“We will do our best,” they answered; “but let us talk no more of these things which are the decree of God—lest we should go mad. Tell us your story.”
But Rosamund had little to tell, except that she had been well treated, and always kept by the person of the Sultan, marching to and fro with his army, for he awaited the fulfilment of his dream concerning her. Then they told her all that had chanced to them; also of the vision of Godwin and its dreadful accomplishment, and of the death of Hassan beneath the sword of Wulf. At that story Rosamund wept and shrank from him a little, for though it was this prince who had stolen her from her home, she loved Hassan. Yet when Wulf said humbly:
“The fault is not mine; it was so fated. Would that I had died instead of this Saracen!”
Rosamund answered: “No, no; I am proud that you should have conquered.”
But Wulf shook his head, and said:
“I am not proud. Although weary with that awful battle, I was still the younger and stronger man, though at first he well-nigh mastered me by his skill and quickness. At least we parted friends. Look, he gave me this,” and he showed her the great emerald badge which the dying prince had given him.
Masouda, who all this while had sat very quiet, came forward and looked at it.
“Do you know,” she asked, “that this jewel is very famous, not only for its value, but because it is said to have belonged to one of the children of the prophet, and to bring good fortune to its owner?”
Wulf smiled.
“It brought little to poor Hassan but now, when my grandsire’s sword shore the Damascus steel as though it were wet clay.”