"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 Godwin, 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 Godwin 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.
Godwin 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 Godwin.
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 title.
"Why do you call me 'lady,' Sir Godwin 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, Ithank 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.
Godwin 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 passed 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 pricked 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 mass 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.
