"Nothing to win?" said Masouda. "I am not so sure!" and she looked at G.o.dwin. "Well, you have sold your horses to pilgrims who can ride, and they have proved them, and I have had a change from my cooking in the inn, to which I must now get me back again."
Wulf wiped the sweat from his brow, shook his head, and muttered:
"I always heard the East was full of madmen and devils; now I know that it is true."
But G.o.dwin said nothing.
They led the horses back to the inn, where the brethren groomed them down under the direction of the Arab, that the gallant beasts might get used to them, which, after carrying them upon that fearful ride, they did readily enough. Then they fed them with chopped barley, ear and straw together, and gave them water to drink that had stood in the sun all day to warm, in which the Arab mixed flour and some white wine.
Next morning at the dawn they rose to see how Flame and Smoke fared after that journey. Entering the stable, they heard the sound of a man weeping, and hidden in the shadow, saw by the low light of the morning that it was the old Arab, who stood with his back to them, an arm around the neck of each horse, which he kissed from time to time. Moreover, he talked aloud in his own tongue to them, calling them his children, and saying that rather would he sell his wife and his sister to the Franks.
"But," he added, "she has spoken--why, I know not--and I must obey. Well, at least they are gallant men and worthy of such steeds. Half I hoped that you and the three of us and my niece Masouda, the woman with the secret face and eyes that have looked on fear, might perish in the cleft of the stream; but it was not willed of Allah. So farewell, Flame, and farewell, Smoke, children of the desert, who are swifter than arrows, for never more shall I ride you in battle. Well, at least I have others of your matchless blood."
Then G.o.dwin touched Wulf on the shoulder, and they crept away from the stable without the Arab knowing that they had been there, for it seemed shameful to pry upon his grief. When they reached their room again G.o.dwin asked Wulf:
"Why does this man sell us those n.o.ble steeds?"
"Because his niece Masouda has bid him so to do," he answered.
"And why has she bidden him?"
"Ah!" replied Wulf. "He called her "the woman with the secret face and eyes that have looked on fear," didn"t he? Well, for reasons that have to do with his family perhaps, or with her secrets, or us, with whom she plays some game of which we know neither the beginning nor the end. But, Brother G.o.dwin, you are wiser than I. Why do you ask me these riddles? For my part, I do not wish to trouble my head about them. All I know is that the game is a brave one, and I mean to go through with it, especially as I believe that this playing will lead us to Rosamund."
"May it lead us nowhere worse," answered G.o.dwin with something like a groan, for he remembered that dream of his which he dreamed in mid-air between the edges of black rock with the bubbling foam beneath.
But to Wulf he said nothing of this dream.
When the sun was fully up they prepared to go out again, taking with them the gold to pay the Arab; but on opening the door of their room they met Masouda, apparently about to knock upon it.
"Whither go you, friends Peter and John, and so early?" she asked, looking at them with a smile upon her beautiful face that was so thrilling and seemed to hide so much mystery.
G.o.dwin thought to himself that it was like another smile, that on the face of the woman-headed, stone sphinx which they had seen set up in the market place of Beirut.
"To visit our horses and pay your uncle, the Arab, his money,"
answered Wulf.
"Indeed! I thought I saw you do the first an hour ago, and as for the second, it is useless; Son of the Sand has gone."
"Gone! With the horses?"
"Nay, he has left them behind."
"Did you pay him, then, lady?" asked G.o.dwin.
It was easy to see that Masouda was pleased at this courteous word, for her voice, which in general seemed a little hard, softened as she answered, for the first time giving him his own t.i.tle.
"Why do you call me "lady," Sir G.o.dwin D"Arcy, who am but an inn-keeper, for whom sometimes men find hard names? Well, perhaps I was a lady once before I became an inn-keeper; but now I am--the widow Masouda, as you are the pilgrim Peter. Still, I thank you for this--bad guess of yours." Then stepping back a foot or two towards the door, which she had closed behind her, she made him a curtsey so full of dignity and grace that any who saw it must be sure that, wherever she might dwell, Masouda was not bred in inns.
G.o.dwin returned the bow, doffing his cap. Their eyes met and in hers he learned that he had no treachery to fear from this woman, whatever else he might have to fear. Indeed, from that moment, however black and doubtful seemed the road, he would have trusted his life to her; for this was the message written there, a message which she meant that he should read. Yet at his heart he felt terribly afraid.
Wulf, who saw something of all this and guessed more, also was afraid. He wondered what Rosamund would have thought of it, if she had seen that strange and turbulent look in the eyes of this woman who had been a lady and was an inn-keeper; of one whom men called Spy, and daughter of Satan, and child of Al-je-bal. To his fancy that look was like a flash of lightning upon a dark night, which for a second illumines some magical, unguessed landscape, after which comes the night again, blacker than before.
