Now the pursuers were the pursued, and dreadful was the reckoning that they must pay.  Their horses were outworn and could not fly at speed.  Some of the fedai were cut down upon them.  Some dismounted, and gathering themselves in little groups, fought bravely till they were slain, while a few were taken prisoners.  Of all that great troup of men not a score won back alive to Masyaf to make report to their master of how the chase of his lost bride had ended.

A while later and Wulf from his seat upon the ground saw Godwin riding back towards him, his red sword in his hand.  With him rode a sturdy, bright-eyed man gorgeously apparelled, at the sight of whom Rosamund sprang to her feet; then, as he dismounted, ran forward and with a little cry cast her arms about him.

“Hassan!  Prince Hassan!  Is it indeed you?  Oh, God be praised!” she gasped, then, had not Masouda caught her, would have fallen.

The Emir looked at her, her long hair loose, her face stained, her veil torn, but still clad in the silk and gleaming gems with which she had been decked as the bride-elect of Al-je-bal.  Then low to the earth he bent his knee, while the grave Saracens watched, and taking the hem of her garment, he kissed it.

“Allah be praised indeed!” he said.  “I, His unworthy servant, thank Him from my heart, who never thought to see you living more.  Soldiers, salute.  Before you stands the lady Rose of the World, princess of Baalbec and niece of your lord, Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful.”

Then in stately salutation to this dishevelled, outworn, but still queenly woman, uprose hand, and spear, and scimitar, while Wulf cried from where he lay: 

“Why, it is our merchant of the drugged wine—­none other!  Oh!  Sir Saracen, does not the memory of that chapman’s trick shame you now?”

The emir Hassan heard and grew red, muttering in his beard: 

“Like you, Sir Wulf, I am the slave of Fate, and must obey.  Be not bitter against me till you know all.”

“I am not bitter,” answered Wulf, “but I always pay for my drink, and we will settle that score yet, as I have sworn.”

“Hush!” broke in Rosamund.  “Although he stole me, he is also my deliverer and friend through many a peril, and, had it not been for him, by now—­” and she shuddered.

“I do not know all the story, but, Princess, it seems that you should thank not me, but these goodly cousins of yours and those splendid horses,” and Hassan pointed to Smoke and Flame, which stood by quivering, with hollow flanks and drooping heads.

“There is another whom I must thank also, this noble woman, as you will call her also when you hear the story,” said Rosamund, flinging her arm about the neck of Masouda.