“And I swear the same upon my sword,” added Wulf, laying his hand upon the silver hilt of the great blade which had been his forefather’s. “A security that I like better,” said Hassan with a smile, “but in truth, knights, your word is enough for me.” Then he looked at Masouda and went on, still smiling: “Nay it is useless; for women who have dwelt yonder oaths have no meaning. Lady, we must be content to watch you, since my lord has bidden you to his city, which, fair and brave as you are, to be plain, I would not have done.” Then he turned to speak to the secretaries, and Godwin, who was noting all, saw Masouda’s dark eyes follow him and in them a very strange light. “Good,” they seemed to say; “as you have written, so shall you read.” That same afternoon they started for Damascus, a great army of horsemen. In its midst, guarded by a thousand spears, Rosamund was borne in a litter. In front of her rode Hassan, with his yellow-robed bodyguard; at her side, Masouda; and behind—for, notwithstanding his hurts, Wulf would not be carried—the brethren, mounted upon ambling palfreys. After them, led by slaves, came the chargers, Flame and Smoke, recovered now, but still walking somewhat stiffly, and then rank upon rank of turbaned Saracens. Through the open curtains of her litter Rosamund beckoned to the brethren, who pushed alongside of her. “Look,” she said, pointing with her hand. They looked, and there, bathed in the glory of the sinking sun, saw the mountains crowned far, far away with the impregnable city and fortress of Masyaf, and below it the slopes down which they had ridden for their lives. Nearer to them flashed the river bordered by the town of Emesa. Set at intervals along its walls were spears, looking like filaments against the flaming, sunset sky, and on each of them a black dot, which was the head of an Assassin, while from the turrets above, the golden banner of Saladin fluttered in the evening wind. Remembering all that she had undergone in that fearful home of devil-worshippers, and the fate from which she had been snatched, Rosamund shuddered. “It burns like a city in hell,” she said, staring at Masyaf, environed by that lurid evening light and canopied with black, smoke-like clouds. “Oh! such I think will be its doom.” “I trust so,” answered Wulf fervently. “At least, in this world and the next we have done with it.” “Yes,” added Godwin in his thoughtful voice; “still, out of that evil place we won good, for there we found Rosamund, and there, my brother, you conquered in such a fray as you can never hope to fight again, gaining great glory, and perhaps much more.” Then reining in his horse, Godwin fell back behind the litter, while Wulf wondered, and Rosamund watched him with dreaming eyes.