Then Rosamund sheathed the dagger that all this while she had held in her hand, and, lifting the letter from the floor, touched her brow with it in signal of obedience, saying in Arabic to the envoys: “I am the slave of Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful. I am the small dust beneath his feet. Take notice, Emirs, that in presence of all here gathered, of my own free will I, Rosamund D’Arcy, aforetime princess and sovereign lady of Baalbec, determine to accompany you to the Sultan’s camp, there to make prayer for the sparing of the lives of the citizens of Jerusalem, and afterwards to suffer the punishment of death in payment of my flight, according to my royal uncle’s high decree. One request I make only, if he be pleased to grant it—that my body be brought back to Jerusalem for burial before this altar, where of my own act I lay down my life. Emirs, I am ready.” Now the envoys bowed before her in grave admiration, and the air grew thick with blessings. As Rosamund stepped down from the altar the queen threw her arms about her neck and kissed her, while lords and knights, women and children, pressed their lips upon her hands, upon the hem of her white robe, and even on her feet, calling her “Saint” and “Deliverer.” “Alas!” she answered, waving them back. “As yet I am neither of these things, though the latter of them I hope to be. Come; let us be going.” “Ay,” echoed Wulf, stepping to her side, “let us be going.” Rosamund started at the words, and all there stared. “Listen, Queen, Emirs, and People,” he went on. “I am this lady’s kinsman and her betrothed knight, sworn to serve her to the end. If she be guilty of a crime against the Sultan, I am more guilty, and on me also shall fall his vengeance. Let us be going.” “Wulf, Wulf,” she said, “it shall not be. One life is asked—not both.” “Yet, lady, both shall be given that the measure of atonement may run over, and Saladin moved to mercy. Nay, forbid me not. I have lived for you, and for you I die. Yes, if they hold me by force, still I die, if need be, on my own sword. When I counselled you just now, I counselled myself also. Surely you never dreamed that I would suffer you to go alone, when by sharing it I could make your doom easier.” “Oh, Wulf!” she cried. “You will but make it harder.” “No, no; faced hand in hand, death loses half its terrors. Moreover, Saladin is my friend, and I also would plead with him for the people of Jerusalem.” Then he whispered in her ear, “Sweet Rosamund, deny me not, lest you should drive me to madness and self-murder, who will have no more of earth without you.” Now, her eyes full of tears and shining with love, Rosamund murmured back: “You are too strong for me. Let it befall as God wills.” Nor did the others attempt to stay him any more.