“It shall be as you wish,” said Godwin; “and, Son of the Sand, we thank you for those horses.”

“Good.  When you want more, let it be known in the market places that you seek me,” and he began to turn his horse’s head.

“Stay,” said Godwin.  “What do you know of Masouda, your niece?  Is she with you?”

“Nay,” answered the Arab in a low voice, “but she bade me be in a certain garden of which you have heard, near Ascalon, at an appointed hour, to take her away, as she is leaving the camp of Salah-ed-din.  So thither I go.  Farewell.”  Then with a reverence to the veiled lady, he shook his reins and departed like an arrow by the road along which they had come.

Godwin gave a sigh of relief.  If Masouda had appointed to meet her uncle the Arab, at least she must be safe.  So it was no voice of hers which seemed to whisper his name in the darkness of the night when terror had ahold of him—­terror, born perhaps of all that he had endured and the shadow of death through which he had so lately passed.  Then he looked up, to find Wulf staring back at the woman behind him, and reproved him, saying that he must keep to the spirit of the bargain as well as to the letter, and that if he might not speak he must not look either.

“That is a pity,” answered Wulf, “for though she is so tied up, she must be a tall and noble lady by the way she sits her horse.  The horse, too, is noble, own cousin or brother to Smoke, I think.  Perhaps she will sell it when we get to Jerusalem.”

Then they rode on, and because they thought their honour in it, neither spoke nor looked more at the companion of this adventure, though, had they known it, she looked hard enough at them.

At length they reached the gate of Jerusalem, which was crowded with folk awaiting the return of their ambassadors.  They all passed through, and the embassy was escorted thence by the chief people, most of the multitude following them to know if they brought peace or war.

Now Godwin and Wulf stared at each other, wondering whither they were to go and where to find the relatives of their veiled companion, of whom they saw nothing.  Out of the street opened an archway, and beyond this archway was a garden, which seemed to be deserted.  They rode into it to take counsel, and their companion followed, but, as always, a little behind them.

“Jerusalem is reached, and we must speak to her now,” said Wulf, “if only to ask her whither she wishes to be taken.”

Godwin nodded, and they wheeled their horses round.

“Lady,” he said in Arabic, “we have fulfilled our charge.  Be pleased to tell us where are those kindred to whom we must lead you.”

“Here,” answered a soft voice.

They stared about the deserted garden in which stones and sacks of earth had been stored ready for a siege, and finding no one, said: 

“We do not see them.”

Then the lady let slip her cloak, though not her veil revealing the robe beneath.