“Ere an hundred can be told, lashed to the limbs of these horses, thine accursed carcass shall be scattered to the winds of heaven, while thy blood-stained soul, goes trembling to its last account! Thou art a brave man—we would listen to thee, while thou makest a merry mock of death, and of such a death as this!”
Aldarin turned, he looked at the wild horses, placed haunch to haunch; a deformed Moor holding each steed; he marked their forms of strength, their sinews of iron; and a slight tremor, scarce perceptible, passed over his frame.
“I am ready—” he slowly and distinctly spoke, with a calm smile—“I am ready even for this death. Cowards and slaves I defy ye!”
“Thou art a wise man—” again spoke Robin the Rough in his mocking tone—“and yet mere fools have deceived and duped thee! Yesternight, within the confines of the Red-Chamber, thou didst wait the coming of a Brother-wizard who was to journey from the far wilds of the east. Thy brother-wizard twenty-four hours agone, rode from the very walls of Florence, secured by the favor of this tyrant-duke—Ha! dost thou tremble?”
“This—this—is false!” gasped Aldarin—“Ibrahim journeyed not from the wilds of the east.”
“He came from the east attended by a train of twelve Arab knights and a band of Christian warriors, whom the courtesy of the Crusades, gave to the service of the friend of Saladin. He arrived at Florence, he beheld the tyrant duke, and at high noon yesterday rode from the walls of the city, bound for the Castle of Albarone. He was a venerable man and a mighty, this Ibrahim—for his long beard—ha,—ha—trailed down to his very breast! Who was it that made captives of his companie, and confined his own royal person in bonds, while the men of Sir Geoffrey wended to the castle clad in the garments of the Arabian retinue? Old man breathe the question in a murmured voice for it was the work of—THE INVISIBLE.”
Aldarin veiled his face in his hands, and pressed his lips between his teeth, until the blood trickled down to his very chin.
“Off with the murderer’s attire!” shrieked Robin the Rough—“Off with tunic and hose, belt and boots! Strip him to the very skin! Demon, thy magical pranks shall not avail thee, now! We will lead thee to thy death, unarmed with magic casket or wizard phial! Advance comrades and disrobe the murderer!”
Aldarin raised his head as the soldiers with the thongs advanced, while the men-at-arms noted that his face was ghastly white in hue, yet calm as the Summer Morn then dawning in the eastern sky.
“Is there not one man in all this crowd, who will bear a message from a father to his daughter!” he slowly exclaimed—“The Ladye Annabel, she is my child, and—by the fiend ye dare not refuse a father’s request!”