‘You must follow me,’ he said; ‘there is not a moment to lose; you must fly!’
‘Why and whither?’ said Eva. ‘This capture is one of plunder not of malice, or was so a few hours back. It is not sorrow for myself that overwhelmed me. But yesterday, the sovereign of these mountains treated me with a generous sympathy, and, if it brought me no solace, it was only because events have borne, I fear, irremediable woe. And now I suddenly find myself among my friends; friends, who, of all others, I should most have wished to encounter at this moment, and all is changed. I am a prisoner, under every circumstance of harshness, even of cruelty, and you speak to me as if my life, my immediate existence, was in peril.’
‘It is.’
‘But why?’
Fakredeen wrung his hands, and murmured, ‘Let us go.’
‘I scarcely care to live,’ said Eva; ‘and I will not move until you give me some clue to all this mystery.’
‘Well, then, she is jealous of you; the Queen, Astarte; she is jealous of you with the English prince, that man who has brought us all so many vexations.’ ‘Is it he that has brought us so many vexations?’ replied Eva. ‘The Queen jealous of me, and with the English prince! ‘Tis very strange. We scarcely exchanged a dozen sentences together, when all was disturbed and broken up. Jealous of me! Why, then, was she anxious that I should descend to her divan? This is not the truth, Fakredeen.’
‘Not all; but it is the truth; it is, indeed. The Queen is jealous of you: she is in love with Tancred; a curse be on him and her both! and somebody has told her that Tancred is in love with you.’ ‘Somebody! When did they tell her?’ ‘Long ago; long ago. She knew, that is, she had been told, that Tancred was affianced to the daughter of Besso of Damascus; and so this sudden meeting brought about a crisis. I did what I could to prevent it; vowed that you were only the cousin of the Besso that she meant; did everything, in short, I could to serve and save you; but it was of no use. She was wild, is wild, and your life is in peril.’
Eva mused a moment. Then, looking up, she said, ‘Fakredeen, it is you who told the Queen this story. You are the somebody who has invented this fatal falsehood. What was your object I care not to inquire, knowing full well, that, if you had an object, you never would spare friend or foe. Leave me. I have little wish to live; but I believe in the power of truth. I will confront the Queen and tell her all. She will credit what I say; if she do not, I can meet my fate; but I will not, now or ever, entrust it to you.’
Thereupon Fakredeen burst into a flood of passionate tears, and, throwing himself on the ground, kissed Eva’s feet, and clung to her garments which he embraced, sobbing, and moaning, and bestowing on her endless phrases of affection, mixed with imprecations on his own head and conduct.