“In the dread name of Sinan, in the name of the lord Al-je-bal, O servant of Salah-ed-din.”
At these words a groan of fear went up even from the brave Saracens, for now they learned that they had to do with the terrible chief of the Assassins.
“Is there then war between the Sultan and Sinan?” asked Hassan.
“Ay, there is always war. Moreover, you have one with you,” and he pointed to Rosamund, “who is dear to Salah-ed-din, whom, therefore, my master desires as a hostage.”
“How knew you that?” said Hassan, to gain time while his men formed up.
“How does the lord Sinan know all things?” was the answer; “Come, yield, and perhaps he will show you mercy.”
“Through spies,” hissed Hassan, “such spies as Nicholas, who has come from Cyprus before us, and that Frankish dog who is called a knight,” and he pointed to Lozelle. “Nay, we yield not, and here, Assassins, you have to do not with poisons and the knife, but with bare swords and brave men. Ay, and I warn you—and your lord—that Salah-ed-din will take vengeance for this deed.”
“Let him try it if he wishes to die, who hitherto has been spared,” answered the tall man quietly. Then he said to his followers, “Cut them down, all save the women”—for the Frenchwoman, Marie, was now clinging to the arm of Rosamund—“and emir Hassan, whom I am commanded to bring living to Masyaf.”
“Back to your cabin, lady,” said Hassan, “and remember that whate’er befalls, we have done our best to save you. Ay, and tell it to my lord, that my honour may be clean in his eyes. Now, soldiers of Salah-ed-din, fight and die as he has taught you how. The gates of Paradise stand open, and no coward will enter there.”
They answered with a fierce, guttural cry. Then, as Rosamund fled to the cabin, the fray began, a hideous fray. On came the Assassins with sword and dagger, striving to storm the deck. Again and again they were beaten back, till the waist seemed full of their corpses, as man by man they fell beneath the curved scimitars, and again and again they charged these men who, when their master ordered, knew neither fear nor pity. But more boatloads came from the shore, and the Saracens were but few, worn also with storm and sickness, so at last Rosamund, peeping beneath her hand, saw that the poop was gained.