The Marquess saw nothing of his people at Mont-Ferrand, for (to begin with) they were not there, and (secondly) he was led another way.  By the desolate crag of Masyaf, where a fortress, hung (as it seems) in mid-air, watches the valleys like a little cloud; through fields of snow, by terraces cut in the ice where the sheer rises and drops a thousand feet either way; so to Emesa, a mountain village huddled in perpetual shadows; thence down to Baalbek, and by foaming river-gorges into the sun and sight of the dimpling sea:  thus they led the doomed Italian.  He by this time knew the end was coming, and had braced himself to meet it stolidly.

The towers of Sidon rose chastely white above the violet; they saw the golden sands rimmed with foam; they saw the ships.  Going down a lane, luxuriant with flowers and scented shrubs, where steep cactus hedges shut out the furrowed fields and olive gardens, and the cicalas made hissing music, Giafar ibn Mulk broke the silence of the three men.

‘Is it time?’ he asked of his brother, without turning his head.

‘Not yet,’ Cogia replied.  The Marquess prayed vehemently, but with shut lips.

They reached an open moor, where there were rocks covered with cistus and wild vine.  Here the air was very sweet and pure, the sun pleasant.  The Marquess’s ass grew frisky, pricked up his ears and brayed.  Giafar ibn Mulk edged up close, and put his arm round the Marquess’s neck.

‘The signal is a good one,’ he said.  ‘Strike, Cogia.’

Cogia drove his knife in up to the heft.  The Marquess coughed.  Giafar lifted him from his ass, quite dead.

‘Now,’ says he, ’go thou back, Cogia.  I will stay here.  For so the Old Man plainly desired.’

‘I think with you,’ said Cogia.  ‘Give me the token.’  So they cut off the Marquess’s right hand, and Cogia, after shaking it, put it in his vest.  When he was well upon his way to the mountain road, Giafar sat down on a bank of violets, ate some bread and dates, then went to sleep in the sun.  So afterwards he was found by a picket of soldiers from Sidon, who also found all of their lord but his right hand.  They took Giafar ibn Mulk and burned him alive.

The Old Man of Musse was extremely kind to Jehane, who pleased him so well that he was seldom out of her company.  He thought Fulke a fine little boy, as he could hardly fail to be, owning such parents.  All the liberty that was possible to the favourite of such a great prince she had.  One day, about six weeks after she had first come into the valley, he sent for her.  When she had come in and made her reverence he drew her near to his throne, put his arm round her, and kissed her.  He observed with satisfaction that she was looking very well.

‘My child,’ he said kindly, ’I have news which I am sure will please you.  Very much of the Marquess of Montferrat is by this time lying disintegrate in a vault.’

Jehane’s green eyes faltered for a moment as she gazed into his wise old face.