“Horses indeed!” said Wulf. “Horses indeed! But what is the price of them?”
Masouda repeated the question in Arabic, whereon the man replied in the same tongue with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
“Be not foolish. You know this is no question of price, for they are beyond price. Say what you will.”
“He says,” said Masouda, “that it is a hundred gold pieces for the pair. Can you pay as much?”
The brethren looked at each other. The sum was large.
“Such horses have saved men’s lives ere now,” added Masouda, “and I do not think that I can ask him to take less, seeing that, did he but know it, in Jerusalem they could be sold for thrice as much. But if you wish, I could lend you money, since doubtless you have jewels or other articles of value you could give as security—that ring in your breast, for instance, Peter.”
“We have the gold itself,” answered Wulf, who would have paid to his last piece for those horses.
“They buy,” said Masouda.
“They buy, but can they ride?” asked the Arab. “These horses are not for children or pilgrims. Unless they can ride well they shall not have them—no, not even if you ask it of me.”
Godwin said that he thought so—at least, they would try. Then the Arab, leaving the horses standing there, went into the stable, and with the help of two of the inn servants, brought out bridles and saddles unlike any they had seen. They were but thickly-quilted pads stretching far back upon the horses’ loins, with strong hide girths strapped with wool and chased stirrups fashioned like half hoofs. The bits also were only snaffles without curbs.