nay, no jest, but because a vision
of the night, which he believes the voice of God, or perhaps some
oracle of the magicians has deeply stirred that great soul of his
and led him on to this wild adventure."

He paused awhile, then looked up and said, "Girl, do you know what
Saladin has made of you? Why, there are queens in Europe who
would be glad to own that rank and those estates in the rich
lands above Damascus. I know the city and the castle of which
he speaks. It is a mighty place upon the banks of Litani and
Orontes, and after its military governor--for that rule he would
not give a Christian--you will be first in it, beneath the seal
of Saladin--the surest title in all the earth. Say, will you go
and queen it there?"

Rosamund gazed at the gleaming gems and the writings that made
her royal, and her eyes flashed and her breast heaved, as they
had done by the church of St. Peter on the Essex coast. Thrice
she looked while they watched her, then turned her head as from
the bait of some great temptation and answered one word
only--"Nay."

"Well spoken," said her father, who knew her blood and its
longings. "At least, had the 'nay' been 'yea,' you must have gone
alone. Give me ink and parchment, Godwin."

They were brought, and he wrote:

"To the Sultan Saladin, from Andrew D'Arcy and his daughter
Rosamund.

"We have received your letter, and we answer that where we are
there we will bide in such state as God has given us.
Nevertheless, we thank you, Sultan, since we believe you honest,
and we wish you well, except in your wars against the Cross. As
for your threats, we will do our best to bring them to nothing.
Knowing the customs of the East, we do not send back your gifts
to you, since to do so would be to offer insult to one of the
greatest men in all the world; but if you choose to ask for them,
they are yours--not ours. Of your dream we say that it was but an
empty vision of the night which a wise man should forget.--Your
servant and your niece."

Then he signed, and Rosamund signed after him, and the writing
was done up, wrapped in silk, and sealed.

"Now," said Sir Andrew, "hide away this wealth, since were it
known that we had such treasures in the place, every thief in
England would be our visitor, some of them bearing high names, I
think."

So they laid the gold-embroidered robes and the priceless sets of
gems back in their coffer, and having locked it, hid it away in
the great iron-bound chest that stood in Sir Andrew's sleeping
chamber.

When everything was finished, Sir Andrew said: "Listen now,
Rosamund, and you also, my nephews. I have never told you the
true tale of how the sister of Saladin, who was known as
Zobeide, daughter of Ayoub, and afterwards christened into our
faith by the name of Mary, came to be my wife. Yet you should
learn it, if only to show how evil returns upon a man. After the
great Nur-ed-din took Damascus, Ayoub was made its governor; then
some three-and-twenty years ago came the capture of Harenc, in
which my brother fell. Here I was wounded and taken prisoner.
They bore me to Damascus, where I was lodged in the palace of
Ayoub and kindly treated. Here too it was, while I lay sick, that
I made friends with the young Saladin, and with his sister
Zobeide, whom I met secretly in the gardens of the palace. The
rest may be guessed. Although she numbered but half my years, she
loved me as I loved her, and for my sake offered to change her
faith and fly with me to England if opportunity could be found,
which was hard.

"Now, as it chanced, I had a friend, a dark and secret man named
Jebal, the young sheik of a terrible people, whose cruel rites no
Christian understands. They are the subjects of one Mahomet, in
Persia, and live in castles at Masyaf, on Lebanon. This man had
been in alliance with the Franks, and once in a battle I saved
his life from the Saracens at the risk of my own, whereon he
swore that did I summon him from the ends of the earth he would
come to me if I needed help. Moreover, he gave me his signet-ring
as a token, and, by virtue of it, so he said, power in his
dominions equal to his own, though these I never visited. You
know it," and holding up his hand, Sir Andrew showed them a heavy
gold ring, in which was set a black stone, with red veins running
across the stone in the exact shape of a dagger, and beneath the
dagger words cut in unknown characters.

