Chapter Eight: The Widow Masouda
Many months had gone by since the brethren sat upon their horses
that winter morning, and from the shrine of St.
Peter's-on-the-Wall, at the mouth of the Blackwater in Essex,
watched with anguished hearts the galley of Saladin sailing
southwards; their love and cousin, Rosamund, standing a prisoner
on the deck. Having no ship in which to follow her--and this,
indeed, it would have been too late to do--they thanked those who
had come to aid them, and returned home to Steeple, where they
had matters to arrange. As they went they gathered from this man
and that tidings which made the whole tale clear to them.
They learned, for instance, then and afterwards, that the galley
which had been thought to be a merchantman put into the river
Crouch by design, feigning an injury to her rudder, and that on
Christmas eve she had moved up with the tide, and anchored in the
Blackwater about three miles from its mouth. Thence a great boat,
which she towed behind her, and which was afterwards found
abandoned, had rowed in the dusk, keeping along the further shore
to avoid observation, to the mouth of Steeple Creek, which she
descended at dark, making fast to the Staithe, unseen of any. Her
crew of thirty men or more, guided by the false palmer Nicholas,
next hid themselves in the grove of trees about fifty yards from
the house, where traces of them were found afterwards, waiting
for the signal, and, if that were necessary, ready to attack and
burn the Hall while all men feasted there. But it was not
necessary, since the cunning scheme of the drugged wine, which
only an Eastern could have devised, succeeded. So it happened
that the one man they had to meet in arms was an old knight, of
which doubtless they were glad, as their numbers being few, they
wished to avoid a desperate battle, wherein many must fall, and,
if help came, they might be all destroyed.
When it was over they led Rosamund to the boat, felt their way
down the creek, towing behind them the little skiff which they
had taken from the water-house--Iaden with their dead and
wounded. This, indeed, proved the most perilous part of their
adventures, since it was very dark, and came on to snow; also
twice they grounded upon mud banks. Still guided by Nicholas, who
had studied the river, they reached the galley before dawn, and
with the first light weighed anchor, and very cautiously rowed
out to sea. The rest is known.
Two days later, since there was no time to spare, Sir Andrew was
buried with great pomp at Stangate Abbey, in the same tomb where
lay the heart of his brother, the father of the brethren, who had
fallen in the Eastern wars. After he had been laid to rest amidst
much lamentation and in the presence of a great concourse of
people, for the fame of these strange happenings had travelled
far and wide, his will was opened. Then it was found that with
the exception of certain sums of money left to his nephews, a
legacy to Stangate Abbey, and another to be devoted to masses for
the repose of his soul, with some gifts to his servants and the
poor, all his estate was devised to his daughter Rosamund. The
brethren, or the survivor of them, however, held it in trust on
her behalf, with the charge that they should keep watch and ward
over her, and manage her lands till she took a husband.
These lands, together with their own, the brethren placed in the
hands of Prior John of Stangate, in the presence of witnesses, to
administer for them subject to the provisions of the will, taking
a tithe of the rents and profits for his pains. The priceless
jewels also that had been sent by Saladin were given into his
keeping, and a receipt with a list of the same signed in
duplicate, deposited with a clerk at Southminster. This, indeed,
was necessary, seeing that none save the brethren and the Prior
knew of these jewels, of which, being of so great a value, it was
not safe to speak. Their affairs arranged, having first made
their wills in favour of each other with remainder to their
heirs-at-law, since it was scarcely to be hoped that both of them
would return alive from such a quest, they received the
Communion, and with it his blessing from the hands of the Prior
John. Then early one morning, before any were astir, they rode
quietly away to London.
On the top of Steeple Hill, sending forward the servant who led
the mule laden with their baggage--that same mule which had been
left by the spy Nicholas--the brethren turned their horses' heads
to look in farewell on their home. There to the north of them lay
the Blackwater, and to the west the parish of Mayland, towards
which the laden barges crept along the stream of Steeple Creek.
