Silence—while the lamps flickered, flickered, and the shadows swung on floor and walls; and still the chief stood facing the twenty, who moved not, nor gave sound. Then at last—after how long! he spoke,—a voice as from the grave.
"There is no word. Let the law be fulfilled. Judgment is pronounced. The cord!" The chief seated himself and there was stillness as before, until a distant bell pealed out, once, twice, thrice, four times,—five! With noiseless step, the tall Harun glided from behind a pillar and plucked Musa's elbow.
"Doom!" Harun held up a silken noose, plaited tight, and pointed to the floor. "Kneel," he commanded softly; "you are Moslem, I grant you this joy, you shall not see your friends die."
Musa turned to the Franks. Their hands were bound, but their eyes could greet.
"Sweet friends," said he, smiling as ever in his gentle, melancholy way, "we must part. But my hope in Allah is strong. We shall meet before His throne!"
"God is with us all!" answered Richard. "He is very pitiful."
But Godfrey did not speak. Longsword knew his thoughts were not of Musa, nor of the tribunal, nor even of the shadow of death; but of the Christian host surprised by Kerbogha, and of the Holy City left in captivity.
"I am ready," said Musa to Harun; and he prepared to kneel.
A tremor, a wind of the spirit, seemed passing over all those chiselled faces. Musa and all others heard music,—a song,—quavering, sighing, throbbing melody, wafted down the long underground galleries from very far away. At first no clear word was borne to them, but the sweetest note Richard in his life had heard. Was the great change come so nigh that one heard God's white host singing? Musa stood fast. Harun was rooted also, the cord hung limp in his hand, all forgotten, save the wondrous song. Now at last the burden came dimly:—