“That sound makes my backbone cold,” he said.  “For a moment, as my eyes opened, I thought that we were back again in the guest chambers of Al-je-bal, where folk crept round us as we slept and murderers marched to and fro outside the curtains, fingering their knife-points.  Well, whatever there is to come, thank the Saints, that is done with.  I tell you, brother, I have had enough of mountains, and narrow bridges, and Assassins.  Henceforth, I desire to live upon a flat with never a hill in sight, amidst honest folk as stupid as their own sheep, who go to church on Sundays and get drunk, not with hachich, but on brown ale, brought to them by no white-robed sorceress, but by a draggle-tailed wench in a tavern, with her musty bedstraw still sticking in her hair.  Give me the Saltings of Essex with the east winds blowing over them, and the primroses abloom upon the bank, and the lanes fetlock deep in mud, and for your share you may take all the scented gardens of Sinan and the cups and jewels of his ladies, with the fightings and adventures of the golden East thrown in.”

“I never sought these things, and we are a long way from Essex,” answered Godwin shortly.

“No,” said Wulf, “but they seem to seek you.  What news of Masouda?  Have you seen her while I slept, which has been long?”

“I have seen no one except the apothecary who tended you, the slaves who brought us food, and last evening the prince Hassan, who came to see how we fared.  He told me that, like yourself, Rosamund and Masouda slept.”

“I am glad to hear it,” answered Wulf, “for certainly their rest was earned.  By St. Chad! what a woman is this Masouda!  A heart of fire and nerves of steel!  Beautiful, too—­most beautiful; and the best horsewoman that ever sat a steed.  Had it not been for her—­By Heaven! when I think of it I feel as though I loved her—­don’t you?”

“No,” said Godwin, still more shortly.

“Ah, well, I daresay she can love enough for two who does nothing by halves, and, all things considered,” he added, with one of his great laughs, “I am glad it is I of whom she thinks so little—­yes, I who adore her as though she were my patron saint.  Hark! the guards challenge,” and, forgetting where he was, he snatched at his sword.

Then the door opened, and through it appeared the emir Hassan, who saluted them in the name of Allah, searching them with his quiet eyes.

“Few would judge, to look at you, Sir Knights,” he said with a smile, “that you have been the guests of the Old Man of the Mountain, and left his house so hastily by the back door.  Three days more and you will be as lusty as when we met beyond the seas upon the wharf by a certain creek.  Oh, you are brave men, both of you, though you be infidels, from which error may the Prophet guide you; brave men, the flower of knighthood.  Ay, I, Hassan, who have known many Frankish knights, say it from my heart,” and, placing his hand to his turban, he bowed before them in admiration that was not feigned.