“That is so, my lord Templar. We left before the war was declared.”
“And,” went on the Master, “were you not officers of the Sultan’s bodyguard?”
Now all looked intently at Godwin, who hesitated a little, foreseeing how his answer would be read, whereon Wulf spoke in his loud voice:
“Ay, we acted as such for awhile, and—doubtless you have heard the story—saved Saladin’s life when he was attacked by the Assassins.”
“Oh!” said the Templar with bitter sarcasm, “you saved Saladin’s life, did you? I can well believe it. You, being Christians, who above everything should desire the death of Saladin, saved his life! Now, Sir Knights, answer me one more question—”
“Sir Templar, with my tongue or with my sword?” broke in Wulf, but the king held up his hand and bade him be silent.
“A truce to your tavern ruffling, young sir, and answer,” went on the Templar. “Or, rather, do you answer, Sir Godwin. Is your cousin, Rosamund, the daughter of Sir Andrew D’Arcy, a niece of Saladin, and has she been created by him princess of Baalbec, and is she at this moment in his city of Damascus?”
“She is his niece,” answered Godwin quietly; “she is the princess of Baalbec, but at this moment she is not in Damascus.”
“How do you know that, Sir Godwin?”
“I know it because in the vision of which you have been told I saw her sleeping in a tent in the camp of Saladin.”