“No, by the glory of God, ’twas the temple call! How grand it sounds away in this wilderness!”
“No, no, Jew, I’ve heard that call; this one had six responses.”
“’Twas echo’s magic! Didst thou not notice how the sound spread as it traveled in a sort of sheet of melody? Then it rose and fell from low hill to high. One blast; seven responses. Nature proclaiming against fate and chance; the covenant number.”
“I’m not so confident that it’s a miracle; what if it were some Mamelukes or Druses, planning one of their pious immolations of heretics with us for the victims?”
“Nay, brother, It’s ‘Purim’; that feast is now due, and always begins at early starlight. I know it. Come, I’ll put it to the proof.”
“Hold; poets are more rash than knights in a charge, but not so skillful in retreat! Whither wouldst thou?”
“I’ll spy out the trumpeters and report.”
“Not alone. I’ll go, too. This camp will care for itself if they beyond be friends; if enemies, why then, without consulting us, they will care for all we have. But this,” said the knight, toying with his sword, “was blessed by a priest to preach to infidels.”