“By this time it must be well known,” Ben Ibyn said; “and it will soon be known throughout Christendom, and will be dreaded by every Moor. What was it?”
Gervaise again hesitated.
“I would not have told you the story at all, Ben Ibyn, had I supposed you would have cared to inquire into the matter. Of course, I will tell you the name if you insist upon it, but I would much rather you did not ask.”
“But why?” the merchant asked, in surprise. “If I hear it not from you, I shall assuredly hear it ere long from others, for it will be brought by traders who are in communication with Italy. I cannot understand why you should thus hesitate about telling me the name of this commander. When known it will doubtless be cursed by thousands of Moorish wives and mothers; but we Berbers are another race. None of our friends or kindred were on board the fleet; and we traders have rather reason to rejoice, for, in the first place, so severe a lesson will keep the corsairs in their ports for a long time; and in the second, had the fleet succeeded according to general expectation, so great a store of European goods would have been brought home that the market would have been glutted, and the goods in our storehouses would have lost all their value. What reason, then, can you possibly have in refusing to tell me the name of the commander who has won for himself such credit and glory?”
Gervaise saw that Ben Ibyn was seriously annoyed at what he deemed his unaccountable obstinacy.
“I will tell you, Ben Ibyn, rather than excite your displeasure, though I would much have preferred not to do so, for you speak so much more highly of the affair than it merits. I had myself the honour of being in command of that galley.”
The ladies broke into exclamations of surprise, while the merchant regarded him with grave displeasure.
“I had thought you truthful,” he said; “but this passes all belief. Dost tell me that a beardless youth could with one galley overcome a great fleet, commanded by the most noted captains on our coast?”
“I thought that you would not believe me,” Gervaise said quietly; “and, therefore, would have much preferred to keep silence, knowing that I had no means of supporting my claim. That was not the only reason; the other was, that already a great deal too much has been said about an affair in which, as I have told you, I owed everything to good fortune, and am heartily sick of receiving what I consider altogether undue praise. Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly, “the thought has just occurred to me of a way by which you can obtain confirmation of my story; and, as I value your good opinion and would not be regarded as a boaster and a liar, I entreat you to take it. I heard you tell the eight men who were rowers in my boat when I was captured, to call upon you today, that you might do something for them.”
“They came this morning to my store,” the merchant said. “They told me their wishes. I promised them that I would make inquiry about ships sailing East; and they are to come to me again tomorrow.”