Below was the wide, flat, plain outlined with trees, and in it,
marked by the plantation where the Saracens had hid, the Hall and
church of Steeple, the home in which they had grown from
childhood to youth, and from youth to man's estate in the company
of the fair, lost Rosamund, who was the love of both, and whom
both went forth to seek. That past was all behind them, and in
front a dark and troublous future, of which they could not read
the mystery nor guess the end.
Would they ever look on Steeple Hall again? Were they who stood
there about to match their strength and courage against all the
might of Saladin, doomed to fail or gloriously to succeed?
Through the darkness that shrouded their forward path shone one
bright star of love--but for which of them did that star shine,
or was it perchance for neither? They knew not. How could they
know aught save that the venture seemed very desperate. Indeed,
the few to whom they had spoken of it thought them mad. Yet they
remembered the last words of Sir Andrew, bidding them keep a high
heart, since he believed that things would yet go well. It seemed
to them, in truth, that they were not quite alone--as though his
brave spirit companioned them on their search, guiding their
feet, with ghostly counsel which they could not hear.
They remembered also their oaths to him, to one another, and to
Rosamund; and in silent token that they would keep them to the
death, pressed each other's hands. Then, turning their horses
southwards, they rode forward with light hearts, not caring what
befell, if only at the last, living or dead, Rosamund and her
father should, in his own words, find no cause to be ashamed of
them.
Through the hot haze of a July morning a dromon, as certain
merchant vessels of that time were called, might have been seen
drifting before a light breeze into St. George's Bay at Beirut,
on the coast of Syria. Cyprus, whence she had sailed last, was
not a hundred miles away, yet she had taken six days to do the
journey, not on account of storms--of which there were none at
this time of year, but through lack of wind to move her. Still,
her captain and the motley crowd of passengers--for the most part
Eastern merchants and their servants, together with a number of
pilgrims of all nations-- thanked God for so prosperous a
voyage--for in those times he who crossed the seas without
shipwreck was very fortunate.
Among these passengers were Godwin and Wulf, travelling, as their
uncle had bidden them, unattended by squires or by servants. Upon
the ship they passed themselves off as brothers named Peter and
John of Lincoln, a town of which they knew something, having
stayed there on their way to the Scottish wars; simple gentlemen
of small estate, making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in
penitence for their sins and for the repose of the souls of their
father and mother. At this tale their fellow-passengers, with
whom they had sailed from Genoa, to which place they travelled
overland, shrugged their shoulders. For these brethren looked
what they were, knights of high degree; and considering their
great stature, long swords, and the coats of mail they always
wore beneath their gambesons, none believed them but plain
gentlefolk bent on a pious errand. Indeed, they nicknamed them
Sir Peter and Sir John, and as such they were known throughout
the voyage.
The brethren were seated together in a little place apart in the
bow of the ship, and engaged, Godwin in reading from an Arabic
translation of the Gospels made by some Egyptian monk, and Wulf
in following it with little ease in the Latin version. Of the
former tongue, indeed, they had acquired much in their youth,
since they learned it from Sir Andrew with Rosamund, although
they could not talk it as she did, who had been taught to lisp it
as an infant by her mother. Knowing, too, that much might hang
upon a knowledge of this tongue, they occupied their long journey
in studying it from such books as they could get; also in
speaking it with a priest, who had spent many years in the East,
and instructed them for a fee, and with certain Syrian merchants
and sailors.
"Shut the book, brother," said Wulf; "there is Lebanon at last,"
and he pointed to the great line of mountains revealing
themselves dimly through their wrappings of mist. "Glad I am to
see them, who have had enough of these crooked scrolls and
learnings."
"Ay," said Godwin, "the Promised Land."
"And the Land of Promise for us," answered his brother. "Well,
thank God that the time has come to act, though how we are to set
about it is more than I can say."
"Doubtless time will show. As our uncle bade, we will seek out
this Sheik Jebal---"
"Hush!" said Wulf, for just then some merchants, and with them a
number of pilgrims, their travel-worn faces full of rapture at
the thought that the terrors of the voyage were done, and that
they were about to set foot upon the ground their Lord had
trodden, crowded forward to the bow to obtain their first view of
it, and there burst into prayers and songs of thanksgiving.
