“This Star is well named ‘The Luck,’” he said, as bending down he took it from the floor and fastened it to his cloak above his heart, “nor do I hold it dearly earned.” Then he turned to his brother, who stood by him white and still, saying:
“Forgive me, Godwin, but such is the fortune of love and war. Grudge it not to me, for when I am sped tonight this Luck—and all that hangs to it—will be yours.”
So that strange scene ended.
The afternoon drew towards evening, and Godwin stood before Saladin in his private chamber.
“What seek you now?” said the Sultan sternly.
“A boon,” answered Godwin. “My brother is doomed to die before nightfall. I ask to die instead of him.”
“Why, Sir Godwin?”
“For two reasons, sire. As you learned to-day, at length the riddle is answered. It is Wulf who is beloved of the lady Rosamund, and therefore to kill him would be a crime. Further, it is I and not he whom the eunuch heard bargaining with the captain Abdullah in the tent—I swear it. Take your vengeance upon me, and let him go to fulfil his fate.”
Saladin pulled at his beard, then answered:
“If this is to be so, time is short, Sir Godwin. What farewells have you to make? You say that you would speak with my niece Rosamund? Nay, the princess you shall not see, and indeed cannot, for she lies swooning in her chamber. Do you desire to meet your brother for the last time?”