“Nay,” he answered; “you have eaten of my salt, and to kill you would be murder.  Get you to the tent of the princess of Baalbec yonder, for there you will see nothing of the death of these Franks, your fellow-worshippers.”

So the brethren turned, and led by a Mameluk, fled aghast for the first time in their lives, past the long lines of Templars and Hospitallers, who in the last red light of the dying day knelt upon the sand and prayed, while the emirs came up to kill them.

They entered the tent, none forbidding them, and at the end of it saw two women crouched together on some cushions, who rose, clinging to each other.  Then the women saw also and sprang forward with a cry of joy, saying: 

“So you live—­you live!”

“Ay, Rosamund,” answered Godwin, “to see this shame—­would God that we did not—­whilst others die.  They murder the knights of the holy Orders.  To your knees and pray for their passing souls.”

So they knelt down and prayed till the tumult died away, and they knew that all was done.

“Oh, my cousins,” said Rosamund, as she staggered to her feet at length, “what a hell of wickedness and bloodshed is this in which we dwell!  Save me from it if you love me—­I beseech you save me!”

“We will do our best,” they answered; “but let us talk no more of these things which are the decree of God—­lest we should go mad.  Tell us your story.”

But Rosamund had little to tell, except that she had been well treated, and always kept by the person of the Sultan, marching to and fro with his army, for he awaited the fulfilment of his dream concerning her.  Then they told her all that had chanced to them; also of the vision of Godwin and its dreadful accomplishment, and of the death of Hassan beneath the sword of Wulf.  At that story Rosamund wept and shrank from him a little, for though it was this prince who had stolen her from her home, she loved Hassan.  Yet when Wulf said humbly: 

“The fault is not mine; it was so fated.  Would that I had died instead of this Saracen!”

Rosamund answered:  “No, no; I am proud that you should have conquered.”

But Wulf shook his head, and said: 

“I am not proud.  Although weary with that awful battle, I was still the younger and stronger man, though at first he well-nigh mastered me by his skill and quickness.  At least we parted friends.  Look, he gave me this,” and he showed her the great emerald badge which the dying prince had given him.

Masouda, who all this while had sat very quiet, came forward and looked at it.

“Do you know,” she asked, “that this jewel is very famous, not only for its value, but because it is said to have belonged to one of the children of the prophet, and to bring good fortune to its owner?”

Wulf smiled.

“It brought little to poor Hassan but now, when my grandsire’s sword shore the Damascus steel as though it were wet clay.”