Then she went, still smiling.  For this was the trouble of it:  Rosamund, their cousin and their love, had in truth become the princess of Baalbec—­for them.  She lived in great state and freedom, as Saladin had promised that she should live in his letter to Sir Andrew D’Arcy.  No insult or violence were offered to her faith; no suitor was thrust upon her.  But she was in a land where women do not consort with men, especially if they be high-placed.  As a princess of the empire of Saladin, she must obey its rules, even to veiling herself when she went abroad, and exchanging no private words with men.  Godwin and Wulf prayed Saladin that they might be allowed to speak with her from time to time, but he only answered shortly: 

“Sir Knights, our customs are our customs.  Moreover, the less you see of the princess of Baalbec the better I think it will be for her, for you, whose blood I do not wish to have upon my hands, and for myself, who await the fulfilment of that dream which the angel brought.”

Then the brethren left his presence sore at heart, for although they saw her from time to time at feasts and festivals, Rosamund was as far apart from them as though she sat in Steeple Hall—­ay, and further.  Also they came to see that of rescuing her from Damascus there was no hope at all.  She dwelt in her own palace, whereof the walls were guarded night and day by a company of the Sultan’s Mameluks, who knew that they were answerable for her with their lives.  Within its walls, again, lived trusted eunuchs, under the command of a cunning fellow named Mesrour, and her retinue of women, all of them spies and watchful.  How could two men hope to snatch her from the heart of such a host and to spirit her out of Damascus and through its encircling armies?

One comfort, however, was left to them.  When she reached the court Rosamund had prayed of the Sultan that Masouda should not be separated from her, and this because of the part she had played in his niece’s rescue from the power of Sinan, he had granted, though doubtfully.  Moreover, Masouda, being a person of no account except for her beauty, and a heretic, was allowed to go where she would and to speak with whom she wished.  So, as she wished to speak often with Godwin, they did not lack for tidings of Rosamund.

From her they learned that in a fashion the princess was happy enough—­who would not be that had just escaped from Al-je-bal?—­yet weary of the strange Eastern life, of the restraints upon her, and of her aimless days; vexed also that she might not mix with the brethren.  Day by day she sent them her greetings, and with them warnings to attempt nothing—­not even to see her—­since there was no hope that they would succeed.  So much afraid of them was the Sultan, Rosamund said, that both she and they were watched day and night, and of any folly their lives would pay the price.  When they heard all this the brethren began to despair, and their spirits sank so low that they cared not what should happen to them.