“You have brought me a letter from far away, Sir Palmer, who are named Nicholas,” said Sir Andrew.

“I have brought you a chest from Damascus, Sir Knight, but of its contents I know nothing.  At least you will bear me witness that it has not been tampered with,” answered Nicholas.

“I find it strange,” went on the old knight, “that one in your holy garb should be chosen as the messenger of Saladin, with whom Christian men have little to do.”

“But Saladin has much to do with Christian men, Sir Andrew.  Thus he takes them prisoner even in times of peace, as he did me.”

“Did he, then, take the knight Lozelle prisoner?”

“The knight Lozelle?” repeated the palmer.  “Was he a big, red-faced man, with a scar upon his forehead, who always wore a black cloak over his mail?”

“That might be he.”

“Then he was not taken prisoner, but he came to visit the Sultan at Damascus while I lay in bonds there, for I saw him twice or thrice, though what his business was I do not know.  Afterwards he left, and at Jaffa I heard that he had sailed for Europe three months before I did.”

Now the brethren looked at each other.  So Lozelle was in England.  But Sir Andrew made no comment, only he said:  “Tell me your story, and be careful that you speak the truth.”

“Why should I not, who have nothing to hide?” answered Nicholas.  “I was captured by some Arabs as I journeyed to the Jordan upon a pilgrimage, who, when they found that I had no goods to be robbed of, would have killed me.  This, indeed, they were about to do, had not some of Saladin’s soldiers come by and commanded them to hold their hands and give me over to them.  They did so, and the soldiers took me to Damascus.  There I was imprisoned, but not close, and then it was that I saw Lozelle, or, at least, a Christian man who had some such name, and, as he seemed to be in favour with the Saracens, I begged him to intercede for me.  Afterwards I was brought before the court of Saladin, and having questioned me, the Sultan himself told me that I must either worship the false prophet or die, to which you can guess my answer.  So they led me away, as I thought, to death, but none offered to do me hurt.

“Three days later Saladin sent for me again, and offered to spare my life if I would swear an oath, which oath was that I should take a certain package and deliver it to you, or to your daughter named the Lady Rosamund here at your hall of Steeple, in Essex, and bring back the answer to Damascus.  Not wishing to die, I said that I would do this, if the Sultan passed his word, which he never breaks, that I should be set free afterwards.”

“And now you are safe in England, do you purpose to return to Damascus with the answer, and, if so, why?”