“Oh!” said the Templar with bitter sarcasm, “you saved Saladin’s life, did you? I can well believe it. You, being Christians, who above everything should desire the death of Saladin, saved his life! Now, Sir Knights, answer me one more question—” “Sir Templar, with my tongue or with my sword?” broke in Wulf, but the king held up his hand and bade him be silent. “A truce to your tavern ruffling, young sir, and answer,” went on the Templar. “Or, rather, do you answer, Sir Godwin. Is your cousin, Rosamund, the daughter of Sir Andrew D’Arcy, a niece of Saladin, and has she been created by him princess of Baalbec, and is she at this moment in his city of Damascus?” “She is his niece,” answered Godwin quietly; “she is the princess of Baalbec, but at this moment she is not in Damascus.” “How do you know that, Sir Godwin?” “I know it because in the vision of which you have been told I saw her sleeping in a tent in the camp of Saladin.” Now the council began to laugh, but Godwin, with a set, white face, went on: “Ay, my lord Templar, and near that very blazoned tent I saw scores of the Templars and of the Hospitallers lying dead. Remember it when the dreadful hour comes and you see them also.” Now the laughter died away, and a murmur of fear ran round the board, mixed with such words as “Wizardry.” “He has learnt it from the Paynims.” “A black sorcerer, without doubt.” Only the Templar, who feared neither man nor spirit, laughed, and gave him the lie with his eyes. “You do not believe me,” said Godwin, “nor will you believe me when I say that while I was on guard on yonder hill-top I saw you wrangling with the Count of Tripoli—ay, and draw your sword and dash it down in front of him upon this very table.” Now again the council stared and muttered, for they too had seen this thing; but the Master answered: “He may have learnt it otherwise than from an angel. Folk have been in and out of this tent. My lord king, have we more time to waste upon these visions of a knight of whom all we know for certain is, that like his brother, he has been in the service of Saladin, which they left, he says, in order to fight against him in this war. It may be so; it is not for us to judge; though were the times different I would inform against Sir Godwin D’Arcy as a sorcerer, and one who has been in traitorous communication with our common foe.” “And I would thrust the lie down your throat with my sword’s point!” shouted Wulf. But Godwin only shrugged: his shoulders and said nothing, and the Master went on, taking no heed. “King, we await your word, and it must be spoken soon, for in four hours it will be dawn. Do we march against Saladin like bold, Christian men, or do we bide here like cowards?” Then Count Raymond of Tripoli rose, and said: