As he spoke a messenger entered the room and said that the hiding-place of Rosamund had been discovered. She had been admitted a novice into the community of the Virgins of the Holy Cross, who had their house by the arch on the Via Dolorosa.
“Now I like it still less,” Balian went on, “for to touch her would be sacrilege.”
“His Holiness, Heraclius, will give us absolution,” said a mocking voice.
Then another leader rose—he was one of the party who desired peace—and pointed out that this was no time to stand on scruples, for the Sultan would not listen to them in their sore plight unless the lady were delivered to him to be judged for her offence. Perhaps, being his own niece, she would, in fact, suffer no harm at his hands, and whether this were so or not, it was better that one should endure wrong, or even death, than many.
With such words he over-persuaded the most of them, so that in the end they rose and went to the convent of the Holy Cross, where the patriarch demanded admission for them, which, indeed, could not be refused. The stately abbess received them in the refectory, and asked their pleasure.
“Daughter,” said the patriarch, “you have in your keeping a lady named Rosamund D’Arcy, with whom we desire to speak. Where is she?”
“The novice Rosamund,” answered the abbess, “prays by the holy altar in the chapel.”
Now one murmured, “She has taken sanctuary,” but the patriarch said:
“Tell us, daughter, does she pray alone?”
“A knight guards her prayers,” was the answer.