"In this matter," said Faris, "we are one. If you agree, let us swear to be loyal to one another so long as we are fighting for the serpent belt, and until our friend the Beg proclaims that he has no further need of our services."
"I agree," said Daud rising, and holding his right hand aloft "By Allah, I swear it!"
"By Allah, I swear it!" repeated Faris.
Great plans were discussed by the two warriors, who apparently intended to be stopped by nothing; and though I counselled moderation and as little bloodshed as possible, I knew that it would be useless to argue with two men of this description when their blood was up. I therefore contented myself with listening to their projects, hoping that before anything desperate occurred I should have an opportunity of interfering and of preventing unnecessary slaughter.
The plan finally decided on, and forthwith set on foot, was, in its initial stage, simple enough. Daud went alone to Kerbela, where, as a mendicant pilgrim from the far interior, he was to display much religious zeal, discover all he could about Mersina and the two other Jews, and remain in the place until he had found out what had become of the precious Girdle.
A week passed without any news, and my patience began to be sorely tried. My hosts did all in their power to make the time pass pleasantly. Among other things, Faris told me the story of Shahzadi's shoe, and how Raspul the seer had prophesied: "War and constant fighting there will be, until the coming of the eight-nailed shoe. Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod."
At length Daud returned from his reconnaissance. I saw at once that he was a changed man, haggard, and his eyes as if on the look-out for danger. He told us how he had heard of the Girdle from Shustri, a Hindu astrologer of Kerbela. Shustri related that the Baghdad Jew, Mersina, had stolen the Girdle from Kellner and sold it for a large sum to an important sheik bound for Deyr, a long distance up the Euphrates.