‘Who keeps the gate?’ called out the warrior.
‘I am the captain of the gate,’ answered our friend.
‘Open it, then, to the King of Israel.’
‘To whom?’ enquired the astonished captain.
‘To King David. The Lord hath delivered Hassan Subah and his host into our hands, and of all the proud Seljuks none remaineth. Open thy gates, I say, and lose no time. I am Jabaster, a lieutenant of the Lord; this scimitar is my commission. Open thy gates, and thou and thy people shall have that mercy which they have never shown; but if thou delayest one instant, thus saith the King our master, “I will burst open your portal, and smite, and utterly destroy all that you have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.”’
‘Call forth the venerable Lord Bostenay,’ said the captain of the gate, with chattering teeth. ‘He will intercede for us.’
‘And the gentle Lady Miriam,’ said the sentinel. ‘She is ever charitable.’
‘I will head the procession,’ said the black eunuch; ‘I am accustomed to women.’
The procession of Mollahs shuffled back to their college with profane precipitation; the sun set, and the astounded Muezzin stood with their mouths open, and quite forgot to announce the power of their Deity, and the validity of their Prophet. The people all called out for the venerable Lord Bostenay and the gentle Lady Miriam, and ran in crowds to see who could first kiss the hem of their garments.
The principal gate of Hamadan opened into the square of the great mosque. Here the whole population of the city appeared assembled. The gates were thrown open; Jabaster and his companions mounted guard. The short twilight died away, the shades of night descended. The minarets were illumined,[57] the houses hung with garlands, the ramparts covered with tapestry and carpets.