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XXVII
THE PROTECTION SYSTEM
"My heart burns, but my lips will not give utterance."
Moorish Proverb.
I. The Need
Crouched at the foreigner's feet lay what appeared but a bundle of rags, in reality a suppliant Moor, once a man of wealth and position. Hugging a pot of butter brought as an offering, clutching convulsively at the leg of the chair, his furrowed face bespoke past suffering and present earnestness.
"God bless thee, Bashador, and all the Christians, and give me grace in thy sight!"
"Oh, indeed, so you like the Christians?"