“Fear not,” answered Wulf. “Water shall be our drink, who have had enough of drugged wines,” for he remembered the Christmas feast in the Hall at Steeple.
“You, Sir Godwin,” went on Masouda, “have about your neck a certain ring which you were mad enough to show to me, a stranger—a ring with writing on it which none can read save the great men that in this land are called the daïss. Well, as it chances, the secret is safe with me; but be wise; say nothing of that ring and let no eye see it.”
“Why not?” asked Godwin. “It is the token of our dead uncle to the Al-je-bal.”
She looked round her cautiously and replied:
“Because it is, or was once, the great Signet, and a day may come when it will save your lives. Doubtless when the lord who is dead thought it gone forever he caused another to be fashioned, so like that I who have had both in my hand could not tell the two apart. To him who holds that ring all gates are open; but to let it be known that you have its double means death. Do you understand?”
They nodded, and Masouda continued:
“Lastly—though you may think that this seems much to ask—trust me always, even if I seem to play you false, who for your sakes,” and she sighed, “have broken oaths and spoken words for which the punishment is to die by torment. Nay, thank me not, for I do only what I must who am a slave—a slave.”
“A slave to whom?” asked Godwin, staring at her.
“To the Lord of all the Mountains,” she answered, with a smile that was sweet yet very sad; and without another word spurred on her horse.
“What does she mean,” asked Godwin of Wulf, when she was out of hearing, “seeing that if she speaks truth, for our sakes, in warning us against him, Masouda is breaking her fealty to this lord?”