The old man bit his lip, and fell back to the line of his men. My taunter reined up beside me again.
“Do you know, robber, that I can order you to be speared on the spot for your lies?”
“No, for I have told you nothing but the truth of both of us. Such an order, too, would only prove that men will often bid others do what they dare not touch with a finger of their own.”
The officers, offended at the treatment of their old favorite, burst into a laugh. The coxcomb grew doubly indignant.
“Strip the hound!” exclaimed he to the soldiers; “it is money that makes him insolent.”
“Nature has done it, at least for one of us, without the expense of a mite,” replied I calmly.
“Off with his turban! Those fellows carry coin in every fold of it.”
The officers looked at each other in surprise; the captain hardly suppressed a contemptuous execration between his lips. The very troopers hesitated.
“Soldiers!” said I, in the same unaltered tone, “I have no gold in my turban. An Arab is seldom one of those—the outside of whose head is better worth than the inside.”
The perfumed and curled locks of the tribune, surmounted by a helmet, sculptured and plumed in the most extravagant style, caught every eye; and the shaft, slight as it was, went home.