“Lady, you are harsh and misjudge me, as I will show,” and he looked about him cautiously.  “Within a week from now, if all goes well, we cast anchor at Limazol in Cyprus, to take in food and water before we run to a secret port near Antioch, whence you are to be taken overland to Damascus, avoiding all cities of the Franks.  Now, the Emperor Isaac of Cyprus is my friend, and over him Saladin has no power.  Once in his court, you would be safe until such time as you found opportunity to return to England.  This, then, is my plan—­that you should escape from the ship at night as I can arrange.”

“And what is your payment,” she asked, “who are a merchant knight?”

“My payment, lady, is—­yourself.  In Cyprus we will be wed—­oh! think before you answer.  At Damascus many dangers await you; with me you will find safety and a Christian husband who loves you well—­so well that for your sake he is willing to lose his ship and, what is more, to break faith with Saladin, whose arm is long.”

“Have done,” she said coldly.  “Sooner will I trust myself to an honest Saracen than to you, Sir Hugh, whose spurs, if you met your desert, should be hacked from your heels by scullions.  Yes, sooner would I take death for my lord than you, who for your own base ends devised the plot that brought my father to his murder and me to slavery.  Have done, I say, and never dare again to speak of love to me,” and rising, she walked past him to her cabin.

But Lozelle looking after her muttered to himself, “Nay, fair lady, I have but begun; nor will I forget your bitter words, for which you shall pay the merchant knight in kisses.”

From her cabin Rosamund sent a message to Hassan, saying that she would speak with him.

He came, still pale with illness, and asked her will, whereon she told him what had passed between Lozelle and herself, demanding his protection against this man.

Hassan’s eyes flashed.

“Yonder he stands,” he said, “alone.  Will you come with me and speak to him?”

She bowed her head, and giving her his hand, he led her to the poop.

“Sir captain,” he began, addressing Lozelle, “the Princess here tells me a strange story—­that you have dared to offer your love to her, by Allah! to her, a niece of Salah-ed-din.”

“What of it, Sir Saracen?” answered Lozelle, insolently.  “Is not a Christian knight fit mate for the blood of an Eastern chief?  Had I offered her less than marriage, you might have spoken.”

“You!” answered Hassan, with rage in his low voice, “you, huckstering thief and renegade, who swear by Mahomet in Damascus and by your prophet Jesus in England—­ay, deny it not, I have heard you, as I have heard that rogue, Nicholas, your servant.  You, her fit mate?  Why, were it not that you must guide this ship, and that my master bade me not to quarrel with you till your task was done, I would behead you now and cut from your throat the tongue that dared to speak such words,” and as he spoke he gripped the handle of his scimitar.