Indeed, one of these men--a trader known as Thomas of
Ipswich--was, they found, standing close to them, and seemed as
though he listened to their talk.
The brethren mingled with them while this same Thomas of Ipswich,
who had visited the place before, or so it seemed, pointed out
the beauties of the city, of the fertile country by which it was
surrounded, and of the distant cedar-clad mountains where, as he
said, Hiram, King of Tyre, had cut the timber for Solomon's
Temple.
"Have you been on them?" asked Wulf.
"Ay, following my business," he answered, "so far." And he showed
them a great snow-capped peak to the north. "Few ever go
further."
"Why not?" asked Godwin.
"Because there begins the territory of the Sheik Al-je-bal"--and
he looked at them meaningly--"whom," he added, "neither Christian
nor Saracen visit without an invitation, which is seldom given."
Again they inquired why not.
"Because," answered the trader, still watching them, "most men
love their lives, and that man is the lord of death and magic.
Strange things are to be seen in his castle, and about it lie
wonderful gardens inhabited by lovely women that are evil
spirits, who bring the souls of men to ruin. Also, this Old Man
of the Mountain is a great murderer, of whom even all the
princes of the East are terrified, for he speaks a word to his
fedais--or servants --who are initiated, and they go forth and
bring to death any whom he hates. Young men, I like you well, and
I say to you, be warned. In this Syria there are many wonders to
be seen; leave those of Masyaf and its fearful lord alone if you
desire to look again upon--the towers of Lincoln.
"Fear not; we will," answered Godwin, "who come to seek holy
places--not haunts of devils."
"Of course we will," added Wulf. "Still, that country must be
worth travelling in."
Then boats came out to greet them from the shore--for at that
time Beirut was in the hands of the Franks--and in the shouting
and confusion which followed they saw no more of this merchant
Thomas. Nor did they seek him out again, since they thought it
unwise to show themselves too curious about the Sheik Al-je-bal.
Indeed, it would have been useless, since that trader was ashore
two full hours before they were suffered to leave the ship, from
which he departed alone in a private boat.
At length they stood in the motley Eastern crowd upon the quay,
wondering where they could find an inn that was quiet and of
cheap charges, since they did not wish to be considered persons
of wealth or importance. As they lingered here, somewhat
bewildered, a tall, veiled woman whom they had noted watching
them, drew near, accompanied by a porter, who led a donkey. This
man, without more ado, seized their baggage, and helped by other
porters began to fasten it upon the back of the donkey with great
rapidity, and when they would have forbidden him, pointed to the
veiled woman.
"Your pardon," said Godwin to her at length and speaking in
French, "but this man--"
"Loads up your baggage to take it to my inn. It is cheap, quiet
and comfortable--things which I heard you say you required just
now, did I not?" she answered in a sweet voice, also speaking in
good French.
Godwin looked at Wulf, and Wulf at Godwin, and they began to
discuss together what they should do. When they had agreed that
it seemed not wise to trust themselves to the care of a strange
woman in this fashion, they looked up to see the donkey laden
with their trunks being led away by the porter.
"Too late to say no, I fear me," said the woman with a laugh, "so
you must be my guests awhile if you would not lose your-baggage.
Come, after so long a journey you need to wash and eat. Follow
me, sirs, I pray you."
Then she walked through the crowd, which, they noted, parted for
her as she went, to a post where a fine mule was tied. Loosing
it, she leaped to the saddle without help, and began to ride
away, looking back from time to time to see that they were
following her, as, indeed, they must.
"Whither go we, I wonder," said Godwin, as they trudged through
the sands of Beirut, with the hot sun striking on their heads.
"Who can tell when a strange woman leads?" replied Wulf, with a
laugh.
At last the woman on the mule turned through a doorway in a wall
of unburnt brick, and they found them selves before the porch of
a white, rambling house which stood in a large garden planted
with mulberries, oranges and other fruit trees that were strange
to them, and was situated on the borders of the city.
