‘If he goes on at this rate,’ said the Armenian, ‘he will soon spend all his money; this place is dearer than Stamboul.’
‘There is no fear of his spending all his money,’ said their host, ‘for the young man has brought me such a letter that if he were to tell me to rebuild the temple, I must do it.’
‘And who is this young man, Besso?’ exclaimed the Invisible, starting up, and himself exhibiting a youthful countenance; fair, almost effeminate, no beard, a slight moustache, his features too delicate, but his brow finely arched, and his blue eye glittering with fire.
‘He is an English lord,’ said Besso, ‘and one of the greatest; that is all I know.’
‘And why does he come here?’ inquired the youth. ‘The English do not make pilgrimages.’ ‘Yet you have heard what he has done.’ ‘And why is this silent Frenchman smoking your Latakia,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘He comes to Jerusalem at the same time as this Englishman. There is more in this than meets our eye. You do not know the northern nations. They exist only in political combinations. You are not a politician, my Besso. Depend upon it, we shall hear more of this Englishman, and of his doing something else than praying at the Holy Sepulchre.’
‘It may be so, most noble Emir, but as you say, I am no politician.’
‘Would that you were, my Besso! It would be well for you and for all of us. See now,’ he added in a whisper, ‘that apparently inanimate mass, Scheriff Effendi—that man has a political head, he understands a combination, he is going to smuggle me five thousand English muskets into the desert, he will deliver them to a Bedouin tribe, who have engaged to convey them safely to the Mountain. There, what do you think of that, my Besso? Do you know now what are politics? Tell the Rose of Sharon of it. She will say it is beautiful. Ask the Rose what she thinks of it, my Besso.’
‘Well, I shall see her to-morrow.’
‘I have done well; have I not?’
‘You are satisfied; that is well.’