"And of the doom of Constantinople!" Mahommed cried, in a sudden transport of excitement.
"Ay, and of the hero thou wert to be, my Lord! Said he nothing of the other caution I gave him, how absolute verity could only be had by a recast of the horoscope at the city itself? And how I was even then on my way thither?"
"Truly, O Prince. Mirza is a marvel!"
"Thanks, my Lord. The assurance prepares me to answer your last demand."
Then, lowering his voice, the Prince returned to his ordinary manner.
"The glory you are to look for will not depend upon conditions such as parties to the war, or its immediate cause, or the place of its wagement."
Mahommed listened with open mouth.
"My Lord knows of the dispute long in progress between the Pope of Rome and the Patriarch of Constantinople; one claiming to be the head of the Church of Christ, the other insisting on his equality. The dispute, my Lord also knows, has been carried from East to West, and back and back again, prelate replying to prelate, until the whole Church is falling to pieces, and on every Christian tongue the 'Church East' and the 'Church West' are common as morning salutations."
Mahommed nodded.
"Now, my Lord," the Prince continued, the magnetic eyes intensely bright, "you and I know the capital of Christianity is yonder "—he pointed toward Constantinople—"and that conquering it is taking from Christ and giving to Mahomet. What more of definition of thy glory wilt thou require? Thus early I salute thee a Sword of God."