For a moment they clung together, then emirs took Wulf to the right and Rosamund to the left, and she went with a pale face and high head to meet her executioner, wondering if she would see Godwin ere she died.  They led her to a chamber where women waited but no swordsman that she could see, and shut the door upon her.

“Perchance I am to be strangled by these women,” thought Rosamund, as they came towards her, “so that the blood royal may not be shed.”

Yet it was not so, for with gentle hands, but in silence, they unrobed her, and washed her with scented waters and braided her hair, twisting it up with pearls and gems.  Then they clad her in fine linen, and put over it gorgeous, broidered garments, and a royal mantle of purple, and her own jewels which she had worn in bygone days, and with them others still more splendid, and threw about her head a gauzy veil worked with golden stars.  It was just such a veil as Wulf’s gift which she had worn on the night when Hassan dragged her from her home at Steeple.  She noted it and smiled at the sad omen, then said: 

“Ladies, why should I mock my doom with these bright garments?”

“It is the Sultan’s will,” they answered; “nor shall you rest to-night less happily because of them.”

Now all was ready, and the door opened and she stepped through it, a radiant thing, glittering in the lamplight.  Then trumpets blew and a herald cried:  “Way!  Way there!  Way for the high sovereign lady and princess of Baalbec!”

Thus followed by the train of honourable women who attended her, Rosamund glided forward to the courtyard, and once more bent the knee to Saladin, then stood still, lost in wonder.

Again the trumpets blew, and on the right a herald cried, “Way!  Way there!  Way for the brave and noble Frankish knight, Sir Wulf D’Arcy!”

Lo! attended by emirs and notables, Wulf came forth, clad in splendid armour inlaid with gold, wearing on his shoulder a mantel set with gems and on his breast the gleaming Star of the Luck of Hassan.  To Rosamund he strode and stood by her, his hands resting on the hilt of his long sword.

“Princess,” said Saladin, “I give you back your rank and titles, because you have shown a noble heart; and you, Sir Wulf, I honour also as best I may, but to my decree I hold.  Let them go together to the drinking of the cup of their destiny as to a bridal bed.”

Again the trumpets blew and the heralds called, and they led them to the doors of the chapel, which at their knocking were thrown wide.  From within came the sound of women’s voices singing, but it was no sad song they sang.

“The sisters of the Order are still there,” said Rosamund to Wulf, “and would cheer us on our road to heaven.”

“Perchance,” he answered.  “I know not.  I am amazed.”

At the door the company of Moslems left them, but they crowded round the entrance as though to watch what passed.  Now down the long aisle walked a single whiterobed figure.  It was the abbess.