The other black giant spoke.
“You must come with us. Your father has sent for you. He lies sick at Syracuse.”
Perpetua gave a great cry.
“My father sick! I will go with you at once.”
The sound of her cry seemed to rend the veil of forgetfulness that hung about the brain of Robert. He knew now why these men had come, sent by Hildebrand in obedience to his King’s command. For the first time in his foolish life Robert felt his heart throb with pity, his spirit rise in arms against injustice. The girl who had disdained him in his pride had been kind to him in his misery; she should suffer no wrong from him. He limped into the open space and waved the Saracens aside with a gesture of command, while he called to Perpetua:
“No, no; do not go with them. It is a trick, a lie.” Advancing fiercely upon the slaves, who stared at the sudden appearance of the discredited jester, he cried out: “I have changed my mind. Begone!” Then, reading only derision and denial on their countenances, he raged at them.
“Do you not know me, fellows? I am the King!”
The black slaves grinned evilly. One of them turned to Perpetua, who, in her eagerness to join her father, listened with impatience to the grotesque assertions of the fool.