Then the queen said: 

“Lady, we ask this sacrifice of you in the name of these and all their fellows,” and she pointed to the women and the children behind her.

“And my life?” mused Rosamund aloud.  “It is all I have.  When I have paid it away I shall be beggared,” and her eyes wandered to where the tall shape of Wulf stood by a pillar of the church.

“Perchance Saladin will be merciful,” hazarded the queen.

“Why should he be merciful,” answered Rosamund, “who has always warned me that if I escaped from him and was recaptured, certainly I must die?  Nay, he will offer me Islam, or death, which means—­death by the rope—­or in some worse fashion.”

“But if you stay here you must die,” pleaded the queen, “or at best fall into the hands of the soldiers.  Oh! lady, your life is but one life, and with it you can buy those of eighty thousand souls.”

“Is that so sure?” asked Rosamund.  “The Sultan has made no promise; he says only that, if I pray it of him, he will consider the question of the sparing of Jerusalem.”

“But—­but,” went on the queen, “he says also that if you do not come he will surely put Jerusalem to the sword, and to Sir Balian he said that if you gave yourself up he thought he might grant terms which we should be glad to take.  Therefore we dare to ask of you to give your life in payment for such a hope.  Think, think what otherwise must be the lot of these”—­and again she pointed to the women and children—­“ay, and your own sisterhood and of all of us.  Whereas, if you die, it will be with much honour, and your name shall be worshipped as a saint and martyr in every church in Christendom.

“Oh! refuse not our prayer, but show that you indeed are great enough to step forward to meet the death which comes to every one of us, and thereby earn the blessings of half the world and make sure your place in heaven, nigh to Him Who also died for men.  Plead with her, my sisters—­plead with her!”

Then the women and the children threw themselves down before her, and with tears and sobbing prayed her that she would give up her life for theirs.  Rosamund looked at them and smiled, then said in a clear voice: 

“What say you, my cousin and betrothed, Sir Wulf D’Arcy?  Come hither, and, as is fitting in this strait, give me your counsel.”

So the grey-eyed, war-worn Wulf strode up the aisle, and, standing by the altar rails, saluted her.

“You have heard,” said Rosamund.  “Your counsel.  Would you have me die?”

“Alas!” he answered in a hoarse voice.  “It is hard to speak.  Yet, they are many—­you are but one.”

Now there was a murmur of applause.  For it was known that this knight loved his lady dearly, and that but the other day he had stood there to defend her to the death against those who would give her up to Saladin.

Now Rosamund laughed out, and the sweet sound of her laughter was strange in that solemn place and hour.