Here the woman dismounted and gave the mule to a Nubian who was
waiting. Then, with a quick movement she unveiled herself, and
turned towards them as though to show her beauty. Beautiful she
was, of that there could be no doubt, with her graceful, swaying
shape, her dark and liquid eyes, her rounded features and
strangely impassive countenance. She was young also--perhaps
twenty-five, no more-- and very fair-skinned for an Eastern.
"My poor house is for pilgrims and merchants, not for famous
knights; yet, sirs, I welcome you to it," she said presently,
scanning them out of the corners of her eyes.
"We are but squires in our own country, who make the pilgrimage,"
replied Godwin. "For what sum each day will you give us board and
a good room to sleep in?"
"These strangers," she said in Arabic to the porter, "do not
speak the truth."
"What is that to you?" he answered, as he busied himself in
loosening the baggage. "They will pay their score, and all sorts
of mad folk come to this country, pretending to be what they are
not. Also you sought them--why, I know not--not they you."
"Mad or sane, they are proper men," said the impassive woman, as
though to herself, then added in French, "Sirs, I repeat, this is
but a humble place, scarce fit for knights like you, but if you
will honour it, the charge is--so much."
"We are satisfied," said Godwin, "especially," he added, with a
bow and removing the cap from his head, "as, having brought us
here without leave asked, we are sure that you will treat us who
are strangers kindly."
"As kindly as you wish--I mean as you can pay for," said the
woman. "Nay, I will settle with the porter; he would cheat you."
Then followed a wrangle five minutes long between this curious,
handsome, still-faced woman and the porter who, after the eastern
fashion, lashed himself into a frenzy over the sum she offered,
and at length began to call her by ill names.
She stood looking at him quite unmoved, although Godwin, who
understood all, but pretended to understand nothing, wondered at
her patience. Presently, however, in a perfect foam of passion he
said, or rather spat out: "No wonder, Masouda the Spy, that after
hiring me to do your evil work, you take the part of these
Christian dogs against a true believer, you child of Al-je-bal!"
Instantly the woman seemed to stiffen like a snake about to
strike.
"Who is he?" she said coldly. "Do you mean the lord--who kills?"
And she looked at him--a terrible look.
At that glance all the anger seemed to go out of the man.
"Your pardon, widow Masouda," he said. "I forgot that you are a
Christian, and naturally side with Christians. The money will
not pay for the wear of my ass's hoofs, but give it me, and let
me go to pilgrims who will reward me better."
She gave him the sum, adding in her quiet voice: "Go; and if you
love life, keep better watch over your words."
Then the porter went, and now so humble was his mien that in his
dirty turban and long, tattered robe he looked, Wulf thought,
more like a bundle of rags than a man mounted on the donkey's
back. Also it came into his mind that their strange hostess had
powers not possessed by innkeepers in England. When she had
watched him through the gate, Masouda turned to them and said in
French:
"Forgive me, but here in Beirut these Saracen porters are
extortionate, especially towards us Christians. He was deceived
by your appearance. He thought that you were knights, not simple
pilgrims as you avow yourselves, who happen to be dressed and
armed like knights beneath your gambesons; and," she added,
fixing her eyes upon the line of white hair on Godwin's head
where the sword had struck him in the fray on Death Creek quay,
"show the wounds of knights, though it is true that a man might
come by such in any brawl in a tavern. Well, you are to pay me a
good price, and you shall have my best room while it pleases you
to honour me with your company. Ah! your baggage. You do not wish
to leave it. Slave. come here."
With startling suddenness the Nubian who had led away the mule
appeared, and took up some of the packages. Then she led them
down a passage into a large, sparsely-furnished room with high
windows, in which were two beds laid on the cement floor, and
asked them if it pleased them.
They said: "Yes; it will serve." Reading what passed in their
minds, she added: "Have no fear for your baggage. Were you as
rich as you say you are poor, and as noble as you say you are
humble, both it and you are safe in the inn of the widow Masouda,
O my guests--but how are you named?"
"Peter and John."
"O, my guests, Peter and John, who have come to visit the land of
Peter and John and other holy founders of our faith--"
"And have been so fortunate as to be captured on its shore by the
widow Masouda," answered Godwin, bowing again.
