An answer came into the heart of Godwin, at the very thought of which he turned pale and trembled.  His brother was also sworn to Rosamund, and she in her soul must be sworn to one of them.  Was it not to Wulf, Wulf who was handsomer and more strong than he, to Wulf, the conqueror of Lozelle?  Had Rosamund told Masouda this?  Nay, surely not.

Yet women can read each other’s hearts, piercing veils through which no man may see, and perchance Masouda had read the heart of Rosamund.  She stood behind her during the dreadful duel at the gate, and watched her face when Wulf’s death seemed sure; she might have heard words that broke in agony from her lips in those moments of torment.

Oh, without doubt it was so, and Masouda had protected Rosamund because she knew that her love was for Wulf and not for him.  The thought was very bitter, and in its pain Godwin groaned aloud, while a fierce jealousy of the brave and handsome knight who slept at his side, dreaming, doubtless, of the fame that he had won and the reward by which it would be crowned, gripped his vitals like the icy hand of death.  Then Godwin remembered the oath that they two had sworn far away in the Priory at Stangate, and the love passing the love of woman which he bore towards this brother, and the duty of a Christian warrior whereto he was vowed, and hiding his face in his pillow he prayed for strength.

It would seem that it came to him—­at least, when he lifted his head again the jealousy was gone, and only the great grief remained.  Fear remained also—­for what of Masouda?  How should he deal with her?  He was certain that this was no fancy which would pass—­until her life passed with it, and, beautiful as she was, and noble as she was, he did not wish her love.  He could find no answer to these questions, save this—­that things must go on as they were decreed.  For himself, he, Godwin, would strive to do his duty, to keep his hands clean, and await the end, whatever that might be.

Wulf woke up, stretched his arms, exclaimed because that action hurt him, grumbled at the brightness of the light upon his eyes, and said that he was very hungry.  Then he arose, and with the help of Godwin, dressed himself, but not in his armour.  Here, with the yellow-coated soldiers of Saladin, grave-faced and watchful, pacing before their door—­for night and day they were trebly guarded lest Assassins should creep in—­there was no need for mail.  In the fortress of Masyaf, indeed, where they were also guarded, it had been otherwise.  Wulf heard the step of the sentries on the cemented pavement without, and shook his great shoulders as though he shivered.