There were white-robed Arabs of the desert, mounted on their grumbling camels; caravans of merchandise from Egypt or elsewhere; asses laden with firewood or the grey, prickly growth of the wild thyme for the bakers' ovens; water-sellers with their goatskin bags and chinking brazen cups; vendors of birds or sweetmeats; women going to the bath in closed and curtained litters, escorted by the eunuchs of their households; great lords riding on their Arab horses and preceded by their runners, who thrust the crowd asunder and beat the poor with rods; beggars, halt, maimed, and blind, beseeching alms; lepers, from whom all shrank away, who wailed their woes aloud; stately companies of soldiers, some mounted and some afoot; holy men, who gave blessings and received alms; and so forth, without number and without end.
Godwin and Wulf, seated in the shade of the painted house, watched them gloomily.They were weary of this ever-changing sameness, weary of the eternal glare and glitter of this unfamiliar life, weary of the insistent cries of the mullahs on the minarets, of the flash of the swords that would soon be red with the blood of their own people; weary, too, of the hopeless task to which they were sworn.Rosamund was one of this multitude; she was the princess of Baalbec, half an Eastern by her blood, and growing more Eastern day by day--or so they thought in their bitterness.As well might two Saracens hope to snatch the queen of England from her palace at Westminster, as they to drag the princess of Baalbec out of the power of a monarch more absolute than any king of England.
So they sat silent since they had nothing to say, and stared now at the passing crowd, and now at the thin stream of water falling continually into the marble basin.
Presently they heard voices at the gate, and, looking up, saw a woman wrapped in a long cloak, talking with the guard, who with a laugh thrust out his arm, as though to place it round her.Then a knife flashed, and the soldier stepped back, still laughing, and opened the wicket.The woman came in.It was Masouda.They rose and bowed to her, but she passed before them into the house.
Thither they followed, while the soldier at the gate laughed again, and at the sound of his mockery Godwin's cheek grew red.
Even in the cool, darkened room she noticed it, and said, bitterly enough:
"What does it matter? Such insults are my daily bread whom they believe--" and she stopped.
"They had best say nothing of what they believe to me," muttered Godwin.
"I thank you," Masouda answered, with a sweet, swift smile, and, throwing off her cloak, stood before them unveiled, clad in the white robes that befitted her tall and graceful form so well, and were blazoned on the breast with the cognizance of Baalbec."Well for you," she went on, "that they hold me to be what I am not, since otherwise I should win no entry to this house.""What of our lady Rosamund?" broke in Wulf awkwardly, for, like Godwin, he was pained.
Masouda laid her hand upon her breast as though to still its heaving, then answered:
"The princess of Baalbec, my mistress, is well and as ever, beautiful, though somewhat weary of the pomp in which she finds no joy.She sent her greetings, but did not say to which of you they should be delivered, so, pilgrims, you must share them.
Godwin winced, but Wulf asked if there were any hope of seeing her, to which Masouda answered:
"None," adding, in a low voice, "I come upon another business.Do you brethren wish to do Salah-ed-din a service?""I don't know.What is it?" asked Godwin gloomily.
"Only to save his life--for which he may be grateful, or may not, according to his mood.""Speak on," said Godwin, "and tell us how we two Franks can save the life of the Sultan of the East.""Do you still remember Sinan and his fedais? Yes--they are not easily forgotten, are they? Well, to-night he has plotted to murder Salah-ed-din, and afterwards to murder you if he can, and to carry away your lady Rosamund if he can, or, failing that, to murder her also.Oh! the tale is true enough.I have it from one of them under the Signet--surely that Signet has served us well--who believes, poor fool, that I am in the plot.Now, you are the officers of the bodyguard who watch in the ante-chamber to-night, are you not? Well, when the guard is changed at midnight, the eight men who should replace them at the doors of the room of Salah-ed-din will not arrive; they will be decoyed away by a false order.In their stead will come eight murderers, disguised in the robes and arms of Mameluks.They look to deceive and cut you down, kill Salah-ed-din, and escape by the further door.Can you hold your own awhile against eight men, think you?""We have done so before and will try," answered Wulf."But how shall we know that they are not Mameluks?""Thus--they will wish to pass the door, and you will say, 'Nay, sons of Sinan,' whereon they will spring on you to kill you.Then be ready and shout aloud.""And if they overcome us," asked Godwin, "then the Sultan would be slain?""Nay, for you must lock the door of the chamber of Salah-ed-din and hide away the key.The sound of the fighting will arouse the outer guard ere hurt can come to him.Or," she added, after thinking awhile, "perhaps it will be best to reveal the plot to the Sultan at once.""No, no," answered Wulf; "let us take the chance.I weary of doing nothing here.Hassan guards the outer gate.He will come swiftly at the sound of blows.""Good," said Masouda; "I will see that he is there and awake.Now farewell, and pray that we may meet again.I say nothing of this story to the princess Rosamund until it is done with." Then throwing her cloak about her shoulders, she turned and went.
"Is that true, think you?" asked Wulf of Godwin.
"We have never found Masouda to be a liar," was his answer.
