‘Excellent sir,’ he said, ’I seek the amity of one king to another, alliance in a common good cause, the giving and receiving of benefits, and similar courtesies.’

These propositions were written down on tablets, and carefully scrutinized by the Old Man of Musse, who said at last—­

’Let us take these considerations in order.  Of what kings do you propound the amity?’

‘Of yourself, sir,’ replied the Marquess, ‘and of myself.’

‘I am not a king,’ said Sinan, ’and had not heard that you were one either.’

‘I am King-elect of Jerusalem,’ the Marquess replied with stiffness.  The Old Man raised his wrinkled forehead.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘let us get on.  What is your common good cause?’

‘Eh, eh,’ said the Marquess, brightening, ’it is the cause of righteous punishment.  I strike at your enemy the Soldan through his friend King Richard.’  The Old Man pondered him.

‘Do you strike, Marquess?’ he asked at length.

‘Sir,’ the Marquess made haste to answer, ’your question is just.  It so happens that I cannot strike King Richard because I cannot reach him.  I admit it:  I am quite frank.  But you can strike him, I believe.  In so doing, let me observe, you will deal a mortal blow at Saladin, who loves him, and makes treaties with him to your detriment and the scandal of Christendom.’

‘Do you speak of the scandal of Christendom?’ asked Sinan, twinkling.

‘Alas, I must,’ said the Marquess, very mournful.

‘The cause is near to your heart, I see, Marquess.’

‘It is in it,’ replied the Marquess.  The Old Man considered him afresh; then inquired where the Melek might be found.

The Marquess told him.  ’We believe he is at Ascalon, separate from the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘Giafar ibn Mulk and Cogia Hassan,’ said the Old Man, as if talking in his sleep, ‘come hither.’  The two young men rose from the wall and fell upon their faces before the throne.  Their master spoke to them in the tone of one ordering a meal.

Return with the Marquess to the coast by the way of Emesa and Baalbek; and when you are within sight of Sidon, strike.  One of you will be burned alive.  I think it will be Giafar.  Let the other return speedily with a token.  The audience is finished.’

The Old Man closed his eyes.  At a touch from another the two prostrate Assassins crept up and kissed his foot, then rose, waiting for the Marquess.  He, pale as death, saw, felt, heard nothing.  At another sign a man put his hand on either shoulder.

‘Ha, Jesus-God!’ grunted the Marquess, as the sweat dripped off him.

‘Stop bleating, silly sheep, you will awaken the Master,’ said Giafar in a quick whisper.  They led him away, and the Old Man slept in peace.

* * * * *