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"If this be the slave fetched by Sakr-el-Bahr from England, then rumour has lied to me," she said. "I vow it was scarce worth so long a voyage and the endangering so many valuable Muslim lives to fetch this yellow-faced, long-shanked daughter of perdition into Barbary." Asad's surprise beat down his anger. He was not subtle. "Yellow-faced? Long-shanked?" quoth he.
His heart leapt with joy at the sight of Elias close at hand armed with his fine silver-mounted riding-whip. But instead of pursuing Asad, who had taken to his heels, and of whipping the life out of him, Elias contented himself with throwing a stone and celebrating in a loud voice the immodesty of Asad's mother and the revolting manner of his conception and birth.
Biskaine leapt to his feet with a half-cry of astonishment; even Asad's eyes kindled with interest at so unusual a sight as that of a galley-slave attacking a corsair. Then with a snarl of anger, the snarl of an enraged beast almost, Sakr-el-Bahr's great arm was swung aloft and his fist descended like a hammer upon Lionel's head. Lionel sank forward under the blow, his senses swimming.
But the more open spaces, such as the strand on either side of the mole, the square before the sok, and the approaches of Asad's fortress, were thronged with a motley roaring crowd.
Yet I should counsel thee to wait until thou hast smelt blood and powder, and learnt precisely what fear is." The slight altercation drew the attention of Asad's officers who were idling there. Biskaine and some three others lounged forward to stand behind the Basha, looking, on in some amusement, which was shared by him.
Asad, waiting to learn who came, halted at the foot of the white glistening steps, whilst from doors and lattices of the palace flooded light to suffuse the courtyard and set the marbles shimmering. A dozen Nubian javelin-men advanced, then ranged themselves aside whilst into the light stepped the imposing, gorgeously robed figure of Asad's wazeer, Tsamanni.
Such words laying stress upon the victories Allah sent him had afore-time served to disarm his enemies. But they served not now. Instead, they did but fan the flames of Asad's wrath. "Blaspheme not," he croaked, and his tall form quivered with rage, his sallow old face grew vulturine.
"Up thou to the prow," he commanded, "and marshal the men. Bid them stand to their arms lest it should come to boarding. Go!" Biskaine salaamed and sprang down the companion. Above the rumbling din and scurrying toil of preparation rang Asad's voice. "Crossbowmen, aloft! Gunners to the carronades! Kindle your linstocks! Put out all lights!"
Iskender hardly listened to such talk. His mind found business in its own devices. He would have chosen to avoid the speaker altogether; but even Asad's unconcerned announcements, sandwiched in between gibes at the Orthodox faith were better than no tidings of his former patron. And Asad always lay in wait for him, delighting to dazzle one so downcast with the vision of his own high future.
For look, Sakr-el-Bahr, it is what would befall if another came to fill my place, another who might poison Asad's mind with lies against thee for surely she cannot love thee, this Frankish girl whom thou hast torn from her home!" "Be not concerned for that," he answered lightly, his wits striving in vain to plumb the depths and discover the nature of her purpose.
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