“We will help you,” said Godwin. And they went with him into the courtyard, where by the scant light of the stars they saw a fine mule in charge of one of the serving men, and bound upon its back a long-shaped package sewn over with sacking. This the palmer unloosed, and taking one end, while Wulf, after bidding the man stable the mule, took the other, they bore it into the hall, Godwin going before them to summon his uncle. Presently he came and the palmer bowed to him. “What is your name, palmer, and whence is this box?” asked the old knight, looking at him keenly. “My name, Sir Andrew, is Nicholas of Salisbury, and as to who sent me, with your leave I will whisper in your ear.” And, leaning forward, he did so. Sir Andrew heard and staggered back as though a dart had pierced him. “What?” he said. “Are you, a holy palmer, the messenger of—” and he stopped suddenly. “I was his prisoner,” answered the man, “and he—who at least ever keeps his word—gave me my life—for I had been condemned to die—at the price that I brought this to you, and took back your answer, or hers, which I have sworn to do.” “Answer? To what?” “Nay, I know nothing save that there is a writing in the chest. Its purport I am not told, who am but a messenger bound by oath to do certain things. Open the chest, lord, and meanwhile, if you have food, I have travelled far and fast.” Sir Andrew went to a door, and called to his men-servants, whom he bade give meat to the palmer and stay with him while he ate. Then he told Godwin and Wulf to lift the box and bring it to the solar, and with it hammer and chisel, in case they should be needed, which they did, setting it upon the oaken table. “Open,” said Sir Andrew. So they ripped off the canvas, two folds of it, revealing within a box of dark, foreign looking wood bound with iron bands, at which they laboured long before they could break them. At length it was done, and there within was another box beautifully made of polished ebony, and sealed at the front and ends with a strange device. This box had a lock of silver, to which was tied a silver key. “At least it has not been tampered with,” said Wulf, examining the unbroken seals, but Sir Andrew only repeated: “Open, and be swift. Here, Godwin, take the key, for my hand shakes with cold.” The lock turned easily, and the seals being broken, the lid rose upon its hinges, while, as it did so, a scent of precious odours filled the place. Beneath, covering the contents of the chest, was an oblong piece of worked silk, and lying on it a parchment. Sir Andrew broke the thread and seal, and unrolled the parchment. Within it was written over in strange characters. Also, there was a second unsealed roll, written in a clerkly hand in Norman French, and headed, “Translation of this letter, in case the knight, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, has forgotten the Arabic tongue, or that his daughter, the lady Rosamund, has not yet learned the same.” Sir Andrew glanced at both headings, then said: