“No, sire, for then he might learn the truth and—”
“Refuse this sacrifice, Sir Godwin, which perchance will be scarcely to his liking.”
“I wish to say good-bye to Masouda, she who is waiting woman to the princess.”
“That you cannot do, for, know, I mistrust this Masouda, and believe that she was at the bottom of your plot. I have dismissed her from the person of the princess and from my camp, which she is to leave—if she has not already left—with some Arabs who are her kin. Had it not been for her services in the land of the Assassins and afterwards, I should have put her to death.”
“Then,” said Godwin with a sigh, “I desire only to see Egbert the bishop, that he may shrive me according to our faith and make note of my last wishes.”
“Good; he shall be sent to you. I accept your statement that you are the guilty man and not Sir Wulf, and take your life for his. Leave me now, who have greater matters on my mind. The guard will seek you at the appointed time.”
Godwin bowed and walked away with a steady step while Saladin, looking after him, muttered:
“The world could ill spare so brave and good a man.”
Two hours later guards summoned Godwin from the place where he was prisoned, and, accompanied by the old bishop who had shriven him, he passed its door with a happy countenance, such as a bridegroom might have worn. In a fashion, indeed, he was happy, whose troubles were done with, who had few sins to mourn, whose faith was the faith of a child, and who laid down his life for his friend and brother. They took him to a vault of the great house where Saladin was lodged—a large, rough place, lit with torches, in which waited the headsman and his assistants. Presently Saladin entered, and, looking at him curiously, said:
“Are you still of the same mind, Sir Godwin?”