"Must one have a white skin to love Our Lord? No man could come before me with such a lie. Your memory fails you. The Cæsar had a great household. Besides, this Hossein has just revealed all the plots of Kilidge Arslan, and my husband says he is to be trusted." The word of Richard Longsword was not to be contradicted before his wife, as Sylvana knew well; so she held her peace. Only Theroulde arranged with Herbert that one of them should always watch their lady's tent along with the suspected Hossein.
But the Arab's revelations proved true to the letter. On the next day, while Raymond of Toulouse with the rear of the Provençals was making his way to camp, three huge bands of Seljouk cavalry swooped down on them and on the forces of Duke Godfrey. Then followed a battle of the true knightly sort, the Turks trying what they became too wise to attempt again,—to ride down the Franks in fair onset, with sheer weight of numbers. Long and fierce the struggle; every Christian chief proved a paladin. Generalship there was not; every baron and his knights fought his own little battle with the hordesmen confronting. Then in the end the surviving Seljouks were driven from the field like smoke; the heads of their fallen comrades slung into Nicæa by the engines, forewarning of what awaited the garrison. There were masses for the Christian dead, the first martyrs; Te Deums for the victory. Richard Longsword, men cried, had slain as many infidels as Duke Godfrey's self. When he stood in his bloody hauberk before Mary that night, she cast her arms about him and kissed him, saying: "O sweet lord, how beautiful you must be in battle! How God must rejoice in your holy service!"
"Dear life," answered Longsword, pressing her to his mailed breast, "it is when I think of the pure saint on earth who is praying for me that my arm grows strong."
"Then it must be very strong, Richard," said she, with half a laugh, half a sob, "for I love you more than words may tell; and my prayers are many and all for you."
So they were glad that evening,—at least all who had not lost a friend. But when Mary had gone to rest, Herbert talked gravely with Richard.
"Little lord," said he, affectionately, "put no trust in this Hossein. The saints are on his tongue, yet he stumbled when Sebastian tried to make him say the Creed, even in his own Arabic; and Theroulde swears that to-night when he thought none watched, he knelt toward Mecca in Moslem fashion, as if to pray, and muttered the incantations of their Al-Koran."
Richard laughed. "Theroulde smells danger at all times; and Sebastian thinks, to speak Arabic is to squint toward perdition. Hossein has revealed a secret which has given the infidels the mightiest stroke that was theirs since Charlemagne marched to Spain. And yet you accuse him of being one of them? Have shame for your suspicions on a persecuted fellow-Christian! Treat him as a brother, and pray that your own souls be in no greater peril than his."
"Nevertheless—" began Herbert.
"I hear no more," replied his master, abruptly; "I must go to rest. A cursed story told by Count Renard's jongleur runs in my head;—how Robert the Norman and his father, King William, once fought hand to hand, helmets closed, and Robert nigh killed his father ere they knew one another. St. Michael, what if Musa and I should meet thus! But I must sleep."
Herbert grumbled long to himself, and Theroulde and he renewed their vow never to leave Hossein a moment alone to work his own devices.