"Wait to speak of the fortune until you have done with her,
Sir--is it Peter, or John?" she replied, with something like a
smile upon her handsome face.
"Peter," answered Godwin. "Remember the pilgrim with the line of
white hair is Peter."
"You need it to distinguish you apart, who, I suppose, are twins.
Let me see--Peter has a line of white hair and grey eyes. John
has blue eyes. John also is the greater warrior, if a pilgrim can
be a warrior-- look at his muscles; but Peter thinks the more. It
would be hard for a woman to choose between Peter and John, who
must both of them be hungry, so I go to prepare their food."
"A strange hostess," said Wulf, laughing, when she had left the
room; "but I like her, though she netted us so finely. I wonder
why? What is more, brother Godwin, she likes you, which is as
well, since she may be useful. But, friend Peter, do not let it
go too far, since, like that porter, I think also that she may be
dangerous. Remember, he called her a spy, and probably she is
one."
Godwin turned to reprove him, when the voice of the widow Masouda
was heard without saying:
"Brothers Peter and John, I forgot to caution you to speak low in
this house, as there is lattice-work over the doors to let in the
air. Do not be afraid. I only heard the voice of John, not what
he said."
"I hope not," muttered Wulf, and this time he spoke very low
indeed.
Then they undid their baggage, and having taken from it clean
garments, washed themselves after their long journey with the
water that had been placed ready for them in great jars. This,
indeed, they needed, for on that crowded dromon there was little
chance of washing. By the time they had clothed themselves
afresh, putting on their shirts of mail beneath their tunics, the
Nubian came and led them to another room, large and lighted with
high-set lattices, where cushions were piled upon the floor round
a rug that also was laid upon the floor. Motioning them to be
seated on the cushions, he went away, to return again presently,
accompanied by Masouda bearing dishes upon brass platters. These
she placed before them, bidding them eat. What that food was they
did not know, because of the sauces with which it had been
covered, until she told them that it was fish.
After the fish came flesh, and after the flesh fowls, and after
the fowls cakes and sweetmeats and fruits, until, ravenous as
they were, who for days had fed upon salted pork and biscuits
full of worms washed down with bad water, they were forced to beg
her to bring no more.
"Drink another cup of wine at least," she said, smiling and
filling their mugs with the sweet vintage of Lebanon--for it
seemed to please her to see them eat so heartily of her fare.
They obeyed, mixing the wine with water. While they drank she
asked them suddenly what were their plans, and how long they
wished to stay in Beirut. They answered that for the next few
days they had none, as they needed to rest, to see the town and
its neighbourhood, and to buy good horses--a matter in which
perhaps she could help them. Masouda nodded again, and asked
whither they wished to ride on horses.
"Out yonder," said Wulf, waving his hand towards the mountains.
"We desire to look upon the cedars of Lebanon and its great hills
before we go on towards Jerusalem."
"Cedars of Lebanon?" she replied. "That is scarcely safe for two
men alone, for in those mountains are many wild beasts and wilder
people who rob and kill. Moreover, the lord of those mountains
has just now a quarrel with the Christians, and would take any
whom he found prisoners."
"How is that lord named?" asked Godwin.
"Sinan," she answered, and they noted that she looked round
quickly as she spoke the word.
"Oh," he said, "we thought the name was Jebal."
Now she stared at him with wide, wondering eyes, and replied:
"He is so called also; but, Sir Pilgrims, what know you of the
dread lord Al-je-bal?"
"Only that he lives at a place called Masyaf, which we wish to
visit."
Again she stared.
"Are you mad?" she queried, then checked herself, and clapped her
hands for the slave to remove the dishes. While this was being
done they said they would like to walk abroad.
"Good," answered Masouda, "the man shall accompany you--nay, it
is best that you do not go alone, as you might lose your way.
Also, the place is not always safe for strangers, however humble
they may seem," she added with meaning. "Would you wish to visit
the governor at the castle, where there are a few English
knights, also some priests who give advice to pilgrims?"
"We think not," answered Godwin;"we are not worthy of such high
company. But, lady, why do you look at us so strangely?"
