"When you are bringing confusion to the camp of the unbelievers, I
shall remain in my tent and meditate on the sayings of the Prophet,
praying him to keep you a good spear's length from the German's broad
sword, which he is the habit of wielding with his two hands."

The young Saracens went forth with much shouting, a gay prancing of the
horses underneath them and a marvellous flourishing of spears above
them, but they learned more wisdom in their half hour's communion with
the German than the Emir, in a long life of counselling, had been able
to bestow upon them. The two-handed sword they now met for the first
time, and the acquaintance brought little joy to them. Count Herbert,
the leader of the invaders, did no shouting, but reserved his breath
for other purposes. He spurred his horse among them, and his foes went
down around him as a thicket melts away before the well-swung axe of a
stalwart woodman. The Saracens had little fear of death, but mutilation
was another thing, for they knew that they would spend eternity in
Paradise, shaped as they had left this earth, and while a spear's
thrust or a wound from an arrow, or even the gash left by a short sword
may be concealed by celestial robes, how is a man to comport himself in
the Land of the Blest who is compelled to carry his head under his arm,
or who is split from crown to midriff by an outlandish weapon that
falls irresistible as the wrath of Allah! Again and again they threw
themselves with disastrous bravery against the invading horde, and
after each encounter they came back with lessened ranks and a more
chastened spirit than when they had set forth. When at last, another
counsel of war was held, the young men kept silence and waited for the
smiling Emir to speak.

"If you are satisfied that there are other things to think of in war
than the giving and taking of blows I am prepared to meet this German,