Now the widow Masouda was saying in her usual somewhat hard voice:
"No; I did not pay him. At the last he would take no money; but, having pa.s.sed it, neither would he break his word to knights who ride so well and boldly. So I made a bargain with him on behalf of both of you, which I expect that you will keep, since my good faith is pledged, and this Arab is a chief and my kinsman. It is this, that if you and these horses should live, and the time comes when you have no more need of them, you will cause it to be cried in the market-place of whatever town is nearest to you, by the voice of the public crier, that for six days they stand to be returned to him who lent them. Then if he comes not they can be sold, which must not be sold or given away to any one without this proclamation. Do you consent?"
"Ay," answered both of them, but Wulf added: "Only we should like to know why the Arab, Son-of-the-Sand, who is your kinsman, trusts his glorious horses to us in this fashion."
"Your breakfast is served, my guests," answered Masouda in tones that rang like the clash of metal, so steely were they. Whereon Wulf shook his head and followed her into the eating-room, which was now empty again as it had been on the afternoon of their arrival.
Most of that day they spent with their horses. In the evening, this time unaccompanied by Masouda, they rode out for a little way, though rather doubtfully, since they were not sure that these beasts which seemed to be almost human would not take the bits between their teeth and rush with them back to the desert whence they came. But although from time to time they looked about them for their master, the Arab, whinnying as they looked, this they did not do, or show vice of any kind; indeed, two Iadies" palfreys could not have been more quiet. So the brethren brought them home again, groomed, fed and fondled them, while they p.r.i.c.ked their ears, sniffing them all over, as though they knew that these were their new lords and wished to make friends of them.
The morrow was a Sunday, and, attended by Masouda"s slave, without whom she would not suffer them to walk in the town, the brethren went to ma.s.s in the big church which once had been a mosque, wearing pilgrim"s robes over their mail.
"Do you not accompany us, who are of the faith?" asked Wulf.
"Nay," answered Masouda, "I am in no mood to make confession.
This day I count my beads at home."
So they went alone, and mingling with a crowd of humble persons at the back of the church, which was large and dim, watched the knights and priests of various nations struggling for precedence of place beneath the dome. Also they heard the bishop of the town preach a sermon from which they learnt much. He spoke at length of the great coming war with Saladin, whom he named Anti-Christ.
Moreover, he prayed them all to compose their differences and prepare for that awful struggle, lest in the end the Cross of their Master should be trampled under foot of the Saracen, His soldiers slain, His fanes desecrated, and His people slaughtered or driven into the sea--words of warning that were received in heavy silence.
"Four full days have gone by. Let us ask our hostess if she has any news for us," said Wulf as they walked back to the inn.
"Ay, we will ask her," answered G.o.dwin.
As it chanced, there was no need, for when they entered their chamber they found Masouda standing in the centre of it, apparently lost in thought.
"I have come to speak with you," she said, looking up. "Do you still wish to visit the Sheik Al-je-bal?"
They answered "Yes."
"Good. I have leave for you to go; but I counsel you not to go, since it is dangerous. Let us be open with one another. I know your object. I knew it an hour before ever you set foot upon this sh.o.r.e, and that is why you were brought to my house. You would seek the help of the lord Sinan against Salah-ed-din, from whom you hope to rescue a certain great lady of his blood who is your kinswoman and whom both of you--desire in marriage. You see, I have learned that also. Well, this land is full of spies, who travel to and from Europe and make report of all things to those who pay them enough. For instance--I can say it, as you will not see him again--the trader Thomas, with whom you stayed in this house, is such a spy. To him your story has been pa.s.sed on by other spies in England, and he pa.s.sed it on to me."
"Are then you a spy also, as the porter called you?" asked Wulf outright.
"I am what I am," she answered coldly. "Perhaps I also have sworn oaths and serve as you serve. Who my master is or why I do so is naught to you. But I like you well, and we have ridden together-- a wild ride. Therefore I warn you, though perhaps I should not say so much, that the lord Al-je-bal is one who takes payment for what he gives, and that this business may cost you your lives."
"You warned us against Saladin also," said G.o.dwin, "so what is left to us if we may dare a visit to neither?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "To take service under one of the great Frankish lords and wait a chance that will never come. Or, better still, to sew some c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.ls into your hats, go home as holy men who have made the pilgrimage, marry the richest wives that you can find, and forget Masouda the widow, and Al-je-bal and Salah-ed-din and the lady about whom he has dreamed a dream.
Only then," she added in a changed voice, "remember, you must leave the horses Flame and Smoke behind you."
"We wish to ride those horses," said Wulf lightly, and G.o.dwin turned on her with anger in his eyes.
"You seem to know our story," he said, "and the mission to which we are sworn. What sort of knights do you think us, then, that you offer us counsel which is fitter for those spies from whom you learn your tidings? You talk of our lives. Well, we hold our lives in trust, and when they are asked of us we will yield them up, having done all that we may do."
"Well spoken," answered Masouda. "Ill should I have thought of you had you said otherwise. But why would you go to Al-je-bal?"