At the head of the terrace, under an open and beautifully carved pavilion of wood, stood two gigantic soldiers, having the red dagger blazoned on their white robes. Between them was a black cushion, and on the cushion a black heap. At first, staring out of the bright sunlight at this heap in the shadow, the brethren wondered what it might be. Then they caught sight of the glitter of eyes, and knew that the heap was a man who wore a black turban on his head and a black, bell-shaped robe clasped at the breast with a red jewel. The weight of the man had sunk him down deep into the soft cushion, so that there was nothing of him to be seen save the folds of the bell-shaped cloak, the red jewel, and the head. He looked like a coiled-up snake; the dark and glittering eyes also were those of a snake. Of his features, in the deep shade of the canopy and of the wide black turban, they could see nothing. The aspect of this figure was so terrible and inhuman that the brethren trembled at the sight of him. They were men and he was a man, but between that huddled, beady-eyed heap and those two tall Western warriors, clad in their gleaming mail and coloured cloaks, helm on brow, buckler on arm, and long sword at side, the contrast was that of death and life. Chapter XII. The Lord of Death Masouda ran forward and prostrated herself at full length, but Godwin and Wulf stared at the heap, and the heap stared at them. Then, at some motion of his chin, Masouda arose and said: “Strangers, you stand in the presence of the Master, Sinan, Lord of Death. Kneel, and do homage to the Master.” But the brethren stiffened their backs and would not kneel. They lifted their hands to their brows in salute, but no more. Then from between the black turban and the black cloak came a hollow voice, speaking in Arabic, and saying: “Are these the men who brought me the lion’s skin? Well, what seek ye, Franks?” They stood silent. “Dread lord,” said Masouda, “these knights are but now come from England over sea, and do not understand our tongue.” “Set out their story and their request,” said Al-je-bal, “that we may judge of them.” “Dread lord,” answered Masouda, “as I sent you word, they say that they are the kin of a certain knight who in battle saved the life of him who ruled before you, but is now an inhabitant of Paradise.” “I have heard that there was such a knight,” said the voice. “He was named D’Arcy, and he bore the same cognizance on his shield—the sign of a skull.” “Lord, these brethren are also named D’Arcy, and now they come to ask your help against Salah-ed-din.” At that name the heap stirred as a snake stirs when it hears danger, and the head erected itself a little beneath the great turban. “What help, and why?” asked the voice. “Lord, Salah-ed-din has stolen a woman of their house who is his niece, and these knights, her brothers, ask you to aid them to recover her.” The beady eyes instantly became interested.