“Yes,” answered the abbess, “it is hard, as we nuns know well.  But, daughter, that sore choice has not yet been thrust upon you.  When Saladin says that he sets you against the lives of all this cityful, then you must judge.”

“Ay,” repeated Rosamund, “then I—­must judge.”

The siege went on; from terror to terror it went on.  The mangonels hurled their stones unceasingly, the arrows flew in clouds so that none could stand upon the walls.  Thousands of the cavalry of Saladin hovered round St. Stephen’s Gate, while the engines poured fire and bolts upon the doomed town, and the Saracen miners worked their way beneath the barbican and the wall.  The soldiers within could not sally because of the multitude of the watching horsemen; they could not show themselves, since he who did so was at once destroyed by a thousand darts, and they could not build up the breaches of the crumbling wall.  As day was added to day, the despair grew ever deeper.  In every street might be met long processions of monks bearing crosses and chanting penitential psalms and prayers, while in the house-doors women wailed to Christ for mercy, and held to their breasts the children which must so soon be given to death, or torn from them to deck some Mussulman harem.

The commander Balian called the knights together in council, and showed them that Jerusalem was doomed.

“Then,” said one of the leaders, “let us sally out and die fighting in the midst of foes.”

“Ay,” added Heraclius, “and leave our children and our women to death and dishonour.  Then that surrender is better, since there is no hope of succour.”

“Nay,” answered Balian, “we will not surrender.  While God lives, there is hope.”

“He lived on the day of Hattin, and suffered it,” said Heraclius; and the council broke up, having decided nothing.

That afternoon Balian stood once more before Saladin and implored him to spare the city.

Saladin led him to the door of the tent and pointed to his yellow banners floating here and there upon the wall, and to one that at this moment rose upon the breach itself.

“Why should I spare what I have already conquered, and what I have sworn to destroy?” he asked.  “When I offered you mercy you would have none of it.  Why do you ask it now?”

Then Balian answered him in those words that will ring through history forever.

“For this reason, Sultan.  Before God, if die we must, we will first slaughter our women and our little children, leaving you neither male nor female to enslave.  We will burn the city and its wealth; we will grind the holy Rock to powder and make of the mosque el-Aksa, and the other sacred places, a heap of ruins.  We will cut the throats of the five thousand followers of the Prophet who are in our power, and then, every man of us who can bear arms, we will sally out into the midst of you and fight on till we fall.  So I think Jerusalem shall cost you dear.”