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Updated: May 21, 2025
Some fanned him with peacocks' pinions, some danced before him, some sang Moor's melodies to the plaintive notes of a guzla, one it was the only daughter of the Moor's old age, the young Zutulbe, a rosebud of beauty sat weeping in a corner of the gilded hall: weeping for her slain brethren, the pride of Moslem chivalry, whose heads were blackening in the blazing sunshine on the portals without, and for her father, whose home had been thus made desolate.
"Take 200,000 dirhems," cried the Jew; "more! anything! The Alfaqui will give his life for his child!" "Come hither, Zutulbe! come hither, thou Moorish pearl!" yelled the ferocious warrior; "come closer, my pretty black-eyed houri of heathenesse! Hast heard the name of Beltran de Espada y Trabuco?"
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