CHAPTER Seven: The Banner of Saladin.
As the echoes of Hassan's whistle died away there was a crash amongst the wooden shutters of the window behind them, and down into the room leaped a long, lithe figure, holding an axe aloft.
Before Sir Andrew could turn to see whence the sound came, that axe dealt him a fearful blow between the shoulders which, although the ringed mail remained unshorn, shattered his spine beneath.

Down he fell, rolled on to his back, and lay there, still able to speak and without pain, but helpless as a child.
For he was paralysed, and never more would move hand or foot or head.
In the silence that followed he spoke in a heavy voice, letting his eyes rest upon the man who had struck him down.
"A knightly blow, truly; one worthy of a Christian born who does murder for Paynim pay! Traitor to God and man, who have eaten my bread and now slaughter me like an ox on my hearth-stone, may your own end be even worse, and at the hands of those you serve." The palmer Nicholas, for it was he, although he no longer wore the palmer's robe, slunk away muttering, and was lost among the crowd in the passage.

Then, with a sudden and a bitter cry, Rosamund swooped forward, as a bird swoops, snatched up the sword her sire would never lift again, and setting its hilt upon the floor, cast herself forward.

But its point never touched her breast, for the emir sprang swiftly and struck the steel aside; then, as she fell, caught her in his arms.

"Lady," he said, loosing her very gently.