“For the love of Christ, give me to drink,” he said, recognizing them as the knights at whom he had mocked as water-carriers.

They gave him of the little they had left, and while they and their horses drank the rest themselves, saw him rush down the hill refreshed, shaking his red sword.  Then came a pause, and they heard the voice of the bishop of Nazareth, who had clung to them all this while, saying, as though to himself: 

“And here it was that the Saviour preached the Sermon on the Mount.  Yes, He preached the words of peace upon this very spot.  Oh! it cannot be that He will desert us—­it cannot be.”

While the Saracens held off, the soldiers began to put up the king’s pavilion, and with it other tents, around the rock on which stood the Cross.

“Do they mean to camp here?” asked Wulf bitterly.

“Peace,” answered Godwin; “they hope to make a wall about the Rood.  But it is of no avail, for this is the place of my dream.”

Wulf shrugged his shoulders.  “At least, let us die well,” he said.

Then the last attack began.  Up the hillside rose dense volumes of smoke, and with the smoke came the Saracens.  Thrice they were driven back; thrice they came on.  At the fourth onset few of the Franks could fight more, for thirst had conquered them on this waterless hill of Hattin.  They lay down upon the dry grass with gaping jaws and protruding tongues, and let themselves be slain or taken prisoners.  A great company of Saracen horsemen broke through the ring and rushed at the scarlet tent.  It rocked to and fro, then down it fell in a red heap, entangling the king in its folds.

At the foot of the Cross, Rufinus, the bishop of Acre, still fought on bravely.  Suddenly an arrow struck him in the throat, and throwing his arms wide, he fell to earth.  Then the Saracens hurled themselves upon the Rood, tore it from its place, and with mockery and spittings bore it down the hill towards their camp, as ants may be seen carrying a little stick into their nest, while all who were left alive of the Christian army stared upwards, as though they awaited some miracle from Heaven.  But no angels appeared in the brazen sky, and knowing that God had deserted them, they groaned aloud in their shame and wretchedness.

“Come,” said Godwin to Wulf in a strange, quiet voice.  “We have seen enough.  It is time to die.  Look! yonder below us are the Mameluks, our old regiment, and amongst them Saladin, for I see his banner.  Having had water, we and our horses are still fresh and strong.  Now, let us make an end of which they will tell in Essex yonder.  Charge for the flag of Saladin!”

Wulf nodded, and side by side they sped down the hill.  Scimitars flashed at them, arrows struck upon their mail and the shields blazoned with the Death’s-head D’Arcy crest.  Through it all they went unscathed, and while the army of the Saracens stared, at the foot of the Horn of Hattin turned their horses’ heads straight for the royal standard of Saladin.  On they struggled, felling or riding down a foe at every stride.  On, still on, although Flame and Smoke bled from a score of wounds.