“No; I did not pay him.  At the last he would take no money; but, having passed it, neither would he break his word to knights who ride so well and boldly.  So I made a bargain with him on behalf of both of you, which I expect that you will keep, since my good faith is pledged, and this Arab is a chief and my kinsman.  It is this, that if you and these horses should live, and the time comes when you have no more need of them, you will cause it to be cried in the market-place of whatever town is nearest to you, by the voice of the public crier, that for six days they stand to be returned to him who lent them.  Then if he comes not they can be sold, which must not be sold or given away to any one without this proclamation.  Do you consent?”

“Ay,” answered both of them, but Wulf added:  “Only we should like to know why the Arab, Son-of-the-Sand, who is your kinsman, trusts his glorious horses to us in this fashion.”

“Your breakfast is served, my guests,” answered Masouda in tones that rang like the clash of metal, so steely were they.  Whereon Wulf shook his head and followed her into the eating-room, which was now empty again as it had been on the afternoon of their arrival.

Most of that day they spent with their horses.  In the evening, this time unaccompanied by Masouda, they rode out for a little way, though rather doubtfully, since they were not sure that these beasts which seemed to be almost human would not take the bits between their teeth and rush with them back to the desert whence they came.  But although from time to time they looked about them for their master, the Arab, whinnying as they looked, this they did not do, or show vice of any kind; indeed, two Iadies’ palfreys could not have been more quiet.  So the brethren brought them home again, groomed, fed and fondled them, while they pricked their ears, sniffing them all over, as though they knew that these were their new lords and wished to make friends of them.

The morrow was a Sunday, and, attended by Masouda’s slave, without whom she would not suffer them to walk in the town, the brethren went to mass in the big church which once had been a mosque, wearing pilgrim’s robes over their mail.

“Do you not accompany us, who are of the faith?” asked Wulf.

“Nay,” answered Masouda, “I am in no mood to make confession.  This day I count my beads at home.”

So they went alone, and mingling with a crowd of humble persons at the back of the church, which was large and dim, watched the knights and priests of various nations struggling for precedence of place beneath the dome.  Also they heard the bishop of the town preach a sermon from which they learnt much.  He spoke at length of the great coming war with Saladin, whom he named Anti-Christ.  Moreover, he prayed them all to compose their differences and prepare for that awful struggle, lest in the end the Cross of their Master should be trampled under foot of the Saracen, His soldiers slain, His fanes desecrated, and His people slaughtered or driven into the sea—­words of warning that were received in heavy silence.