“And you will hear them again, O son of my kinsman! I will not forsake you, by Allah! for his sake, nor give you over to the evil genius that possesses you.”
But the wrongs of Ayub, however terrible, melted as wax before the fierce fire of the Emir’s love.
His nuptials with Egilona were celebrated with great pomp. Nor did possession cool his ardour. He lived but for her. He consulted with her in all the affairs of his government, and rejected the counsels of the discreet though most troublesome cousin.
For a time no evil consequences ensued, and the fears of Ayub were almost lulled. Yet who can resist his fate?
Reposing one day in a gorgeous chamber of the Alcazar (it is now called the room of Maria de Padilla, but it was then known as the Hall of the Sultana), Egilona drew from under the folds of her mantle a circlet of gold.
“See, love,” said she, “the crown of Roderich the Goth. Let me place it on your brow. It will become you well.”
Holding up as she spoke a steel mirror attached to her girdle by a rope of pearls, she called upon him to admire the majesty of his appearance.
With a sigh he looked at himself, the crown placed on the folds of his turban, then put it from him and, like Cæsar, sighed that it could not be his.
“My love,” says Egilona, replacing it, “the wearer of a crown is a sovereign indeed. Believe me, the Christians are right; it sanctifies the rule.”
A second time, like Cæsar, Abdul-asis put the crown from him. Yet did his fingers linger on the rim, while he endeavoured to explain to Egilona that, as a Moslem, she must not urge him to go against the custom of his nation.