Grooms came forward to look to girth and bridle and stirrup strap, but Wulf waved them back.
"I mind my own harness," he said.
The second blast blew, and he loosened the great sword in its scabbard, that sword which had flamed in his forbear's hand upon the turrets of Jerusalem.
"Your gift," he cried back to Rosamund, and her answer came clear and sweet: "Bear it like your fathers, Wulf.

Bear it as it was last borne in the hall at Steeple." Then there was another silence--a silence long and deep.

Wulf looked at the white and narrow ribbon of the bridge, looked at the black gulf on either side, looked at the blue sky above, in which floated the great globe of the golden moon.

Then he leant forward and patted Smoke upon the neck.
For the third time the trumpets blew, and from either end of that bridge, two hundred paces long, the knights flashed towards each other like living bolts of steel.

The multitude rose to watch; even Sinan rose.