"So in my plight I bethought me of Jebal, and found means to send
him a letter sealed with his ring. Nor did he forget his promise,
for within twelve days Zobeide and I were galloping for Beirut on
two horses so swift that all the cavalry of Ayoub could not
overtake them. We reached the city, and there were married,
Rosamund. There too your mother was baptised a Christian. Thence,
since it was not safe for us to stay in the East, we took ship
and came safe home, bearing this ring of Jebal with us, for I
would not give it up, as his servants demanded that I should do,
except to him alone. But before that vessel sailed, a man
disguised as a fisherman brought me a message from Ayoub and his
son Saladin, swearing that they would yet recapture Zobeide, the
daughter of one of them and sister of the other.

"That is the story, and you see that their oath has not been
forgotten, though when in after years they learned of my wife's
death, they let the matter lie. But since then Saladin, who in
those days was but a noble youth, has become the greatest sultan
that the East has ever known, and having been told of you,
Rosamund, by that traitor Lozelle, he seeks to take you in your
mother's place, and, daughter, I tell you that I fear him."

"At least we have a year or longer in which to prepare ourselves,
or to hide," said Rosamund. "His palmer must travel back to the
East before my uncle Saladin can have our answer."

"Ay," said Sir Andrew; "perhaps we have a year."

"What of the attack on the quay?" asked Godwin, who had been
thinking. "The knight Lozelle was named there. Yet if Saladin had
to do with it, it seems strange that the blow should have come
before the word."

Sir Andrew brooded a while, then said:

"Bring in this palmer. I will question him."

So the man Nicholas, who was found still eating as though his
hunger would never be satisfied, was brought in by Wulf. He bowed
low before the old knight and Rosamund, studying them the while
with his sharp eyes, and the roof and the floor, and every other
detail of the chamber. For those eyes of his seemed to miss
nothing.

"You have brought me a letter from far away, Sir Palmer, who are
named Nicholas," said Sir Andrew.

"I have brought you a chest from Damascus, Sir Knight, but of its
contents I know nothing. At least you will bear me witness that
it has not been tampered with," answered Nicholas.

"I find it strange," went on the old knight, "that one in your
holy garb should be chosen as the messenger of Saladin, with whom
Christian men have little to do."

"But Saladin has much to do with Christian men, Sir Andrew. Thus
he takes them prisoner even in times of peace, as he did me."

"Did he, then, take the knight Lozelle prisoner?"

"The knight Lozelle?" repeated the palmer. "Was he a big,
red-faced man, with a scar upon his forehead, who always wore a
black cloak over his mail?"

"That might be he."

"Then he was not taken prisoner, but he came to visit the Sultan
at Damascus while I lay in bonds there, for I saw him twice or
thrice, though what his business was I do not know. Afterwards he
left, and at Jaffa I heard that he had sailed for Europe three
months before I did."

Now the brethren looked at each other. So Lozelle was in
England. But Sir Andrew made no comment, only he said: "Tell me
your story, and be careful that you speak the truth."

"Why should I not, who have nothing to hide?" answered Nicholas.
"I was captured by some Arabs as I journeyed to the Jordan upon a
pilgrimage, who, when they found that I had no goods to be
robbed of, would have killed me. This, indeed, they were about to
do, had not some of Saladin's soldiers come by and commanded
them to hold their hands and give me over to them. They did so,
and the soldiers took me to Damascus. There I was imprisoned,
but not close, and then it was that I saw Lozelle, or, at least,
a Christian man who had some such name, and, as he seemed to be
in favour with the Saracens, I begged him to intercede for me.
Afterwards I was brought before the court of Saladin, and having
questioned me, the Sultan himself told me that I must either
worship the false prophet or die, to which you can guess my
answer. So they led me away, as I thought, to death, but none
offered to do me hurt.

"Three days later Saladin sent for me again, and offered to spare
my life if I would swear an oath, which oath was that I should
take a certain package and deliver it to you, or to your daughter
named the Lady Rosamund here at your hall of Steeple, in Essex,
and bring back the answer to Damascus. Not wishing to die, I said
that I would do this, if the Sultan passed his word, which he
never breaks, that I should be set free afterwards."

"And now you are safe in England, do you purpose to return to
Damascus with the answer, and, if so, why?"

