shoulders. Now a voice cried: "We make poor sport with this old
lion, and lose men. Keep clear of his claws, and whelm him with
spear casts."

But Rosamund, who understood their tongue, sprang in front of
him, and answered in Arabic:

"Ay, through my breast; and go, tell that tale to Saladin!"

Then, clear and calm was heard the command of Georgios. "He who
harms a hair of the Princess dies. Take them both living if you
may, but lay no hand on her. Stay, let us talk."

So they ceased from their onslaught and began to consult
together.

Rosamund touched her father and pointed to the man who lay upon
the floor with an arrow through his thigh. He was struggling to
his knee, raising the heavy scimitar in his hand. Sir Andrew
lifted his sword as a husbandman lifts a stick to kill a rat,
then let it fall again, saying:

"I fight not with the wounded. Drop that steel, and get you back
to your own folk."

The fellow obeyed him--yes, and even touched the floor with his
forehead in salaam as he crawled away, for he knew that he had
been given his life, and that the deed was noble towards him who
had planned a coward's stroke. Then Georgios stepped forward, no
longer the same Georgios who had sold poisoned wine and Eastern
broideries, but a proud-looking, high-browed Saracen clad in the
mail which he wore beneath his merchant's robe, and in place of
the crucifix wearing on his breast a great star-shaped jewel, the
emblem of his house and rank.

"Sir Andrew," he said, "hearken to me, I pray you. Noble was that
act," and he pointed to the wounded man being dragged away by his
fellows, "and noble has been your defence--well worthy of your
lineage and your knighthood. It is a tale that my master," and he
bowed as he said the word, "will love to hear if it pleases Allah
that we return to him in safety. Also you will think that I have
played a knave's trick upon you, overcoming the might of those
gallant knights, Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf, not with sword blows
but with drugged wine, and treating all your servants in like
fashion, since not one of them can shake off its fumes before
to-morrow's light. So indeed it is--a very scurvy trick which I
shall remember with shame to my life's end, and that perchance
may yet fall back upon my head in blood and vengeance. Yet
bethink you how we stand, and forgive us. We are but a little
company of men in your great country, hidden, as it were, in a
den of lions, who, if they saw us, woul