"I am wondering, Sir Peter and Sir John, why you think it worth
while to tell lies to a poor widow? Say, in your own country did
you ever hear of certain twin brethren named--oh, how are they
named?--Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf, of the house of D'Arcy, which
has been told of in this land?"
Now Godwin's jaw dropped, but Wulf laughed out loud, and seeing
that they were alone in the room, for the slave had departed,
asked in his turn:
"Surely those twins would be pleased to find themselves so
famous. But how did you chance to hear of them, O widowed hostess
of a Syrian inn?"
"I? Oh, from a man on the dromon who called here while I made
ready your food, and told me a strange story that he had learned
in England of a band sent by Salah-ed-din--may his name be
accursed!--to capture a certain Iady. Of how the brethren named
Godwin and Wulf fought all that band also--ay, and held them
off--a very knightly deed he said it was--while the lady escaped;
and of how afterwards they were taken in a snare, as those are
apt to be who deal with the Sultan, and this time the lady was
snatched away."
"A wild tale truly," said Godwin. "But did this man tell you
further whether that lady has chanced to come to Palestine?"
She shook her head.
"Of that he told me nothing, and I have heard nothing. Now
listen, my guests. You think it strange that I should know so
much, but it is not strange, since here in Syria, knowledge is
the business of some of us. Did you then believe, O foolish
children, that two knights like you, who have played a part in a
very great story, whereof already whispers run throughout the
East, could travel by land and sea and not be known? Did you then
think that none were left behind to watch your movements and to
make report of them to that mighty one who sent out the ship of
war, charged with a certain mission? Well, what he knows I know.
Have I not said it is my business to know? Now, why do I tell you
this? Well, perhaps because I like such knights as you are, and I
like that tale of two men who stood side by side upon a pier
while a woman swam the stream behind them, and afterwards, sore
wounded, charged their way through a host of foes. In the East we
love such deeds of chivalry. Perhaps also because I would warn
you not to throw away lives so gallant by attempting to win
through the guarded gates of Damascus upon the maddest of all
quests.
"What, you still stare at me and doubt? Good, I have been telling
you lies. I was not awaiting you upon the quay, and that porter
with whom I seemed to quarrel was not charged to seize your
baggage and bring it to my house. No spies watched your movements
from England to Beirut. Only since you have been at dinner I
visited your room and read some writings which, foolishly, you
and John have left among your baggage, and opened some books in
which other names than Peter and John were written, and drew a
great sword from its scabbard on which was engraved a motto:
'Meet D 'Arcy, meet Death!' and heard Peter call John Wulf, and
John call Peter Godwin, and so forth."
"It seems," said Wulf in English, "that we are flies in a web,
and that the spider is called the widow Masouda, though of what
use we are to her I know not. Now, brother, what is to be done?
Make friends with the spider?"
"An ill ally," answered Godwin. Then looking her straight in the
face he asked, "Hostess, who know so much, tell me why, amongst
other names, did that donkey driver call you 'daughter of
Al-je-bal'?"
She started, and answered:
"So you understand Arabic? I thought it. Why do you ask? What
does it matter to you?"
"Not much, except that, as we are going to visit Al-je-bal, of
course we think ourselves fortunate to have met his daughter."
"Going to visit Al-je-bal? Yes, you hinted as much upon the ship,
did you not? Perhaps that is why I came to meet you. Well, your
throats will be cut before ever you reach the first of his
castles."
"I think not," said Godwin, and, putting his hand into his
breast, he drew thence a ring, with which he began to play
carelessly.
"Whence that ring?" she said, with fear and wonder in her eyes.
"It is--" and she ceased.
"From one to whom it was given and who has charged us with a
message. Now, hostess, let us be plain with one another. You know
a great deal about us, but although it has suited us to call
ourselves the pilgrims Peter and John, in all this there is
nothing of which we need be ashamed, especially as you say that
our secret is no secret, which I can well believe. Now, this
secret being out, I propose that we remove ourselves from your
roof, and go to stay with our own people at the castle, where, I
doubt not, we shall be welcome, telling them that we would bide
no longer with one who is called a spy, whom we have discovered
also to be a 'daughter of Al-je-bal.' After which, perhaps, you
will bide no longer in Beirut, where, as we gather, spies and
the 'daughters of Al-je-bal' are not welcome."