"For two reasons, Sir Andrew. First, because I have sworn to do
so, and I do not break my word any more than does Saladin.
Secondly, because I continue to wish to live, and the Sultan
promised me that if I failed in my mission, he would bring about
my death wherever I might be, which I am sure he has the power to
do by magic or otherwise. Well, the rest of the tale is short.
The chest was handed over to me as you see it, and with it money
sufficient for my faring to and fro and something to spare. Then
I was escorted to Joppa, where I took passage on a ship bound to
Italy, where I found another ship named the Holy Mary sailing for
Calais, which we reached after being nearly cast away. Thence I
came to Dover in a fishing boat, landing there eight days ago,
and having bought a mule, joined some travellers to London, and
so on here."

"And how will you return?"

The palmer shrugged his shoulders.

"As best I may, and as quickly. Is your answer ready, Sir
Andrew?"

"Yes; it is here," and he handed him the roll, which Nicholas hid
away in the folds of his great cloak. Then Sir Andrew added, "You
say you know nothing of all the business in which you play this
part?"

"Nothing; or, rather, only this--the officer who escorted me to
Jaffa told me that there was a stir among the learned doctors and
diviners at the court because of a certain dream which the Sultan
had dreamed three times. It had to do with a lady who was half of
the blood of Ayoub and half English, and they said that my
mission was mixed up with this matter. Now I see that the noble
lady before me has eyes strangely like those of the Sultan
Saladin." And he spread out his hands and ceased.

"You seem to see a good deal, friend Nicholas."

"Sir Andrew, a poor palmer who wishes to preserve his throat
unslit must keep his eyes open. Now I have eaten well, and I am
weary. Is there any place where I may sleep? I must be gone at
daybreak, for those who do Saladin's business dare not tarry, and
I have your letter."

"There is a place," answered Sir Andrew. "Wulf, take him to it,
and to-morrow, before he leaves, we will speak again. Till then,
farewell, holy Nicholas."

With one more searching glance the palmer bowed and went. When
the door closed behind him Sir Andrew beckoned Godwin to him, and
whispered:

"To-morrow, Godwin, you must take some men and follow this
Nicholas to see where he goes and what he does, for I tell you I
do not trust him--ay, I fear him much! These embassies to and
from Saracens are strange traffic for a Christian man. Also,
though he says his life hangs on it, I think that were he honest,
once safe in England here he would stop, since the first priest
would absolve him of an oath forced from him by the infidel."

"Were he dishonest would he not have stolen those jewels?" asked
Godwin. "They are worth some risk. What do you think, Rosamund?"

"I?" she answered. "Oh, I think there is more in this than any of
us dream.

"I think," she added in a voice of distress and with an
involuntary wringing motion of the hands, "that for this house and
those who dwell in it time is big with death, and that sharp-eyed
palmer is its midwife. How strange is the destiny that wraps us
all about! And now comes the sword of Saladin to shape it, and
the hand of Saladin to drag me from my peaceful state to a
dignity which I do not seek; and the dreams of Saladin, of whose
kin I am, to interweave my life with the bloody policies of Syria
and the unending war between Cross and Crescent, that are, both
of them, my heritage." Then, with a woeful gesture, Rosamund
turned and left them.

Her father watched her go, and said:

"The maid is right. Great business is afoot in which all of us
must bear our parts. For no little thing would Saladin stir
thus--he who braces himself as I know well, for the last struggle
in which Christ or Mahomet must go down. Rosamund is right. On
her brow shines the crescent diadem of the house of Ayoub, and at
her heart hangs the black cross of the Christian and round her
struggle creeds and nations. What, Wulf, does the man sleep
already?"

"Like a dog, for he seems outworn with travel."

"Like a dog with one eye open, perhaps. I do not wish that he
should give us the slip during the night, as I want more talk
with him and other things, of which I have spoken to Godwin."

"No fear of that, uncle. I have locked the stable door, and a
sainted palmer will scarcely leave us the present of such a
mule."

"Not he, if I know his tribe," answered Sir Andrew. "Now let us
sup and afterwards