As he concluded, the stern frown of the young monarch withered Ben Tarab’s courage, he drew back trembling, and tried to pull out one of his pistols; Sebastian saw the action, and sprung on him like a tiger; his powerful grasp pinioned the arms of the Moor, who believing himself in the very gripe of death, cried out for mercy: before any one could come to his rescue, Sebastian flung him disdainfully away, saying—
“Take your worthless life—I want nothing beyond pity for a poor dying man. Suffer me unmolested to keep watch before this prison till Hafiz returns; then let the punishment of Gaspar be referred to the Almoçadem: you will appear against him, I shall plead for him, I hope from the lips of the humane Hafiz.”
Livid and trembling, Ben Tarab now sheltered himself behind a group of Moors who had run in to his assistance: conscious that Sebastian was indeed only to be conquered by death, and aware of the high value set on him by El Hader, he feared to order the violence his base soul longed to inflict.
“Stay then,” he cried at last, “Stay! and may plagues blister you for your pains!—There you may watch and fast, for neither bed nor meal shall you have till Hafiz comes back and rids me of you altogether. Soldiers, take care he is not too subtle for you; look to him well.”—So saying, Ben Tarab left the court, shutting its huge stone gates after him, with a rage that threatened to crash them.
Sebastian grasped his hatchet and sat quietly down upon the steps of the prison, while two Moorish guards walked backwards and forwards, discoursing about this mad Christian, who would certainly be condemned to the rack by their illustrious master.
In this situation, full of agitating thoughts, the King of Portugal past the night: fortunately for him, Hafiz returned the next day, and having missed Sebastian in the gardens, came to inquire for him of Ben Tarab; that brutal fellow related the events of the last few days with all the exaggerations of inveterate animosity, sending Hafiz to threaten his favorite slave with a chain or a log.
Sebastian’s character was one of extremes; he was alternately the fiercest and the gentlest of mankind; where he saw the trace of humanity he could quell every movement of passion, and enter into the calmest and most considerate explanations: he now let the wrath of Hafiz take its course, waiting till it was spent, before he expatiated upon the natural love we bear our countrymen; and the impossibility of refraining from some shew of violence when any object whom we sincerely love is threatened with danger. The poor dying youth being menaced with the bastinado, was, on this reasoning, a sufficient plea for his own vehemence.
Sebastian mingled these with strong appeals to that sentiment of Liberty which he presumed dwelt in the bosom of Hafiz, in common with every honest man, he besought his pity;—and finished by declaring, that if Gaspar perished, neither whips nor daggers should ever compel him to any act of labour.
All these arguments had their weight, but especially the last; Hafiz feared to lose the very flower of his workmen, and therefore promised to go immediately to Kara Aziek, the daughter of El Hader, and try to obtain Gaspar’s pardon from her: this favorite and only surviving child of the Almoçadem had come that morning from Mequinez, merely to see the subterraneous labyrinth, and having been enchanted with its novelty and beauty, Hafiz hoped might be induced to pronounce the desired forgiveness. Hastening away, he returned in a short time with the Moorish Lady’s order for the release and removal of Gaspar.
Penetrated with gratitude proportionate to his late apprehension, Sebastian vehemently thanked the good Moor, and went with him into the prison.