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"I can prove it with your own books, some of that light reading on the shelf there. Not the Aquinas too thick. But the little volume with Lull on the spine. Mikah's eyes widened. "You know the book? You're acquainted with Lull's writing?"
He is dangerous. Let us take him and put him to death." The Sultan gave the word of command. A body of soldiers went out, seized Lull, dragged him through the streets, and threw him into a dark dungeon to wait the death sentence. But another Moslem who had been deeply touched by Lull's teaching craved audience with the Sultan.
He dreamed of a Crusade not to the Holy Land but to Africa, where the Crescent of Mohammed ruled and where the Cross of Christ was never seen save when an arrogant Moslem drew a cross in the sand of the desert to spit upon it. It was the desire of Raymund Lull's life to sail out into those perilous ports and to face the fierce Saracens who thronged the cities.
Whence it seems to me that the conquest of the Holy Land ought not to be attempted except in the way in which Christ and His Apostles achieved it, namely, by love and prayers, and the pouring out of tears and blood." Suddenly, as he and the Saracen slave argued together, the Moor blurted out passionately a horrible blasphemy against the name of Jesus. Lull's blood was up.
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