So the imaum lost both his eye and his vengeance.

Thus it had come about that the bishop Egbert was ordered to nurse him, and, if possible to save his life; and when at last they marched upon Jerusalem, soldiers were told off to bear his litter, and a good tent was set apart to cover him.  Now the siege of the holy city had begun, and there was much slaughter on both sides.

“Will it fall?” asked Godwin.

“I fear so, unless the saints help them,” answered Egbert.  “Alas!  I fear so.”

“Will not Saladin be merciful?” he asked again.

“Why should he be merciful, my son, since they have refused his terms and defied him?  Nay, he has sworn that as Godfrey took the place nigh upon a hundred years ago and slaughtered the Mussulmen who dwelt there by thousands, men, women, and children together, so will he do to the Christians.  Oh! why should he spare them?  They must die!  They must die!” and wringing his hands Egbert left the tent.

Godwin lay still, wondering what the answer to this riddle might be.  He could think of one, and one only.  In Jerusalem was Rosamund, the Sultan’s niece, whom he must desire to recapture, above all things, not only because she was of his blood, but since he feared that if he did not do so his vision concerning her would come to nothing.

Now what was this vision?  That through Rosamund much slaughter should be spared.  Well, if Jerusalem were saved, would not tens of thousands of Moslem and Christian lives be saved also?  Oh! surely here was the answer, and some angel had put it into his heart, and now he prayed for strength to plant it in the heart of Saladin, for strength and opportunity.

This very day Godwin found the opportunity.  As he lay dozing in his tent that evening, being still too weak to rise, a shadow fell upon him, and opening his eyes he saw the Sultan himself standing alone by his bedside.  Now he strove to rise to salute him, but in a kind voice Saladin bade him lie still, and seating himself, began to talk.

“Sir Godwin,” he said, “I am come to ask your pardon.  When I sent you to visit that dead woman, who had suffered justly for her crime, I did an act unworthy of a king.  But my heart was bitter against her and you, and the imaum, he whom you smote, put into my mind the trick that cost him his eye and almost cost a worn-out and sorrowful man his life.  I have spoken.”

“I thank you, sire, who were always noble,” answered Godwin.

“You say so.  Yet I have done things to you and yours that you can scarcely hold as noble,” said Saladin.  “I stole your cousin from her home, as her mother had been stolen from mine, paying back ill with ill, which is against the law, and in his own hall my servants slew her father and your uncle, who was once my friend.  Well, these things I did because a fate drove me on—­the fate of a dream, the fate of a dream.  Say, Sir Godwin, is that story which they tell in the camps true, that a vision came to you before the battle of Hattin, and that you warned the leaders of the Franks not to advance against me?”