“Open,” said Sir Andrew. So they ripped off the canvas, two folds of it, revealing within a box of dark, foreign looking wood bound with iron bands, at which they laboured long before they could break them. At length it was done, and there within was another box beautifully made of polished ebony, and sealed at the front and ends with a strange device. This box had a lock of silver, to which was tied a silver key.
“At least it has not been tampered with,” said Wulf, examining the unbroken seals, but Sir Andrew only repeated:
“Open, and be swift. Here, Godwin, take the key, for my hand shakes with cold.”
The lock turned easily, and the seals being broken, the lid rose upon its hinges, while, as it did so, a scent of precious odours filled the place. Beneath, covering the contents of the chest, was an oblong piece of worked silk, and lying on it a parchment.
Sir Andrew broke the thread and seal, and unrolled the parchment. Within it was written over in strange characters. Also, there was a second unsealed roll, written in a clerkly hand in Norman French, and headed, “Translation of this letter, in case the knight, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, has forgotten the Arabic tongue, or that his daughter, the lady Rosamund, has not yet learned the same.”
Sir Andrew glanced at both headings, then said:
“Nay, I have not forgotten Arabic, who, while my lady lived, spoke little else with her, and who taught it to our daughter. But the light is bad, and, Godwin, you are scholarly; read me the French. We can compare them afterwards.”
At this moment Rosamund entered the solar from her chamber, and seeing the three of them so strangely employed, said:
“Is it your will that I go, father?”
“No, daughter. Since you are here, stay here. I think that this matter concerns you as well as me. Read on, Godwin.”