He would not hear of strategy, staked all on supernatural help.
And nothing came, and nothing came. Our half-bred curs began to yelp
"Good God, if truly God is good!" They kissed the Cross. Gems hid the wood.
Had He forgotten? Was He deaf? Could such things be? Who understood?
Not I, though I had kept my word to save the Lamb by fire and sword.
And after twelve long lustra spent in service this was my reward.
Louis and Conrad struggled through one day with some small retinue.
I watched. Almost I could foretell what they and Providence would do.
And I remember, as we fared, a Sufi—so the sect is named—
Sat by the road as though he cared no jot for us, while he declaimed: