idels."

The Sultan stroked his beard.

"Ay," he said, "infidels. It is a pity, yet doubtless they
worship God after their own fashion. Noble to look on also, like
their father, whom I remember well, and, if all I hear is true,
brave indeed. Sir Knights, do you understand my language?"

"Sufficiently to speak it, lord," answered Godwin, "who have
learned it since childhood, yet ill enough."

"Good. Then tell me, as soldiers to a soldier, what do you seek
from Salah-ed-din?"

"Our cousin, the lady Rosamund, who, by your command, lord, was
stolen from our home in England."

"Knights, she is your cousin, that I know, as surely as I know
that she is my niece. Tell me now, is she aught more to you?" and
he searched them with those piercing eyes.

Godwin looked at Wulf, who said in English:

"Speak the whole truth, brother. From that man nothing can be
hid."

Then Godwin answered:

"Sire, we love her, and are affianced to her."

The Sultan stared at them in surprise.

"What! Both of you?" he asked.

"Yes, both."

"And does she love you both?"

"Yes," replied Godwin, "both, or so she says."

Saladin stroked his beard and considered them, while Hassan
smiled a little.

"Then, knights," he said presently, "tell me, which of you does
she love best?"

"That, sire, is known to her alone. When the time comes, she will
say, and not before."

"I perceive," said Saladin, "that behind this riddle hides a
story. If it is your good pleasure, be seated, and set it out to
me."

So they sat down on the divan and obeyed, keeping nothing back
from the beginning to the end, nor, although the tale was long,
did the Sultan weary of listening.

"A great story, truly," he said, when at length they had
finished, "and one in which I seem to see the hand of Allah. Sir
Knights, you will think that I have wronged you--ay, and your
uncle, Sir Andrew, who was once my friend, although an older man
than I, and who, by stealing away my sister, laid the foundations
of this house of love and war and woe, and perchance of happiness
unforeseen.

"Now listen. The tale that those two Frankish knaves, the priest
and the false knight Lozelle, told to you was true. As I wrote to
your uncle in my letter, I dreamed a dream. Thrice I dreamed it;
that this niece of mine lived, and that if I could bring her here
to dwell at my side she should save the shedding of much blood by
some noble deed of hers--ay, of the blood of tens of thousands