All Hugo’s self-command could not repress a start at this long-expected signal word; but to Ali Atar such emotion seemed quite natural in a man thus marked for vengeance by the terrible White Knight.
“But why,” asked he, “should he mean ill to El Katoom, who is a Christian like himself?”
“The infidel hath heard that El Katoom is minded to turn to the true faith, and ride in the ranks of the Prophet’s servants (happy be the day that seeth him thus enlightened). Therefore are the Christian captains wroth, and have sent forth men to watch for him, vowing to put him to a cruel death if they take him.”
This tale, though as gross a lie as even Yakoob had ever told, did its work admirably. It confirmed Ali Atar’s belief that, when the time came, Hugo would be found compliant; it strengthened his trust in the man who had brought such news, and it told Hugo himself all he wished to know.
“Saidst thou not,” cried the sheikh, with a sudden gleam of the old warrior-fire in his sunken eyes, “that these dogs have sent men to watch for El Katoom? If thou canst tell me where those men may be found, rich shall be thy reward.”
“I will do more, mighty sheikh,” said the renegade, whose rat-like eyes glittered greedily at the word ‘reward.’ “I will myself guide your highness’s warriors to the spot where, if I heard aright, the Spanish dogs are to lie in ambush.”
Sure enough, at dawn next morning, Hugo, looking down from his lonely chamber in the highest tower, saw a band of Moors ride off toward Santa Fé, with Yakoob as their guide.
Somewhat to Hugo’s surprise, he was not summoned to the commandant’s presence as usual; and when he wished to leave his room, he found the door fastened outside!
What could this mean? Had his intended escape been betrayed? The thought was maddening, and never had the captive strained his eyes more longingly towards the distant hilltop that hid his brother’s stronghold, beyond which lay outspread, in the brief, bright, winter sunshine, the dry, dusty plains and bare uplands of La Mancha, dotted with the quaint little hamlets and old-fashioned windmills known to Don Quixote two centuries later.
Presently a stir and bustle arose below, increasing as the day wore on; but what it meant he could not guess. It was late in the morning when a soldier brought him food; but the man looked sullen and gloomy, and, without a word of reply to his eager questions, went hastily out, and made fast the door.