Now some of the dais drew near the canopy, and consulted with their master on what seemed to be a great matter, for their faces were troubled.  Presently he gave an order, whereon they resumed their seats and messengers left the terrace.  When they appeared again, in their company were three noble-looking Saracens, who were accompanied by a retinue of servants and wore green turbans, showing that they were descendants of the Prophet.  These men, who seemed weary with long travel, marched up the terrace with a proud mien, not looking at the dais or any one until they saw the brethren standing side by side, at whom they stared a little.  Next they caught sight of Rosamund sitting in the shadow of the canopy, and bowed to her, but of the Al-je-bal they took no notice.

“Who are you, and what is your pleasure?” asked Sinan, after he had eyed them awhile.  “I am the ruler of this country.  These are my ministers,” and he pointed to the dais, “and here is my sceptre,” and he touched the bloodred dagger broidered on his robe of black.

Now that Sinan had declared himself the embassy bowed to him, courteously enough.  Then their spokesman answered him.

“That sceptre we know; it has been seen afar.  Twice already we have cut down its bearers even in the tent of our master.  Lord of Murder, we acknowledge the emblem of murder, and we bow to you whose title is the Great Murderer.  As for our mission, it is this.  We are the ambassadors of Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, Sultan of the East; in these papers signed with his signet are our credentials, if you would read them.”

“So,” answered Sinan, “I have heard of that chief.  What is his will with me?”

“This, Al-je-bal.  A Frank in your pay, and a traitor, has betrayed to you a certain lady, niece of Salah-ed-din, the princess of Baalbec, whose father was a Frankish noble named D’Arcy, and who herself is named Rose of the World.  The Sultan, Salah-ed-din, having been informed of this matter by his servant, the prince Hassan, who escaped from your soldiers, demands that this lady, his niece, be delivered to him forthwith, and with her the head of the Frank Lozelle.”

“The head of the Frank Lozelle he may have if he will after to-morrow night.  The lady I keep,” snarled Sinan.

“What then?”

“Then, Al-je-bal, in the name of Salah-ed-din, we declare war on you—­war till this high place of yours is pulled stone from stone; war till your tribe be dead, till the last man, woman, and child be slain, until your carcass is tossed to the crows to feed on.”

Now Sinan rose in fury and rent at his beard.

“Go back,” he said, “and tell that dog you name a sultan, that low as he is, the humble-born son of Ayoub, I, Al-je-bal, do him an honour that he does not observe.  My queen is dead, and two days from now, when my month of mourning is expired, I shall take to wife his niece, the princess of Baalbec, who sits here beside me, my bride-elect.”