Cross of Christ? Is not that death of his at Harenc told of to
this day? By our Lady, I pray for one but half as glorious!"

"Aye, he died well--he died well," said Wulf, his blue eyes
flashing and his hand creeping to his sword hilt. "But, brother,
there is peace at Jerusalem, as in Essex."

"Peace? Yes; but soon there will be war again. The monk
Peter--he whom we saw at Stangate last Sunday, and who left Syria
but six months gone--told me that it was coming fast. Even now
the Sultan Saladin, sitting at Damascus, summons his hosts from
far and wide, while his priests preach battle amongst the tribes
and barons of the East. And when it comes, brother, shall we not
be there to share it, as were our grandfather, our father, our
uncle, and so many of our kin? Shall we rot here in this dull
land, as by our uncle's wish we have done these many years, yes,
ever since we were home from the Scottish war, and count the kine
and plough the fields like peasants, while our peers are charging
on the pagan, and the banners wave, and the blood runs red upon
the holy sands of Palestine?"

Now it was Wulf's turn to take fire.

"By our Lady in Heaven, and our lady here!"--and he looked at
Rosamund, who was watching the pair of them with her quiet
thoughtful eyes--"go when you will, Godwin, and I go with you,
and as our birth was one birth, so, if it is decreed, let our
death be one death." And suddenly his hand that had been playing
with the sword-hilt gripped it fast, and tore the long, lean
blade from its scabbard and cast it high into the air, flashing