Now, Godwin leading on Flame, they faced the bridge and walked their horses over it.  Nor did these hang back, although they snorted a little at the black gulf on either side.  Next they returned at a trot, then over again, and yet again at a canter and a gallop, sometimes together and sometimes singly.  Lastly, Wulf made Godwin halt in the middle of the bridge and galloped down upon him at speed, till within a lance’s length.  Then suddenly he checked his horse, and while his audience shouted, wheeled it around on its hind legs, its forehoofs beating the air, and galloped back again, followed by Godwin.

“All went well,” Wulf said as they rode to the castle, “and nobler or more gentle horses were never crossed by men.  I have good hopes for to-morrow night.”

“Ay, brother, but I had no sword in my hand.  Be not over confident, for Lozelle is desperate and a skilled fighter, as I know who have stood face to face with him.  More over, his black stallion is well trained, and has more weight than ours.  Also, yonder is a fearsome place on which to ride a course, and one of which none but that devil Sinan would have thought.”

“I shall do my best,” answered Wulf, “and if I fall, why, then, act upon your own counsel.  At least, let him not kill both of us.”

Having stabled their horses the brethren wandered into the garden, and, avoiding the cup-bearing women and the men they plied with their drugged drink, drew by a roundabout road to the tall rock.  Then, finding themselves alone, they unlocked the door, and slipping through it, locked it again on the further side and groped their way to the moonlit mouth of the cave.  Here they stood awhile studying the descent of the gulf as best they could in that light, till suddenly Godwin, feeling a hand upon his shoulder, started round to find himself face to face with Masouda.

“How did you come?” he asked.

“By a road in which is your only hope,” she answered.  “Now, Sir Godwin, waste no words, for my time is short, but if you think that you can trust me—­and this is for you to judge—­give me the Signet which hangs about your neck.  If not, go back to the castle and do your best to save the lady Rosamund and yourselves.”

Thrusting down his hand between his mail shirt and his breast, Godwin drew out the ancient ring, carved with the mysterious signs and veined with the emblem of the dagger, and handed it to Masouda.

“You trust indeed,” she said with a little laugh, as, after scanning it closely by the light of the moon and touching her forehead with it, she hid it in her bosom.

“Yes, lady,” he answered, “I trust you, though why you should risk so much for us I do not know.”

“Why?  Well, perhaps for hate’s sake, for Sinan does not rule by love; perhaps because, being of a wild blood, I am willing to set my life at hazard, who care not if I win or die; perhaps because you saved me from the lioness.  What is it to you, Sir Godwin, why a certain woman-spy of the Assassins, whom in your own land you would spit on, chooses to do this or that?”