‘Come! come and see! There’s a fight in the streets,’ called one of the damsels down the stairs, at the highest pitch of her voice.
‘I shan’t go,’ yawned a huge fellow, who was lying on his back on a sofa.
‘Oh come up, my hero,’ said one of the girls. ‘Such a charming riot, and the Prefect himself in the middle of it! We have not had such a one in the street this month.’
‘The princes won’t let me knock any of these donkey-riders on the head, and seeing other people do it only makes me envious. Give me the wine-jug—curse the girl! she has run upstairs!’
The shouting and trampling came nearer; and in another minute Wulf came rapidly downstairs, through the hall into the harem-court, and into the presence of the Amal.
‘Prince—here is a chance for us. These rascally Greeks are murdering their Prefect under our very windows.’
‘The lying cur! Serve him right for cheating us. He has plenty of guards. Why can’t the fool take care of himself?’
‘They have all run away, and I saw some of them hiding among the mob. As I live, the man will be killed in five minutes more.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why should he, when we can save him and win his favour for ever? The men’s fingers are itching far a fight; it’s a bad plan not to give hounds blood now and then, or they lose the knack of hunting.’