She listened with an impassive face, and answered: "Doubtless you
have heard that one of us who was so named was burned here
recently as a witch?"
"Yes," broke in Wulf, who now learned this fact for the first
time, "we heard that."
"And think to bring a like fate upon me. Why, foolish men, I can
lay you both dead before ever those words pass your lips."
"You think you can," said Godwin, "but for my part I am sure that
this is not fated, and am sure also that you do not wish to harm
us any more than we wish to harm you. To be plain, then, it is
necessary for us to visit Al-je-bal. As chance has brought us
together--if it be chance--will you aid us in this, as I think
you can, or must we seek other help?"
"I do not know. I will tell you after four days. If you are not
satisfied with that, go, denounce me, do your worst, and I will
do mine, for which I should be sorry."
"Where is the security that you will not do it if we are
satisfied?" asked Wulf bluntly.
"You must take the word of a 'daughter of Al-je-bal.' I have none
other to offer," she replied.
"That may mean death," said Wulf.
"You said just now that was not fated, and although I have sought
your company for my own reasons, I have no quarrel with you--as
yet. Choose your own path. Still, I tell you that if you go, who,
chancing to know Arabic, have learned my secret, you die, and
that if you stay you are safe--at least while you are in this
house. I swear it on the token of Al-je-bal," and bending forward
she touched the ring in Godwin's hand, "but remember that for the
future I cannot answer."
Godwin and Wulf looked at each other. Then Godwin replied:
"I think that we will trust you, and stay," words at which she
smiled a little as though she were pleased, then said:
"Now, if you wish to walk abroad, guests Peter and John, I will
summon the slave to guide you, and in four days we will talk
more of this matter of your journey, which, until then, had best
be forgotten."
So the man came, armed with a sword, and led them out, clad in
their pilgrims' robes, through the streets of this Eastern town,
where everything was so strange, that for awhile they forgot
their troubles in studying the new life about them. They noted,
moreover, that though they went into quarters where no Franks
were to be seen, and where fierce-looking servants of the Prophet
stared at them sourly, the presence of this slave of Masouda
seemed to be sufficient to protect them from affront, since on
seeing him even the turbaned Saracens nudged each other and
turned aside. In due course they came to the inn again, having
met no one whom they knew, except two pilgrims who had been their
fellow-passengers on the dromon. These men were astonished when
they said that they had been through the Saracen quarter of the
city, where, although this town was in the hands of the
Christians, it was scarcely thought safe for Franks to venture
without a strong guard.
When the brethren were back in their chamber, seated at the far
end of it, and speaking very low, lest they should be overheard,
they consulted together long and earnestly as to what they should
do. This was clear--they and something of their mission were
known, and doubtless notice of their coming would soon be given
to the Sultan Saladin. From the king and great Christian lords in
Jerusalem they could expect little help, since to give it might
be to bring about an open rupture with Saladin, such as the
Franks dreaded, and for which they were ill prepared. Indeed, if
they went to them, it seemed likely that they would be prevented
from stirring in this dangerous search for a woman who was the
niece of Saladin, and for aught they knew thrown into prison, or
shipped back to Europe. True, they might try to find their way to
Damascus alone, but if the Sultan was warned of their coming,
would he not cause them to be killed upon the road, or cast into
some dungeon where they would languish out their lives? The more
they spoke of these matters the more they were perplexed, till at
length Godwin said:
"Brother, our uncle bade us earnestly to seek out this
Al-je-bal, and though it seems that to do so is very dangerous, I
think that we had best obey him who may have been given foresight
at the last. When all paths are full of thorns what matter which
you tread?"
"A good saying," answered Wulf. "I am weary of doubts and
troublings. Let us follow our uncle's will, and visit this Old
Man of the Mountains, to do which I think the widow Masouda is
the woman to help us. If we die on that journey, well, at least
we shall have done our best."
