Close by the side of the young knight sat their deliverer, whose followers mingled with the Englishmen around at one or other of the fires they had kindled.
"A health," said the young knight--"a health to our deliverer. Had he not come so opportunely to our rescue, we were now supping in Paradise.
"What name shall I give to our honoured guest?"
"Men call me the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, but it is too proud a title to be borne by mortal man."
"Art thou he, then, whose fame has filled our ears, of whom minstrels sing, who with a band of stout followers defied the Moslem's rage in these forest fastnesses, before even Peter preached the word of God?"
"Thou hast exaggerated my merits, but be they many, or as I would say few, I am he of whom they speak."
"We are indeed honoured, thrice honoured, to be saved by thee; and these thy followers--of what nation are they?"
"Of all countries which rejoice in the light of the True Faith, but they were Varangians {[xxvii]}, of the household guard of the Emperor of the East, whose service I left, to avenge the injuries of the pilgrim, and to clear him a path through these robber-infested wastes."
"And may I ask the country which is honoured by thy birth, the nation which claims thee as her worthiest son?"
"I have no nation," said the knight; sadly; "for these thirty years I have been an exile from home."