‘A spy,’ exclaimed the captors, as they dragged Alroy before the leader of the band.
‘Hang him, then,’ said the chieftain, without even looking up.
‘This wine, great Scherirah, is excellent, or I am no true Moslem,’ said a principal robber; ‘but you are too cruel; I hate this summary punishment. Let us torture him a little, and extract some useful information.’
‘As you like, Kisloch,’ said Scherirah; ‘it may amuse us. Fellow, where do you come from? He cannot answer. Decidedly a spy. Hang him up.’
The captors half untied the rope that bound Alroy, that it might serve him for a further purpose, when another of the gentle companions of Scherirah interfered.
‘Spies always answer, captain. He is more probably a merchant in disguise.’
‘And carries hidden treasure,’ added Kisloch; ‘these rough coats often cover jewels. We had better search him.’
‘Ah! search him,’ said Scherirah, with his rough brutal voice; ‘do what you like, only give me the bottle. This Greek wine is choice booty. Feed the fire, men. Are you asleep? And then Kisloch, who hates cruelty, can roast him if he likes.’
The robbers prepared to strip their captive. ‘Friends, friends!’ exclaimed Alroy, ‘for there is no reason why you should not be friends, spare me, spare me. I am poor, I am young, I am innocent. I am neither a spy nor a merchant. I have no plots, no wealth. I am a pilgrim.’
‘A decided spy,’ exclaimed Scherirah; ‘they are ever pilgrims.’