"Perhaps my Lord is too sanguine—perhaps he does not sufficiently credit the skill and resources of the enemy behind the gate—perhaps there is more to do than he has admitted into his anticipations."
Mahommed darted a look at the speaker.
"Perhaps the stars have been confidential with their messenger, and told him some of the things wanting to be done."
"Yes, my Lord." The calmness of the Prince astonished Mahommed.
"And art thou permitted to be confidential with me?" he asked.
"My Lord must break up this collection of his guns, and plant some of them against the other gates; say two at the Golden Gate, one at the Caligaria, and before the Selimbria and the Adrianople two each. He will have seven left.... Nor must my Lord confine his attack to the landward side; the weakest front of the city is the harbor front, and it must be subjected. He should carry there at least two of his guns."
"Sword of Solomon!" cried Mahommed. "Will the stars show me a road to possession of the harbor? Will they break the chain which defends its entrance? Will they sink or burn the enemy's fleet?"
"No; those are heroisms left for my Lord's endeavor."
"Thou dost taunt me with the impossible."
The Prince smiled.