So, seated there on the grass in the darkness, he told them of their mad ride and of the slaying of the guards, while Rosamund raised her hands and thanked Heaven for its mercies, and that they were without those accursed walls.

“You may be within them again before sunset,” said Masouda grimly.

“Yes,” answered Wulf, “but not alive.  Now what plan have you?  To ride for the coast towns?”

“No,” replied Masouda; “at least not straight, since to do so we must pass through the country of the Assassins, who by this day’s light will be warned to watch for us.  We must ride through the desert mountain lands to Emesa, many miles away, and cross the Orontes there, then down into Baalbec, and so back to Beirut.”

“Emesa?” said Godwin.  “Why Saladin holds that place, and of Baalbec the lady Rosamund is princess.”

“Which is best?” asked Masouda shortly.  “That she should fall into the hands of Salah-ed-din, or back into those of the master of the Assassins?  Choose which you wish.”

“I choose Salah-ed-din,” broke in Rosamund, “for at least he is my uncle, and will do me no wrong.”  Nor, knowing the case, did the others gainsay her.

Now at length the summer day began to break, and while it was still too dark to travel, Godwin and Rosamund let the horses graze, holding them by their bridles.  Masouda, also, taking off the hauberk of Wulf, doctored his bruises as best she could with the crushed leaves of a bush that grew by the stream, having first washed them with water, and though the time was short, eased him much.  Then, so soon as the dawn was grey, having drunk their fill and, as they had nothing else, eaten some watercress that grew in the stream, they tightened their saddle girths and started.  Scarcely had they gone a hundred yards when, from the gulf beneath, that was hidden in grey mists, they heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and men’s voices.

“Push on,” said Masouda, “Al-je-bal is on our tracks.”

Upwards they climbed through the gathering light, skirting the edge of dreadful precipices which in the gloom it would have been impossible to pass, till at length they reached a great table land, that ran to the foot of some mountains a dozen miles or more away.  Among those mountains soared two peaks, set close together.  To these Masouda pointed, saying that their road ran between them, and that beyond lay the valley of the Orontes.  While she spoke, far behind them they heard the sound of men shouting, although they could see nothing because of the dense mist.

“Push on,” said Masouda; “there is no time to spare,” and they went forward, but only at a hand gallop, for the ground was still rough and the light uncertain.

When they had covered some six miles of the distance between them and the mountain pass, the sun rose suddenly and sucked up the mist.  This was what they saw.  Before them lay a flat, sandy plain; behind, the stony ground that they had traversed, and riding over it, two miles from them, some twenty men of the Assassins.