So they mounted.  Forward started Flame and Smoke with a long, swinging gallop, while from the Assassins above, who thought that they held them, went up a shout of rage and wonder.

“Their horses are also tired, and we may beat them yet,” called the dauntless Masouda.  But Godwin and Wulf looked sadly at the ten miles of plain between them and the river bank.

On they went, and on.  A quarter of it was done.  Half of it was done, but now the first of the fedai hung upon their flanks not two hundred yards behind.  Little by little this distance lessened.  At length they were scarcely fifty yards away, and one of them flung a spear.  In her terror Rosamund sobbed aloud.

“Spur the horses, knights,” cried Masouda, and for the first time they spurred them.

At the sting of the steel Flame and Smoke sprang forward as though they had but just left their stable door, and the gap between pursuers and pursued widened.  Two more miles were done, and scarce seven furlongs from them they saw the broad mouth of the bridge, while the towers of Emesa beyond seemed so close that in this clear air they could discern the watchmen outlined against the sky.  Then they descended a little valley, and lost sight of bridge and town.

At the rise of the opposing slope the strength of Flame and Smoke at last began to fail beneath their double burdens.  They panted and trembled; and, save in short rushes, no longer answered to the spur.  The Assassins saw, and came on with wild shouts.  Nearer and nearer they drew, and the sound of their horses hoofs beating on the sand was like the sound of thunder.  Now once more they were fifty yards away, and now but thirty, and again the spears began to flash, though none struck them.

Masouda screamed to the horses in Arabic, and gallantly did they struggle, plunging up the hill with slow, convulsive bounds.  Godwin and Wulf looked at each other, then, at a signal, checked their speed, leapt to earth, and, turning, drew their swords.

“On!” they cried, and lightened of their weight, once more the reeling horses plunged forward.

The Assassins were upon them.  Wulf struck a mighty blow and emptied the saddle of the first, then was swept to earth.  As he fell from behind him he heard a scream of joy, and struggling to his knees, looked round.  Lo! from over the crest of the rise rushed squadron upon squadron of turbaned cavalry, who, as they came, set their lances in rest, and shouted: 

“Salah-ed-din!  Salah-ed-din!”

The Assassins saw also, and turned to fly—­too late!

“A horse!  A horse!” screamed Godwin in Arabic; and presently—­ how he never knew—­found himself mounted and charging with the Saracens.

To Wulf, too, a horse was brought, but he could not struggle to its saddle.  Thrice he strove, then fell backwards and lay upon the sand, waving his sword and shouting where he lay, while Masouda stood by him, a dagger in her hand, and with her Rosamund upon her knees.