‘Yes, Baba,’ replied Rahma, ‘but did not the Prophet, to whom we pray, say, “He that believes in God and the Day of Resurrection shall have his reward, even though he be not a Moslem?” This prisoner, the Nazarene now in your stable, believes in God and the last Day.’
‘Who told you? What do you mean?’ cried the Sheikh, sternly, rising and placing his hand angrily on Rahma’s shoulder. The girl turned pale and sobbed out,—
‘Have patience, Baba, and I will tell you all. Never have I deceived you nor dissembled my most secret thoughts.’ She then related, with a faltering voice, how she had visited the prisoner and what had passed between her and João.
The Sheikh was very angry, though he felt amused at the innocent story and courage of his beloved child. He had a very hard heart, but often, through her intercession, the cruel Sheikh had been led to be kind and charitable in his deeds.
‘See,’ she continued, ‘what I found in the prisoner’s room: a paper with the Sultan’s signet.’ The Sheikh read it, and his countenance changed. After a pause he said, ‘’Tis well, Rahma, that this paper, bearing the signet of our Lord the Sultan, has been found. If this Nazarene prove to be João, the famous gunsmith, I forgive your rash and unmaidenly conduct: but be careful for the future, never to enter without me or an attendant any place where a man, Christian or Moslem, may be.’
‘Baba,’ answered Rahma, ‘I always obey you; but if you care for my happiness do not shoot the Christian. Do him no harm, he has eaten our bread and he believes in God. Until I am sure he is safe, I eat no bread nor even drink water.’
‘Begone, silly child!’ said the Sheikh. ‘Set your mind at rest, for I swear by Allah that João dies not this day.’
The Sheikh then read the edict again and again, muttering to himself, ‘If this Nazarene be João the gunsmith, of whose fame we have all heard, my fortune is made should I present him to the Sultan; whilst, were I to take the life of the cursed infidel, and it came to the ears of my Lord and Master that I had put to death the holder of his Sherifian edict, I risk the loss of my head. Before coming to a decision I shall verify, without delay, whether this infidel is what he pretends to be. If he be the gunmaker, I shall be off to the Court the day after to-morrow: if not, he shall be shot.’
Preparations had already been made in the early morning by the villagers for placing the three Nazarenes as targets. An ox had been killed and a great feast prepared: the mingled sounds of pipes and drums were heard, and gun-dances, accompanied with frantic yells, were being performed by the youths of the village. The elders, with their long guns, squatted in circles and discussed the events of the late great battle; whilst, with revenge rankling in their hearts, they awaited with impatience the order from the Sheikh to have the three Nazarenes brought out to be shot.
The order was at length given by the Sheikh that the two prisoners confined in the ‘matmor’ should be led to the spot where they were to become the butts for the villagers to shoot; whilst two slaves, with drawn swords, brought along João from the stable, his hands bound and his fetters clanging on the ground as he moved slowly towards the place of execution.