“They rest,” Godwin said, then he shouted, “Mount! mount! The foe is close.”
So they climbed to their saddles again, and, all four of them together began to descend the long slope that stretched to the plain two leagues beneath. Far off across this plain ran a broad silver streak, beyond which from that height they could see the walls of a city.
“The Orontes!” cried Masouda. “Cross that, and we are safe.” But Godwin looked first at his horse, then at Masouda, and shook his head.
Well might he do so, for, stout-hearted as they were, the beasts were much distressed that had galloped so far without drawing rein. Down the steep road they plunged, panting; indeed at times it was hard to keep them on their feet.
“They will reach the plain—no more,” said Godwin, and Masouda nodded.
The descent was almost done, and not a mile behind them the white-robed Assassins streamed endlessly. Godwin plied his spurs and Masouda her whip, although with little hope, for they knew that the end was near. Down the last declivity they rushed, till suddenly, as they reached its foot, Masouda’s horse reeled, stopped, and sank to the ground, while Godwin’s pulled up beside it.
“Ride on!” he cried to Rosamund and Wulf in front; but they would not. He stormed at them, but they replied: “Nay, we will die together.”
Masouda looked at the horses Flame and Smoke, which seemed but little troubled.
“So be it,” she said; “they have carried double before, and must again. Mount in front of the lady, Sir Godwin; and, Sir Wulf, give me your hand, and you will learn what this breed can do.”
So they mounted. Forward started Flame and Smoke with a long, swinging gallop, while from the Assassins above, who thought that they held them, went up a shout of rage and wonder.