“But Allah has in some instances favoured the faithful,” remarked Iskander; “I heard in my travels of your having captured a great princess of the Giaours.”
“God is great!” said an elderly Turk with a long white heard. “The Hakim congratulates the faithful because they have taken a woman!”
“Not so merely,” replied Iskander; “I heard the woman was a princess. If so, the people of Franguestan will pay any ransom for their great women; and, by giving up this fair Giaour, you may free many of the faithful.”
“Mashallah!” said another ancient Turk, sipping his coffee. “The Hakim speaks wisely.”
“May I murder my mother!” exclaimed a young Janissary, with great indignation. “But this is the very thing that makes me wild against Amurath. Is not this princess a daughter of that accursed Giaour, that dog of dogs, Hunniades? and has he not offered for her ransom our brave Karam Bey himself, and his chosen warriors? and has not Amurath said nay? And why has he said nay? Because his son, the Prince of Mahomed, instead of fighting against the Giaours, has looked upon one of their women, and has become a Mejnoun. Pah! May I murder my mother, but if the Giaours were in full march to the city, I’d not fight. And let him tell this to the Cadi who dares; for there are ten thousand of us, and we have sworn by the Kettle but we will not fight for Giaours, or those who love Giaours!”
“If you mean me, Ali, about going to the Cadi,” said the chief eunuch of Mahomed, who was standing by, “let me tell you I am no tale-bearer, and scorn to do an unmanly act. The young prince can beat the Giaours without the aid of those who are noisy enough in a coffee-house when they are quiet enough in the field. And, for the rest of the business, you may all ease your hearts; for the Frangy princess you talk of is pining away, and will soon die. The Sultan has offered a hundred purses of gold to any one who cures her; but the gold will never be counted by the Hasnadar, or I will double it.”
“Try your fortune, Hakim,” said several laughing loungers to Iskander.
“Allah has stricken the Frangy princess,” said the old Turk with a white beard.
“He will strike all Giaours,” said his ancient companion, sipping his coffee. “It is so written.”
“Well! I do not like to hear of women slaves pining to death,” said the young Janissary, in a softened tone, “particularly when they are young. Amurath should have ransomed her, or he might have given her to one of his officers, or any young fellow that had particularly distinguished himself.” And so, twirling his mustachios, and flinging down his piastre, the young Janissary strutted out of the coffee-house.