these he sent the two Frankish spies, who knew the place where
the lady lived, one of whom, the false knight, was a skilled
mariner and the captain of the ship.

These things did Yusuf Salah-ed-din, and waited patiently till it
should please God to accomplish the vision with which God had
filled his soul in sleep.

Chapter One: By The Waters of Death Creek

From the sea-wall on the coast of Essex, Rosamund looked out
across the ocean eastwards. To right and left, but a little
behind her, like guards attending the person of their sovereign,
stood her cousins, the twin brethren, Godwin and Wulf, tall and
shapely men. Godwin was still as a statue, his hands folded over
the hilt of the long, scabbarded sword, of which the point was
set on the ground before him, but Wulf, his brother, moved
restlessly, and at length yawned aloud. They were beautiful to
look at, all three of them, as they appeared in the splendour of
their youth and health. The imperial Rosamund, dark-haired and
eyed, ivory skinned and slender-waisted, a posy of marsh flowers
in her hand; the pale, stately Godwin, with his dreaming face;
and the bold-fronted, blue-eyed warrior, Wulf, Saxon to his
finger-tips, notwithstanding his father's Norman blood.

At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned her head
with the slow grace which marked her every movement.

"Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet down?" she
asked in her rich, low voice, which, perhaps because of its
foreign accent, seemed quite different to that of any other
woman.

"I think so, Rosamund," he answered. "It would serve to pass the
time, and now that you have finished gathering those yellow
flowers which we rode so far to seek, the time--is somewhat
long."

"Shame on you, Wulf," she said, smiling. "Look upon yonder sea and
sky, at that sheet of bloom all gold and purple--"

"I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosamund; also at
your back and at Godwin's left arm and side-face, till in truth I
thought myself kneeling in Stangate Priory staring at my father's
effigy upon his tomb, while Prior John pattered the Mass. Why,
if you stood it on its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands
resting on the sword, the same cold, silent face staring at the
sky."

"Godwin as Godwin will no doubt one day be, or so he hopes--that
is, if the saints give him grace to do such deeds as did our
sire," interrupted his brother.

Wulf looked at him, and a curiou