“With what are we charged?” he inquired, scorn born of indignation making the words a sword thrust.
“By my life, I know not for certain,” came the light rejoinder. “There is talk of a riot and a man slain, an old negro, the slave of a Jew of some sort, who is an English subject. It is a word from the English consul that has fluttered the Mutesarrif; we do not move so quickly in the cause of true belief. A sin, as my brother—who is religious—rightly says. But what would you? The infidels—Jew and Christian—outnumber us here in the proportion of ten to one; and they have strong and unscrupulous protectors in the Powers of Europe. To keep the mastery we must sometimes throw a crumb. May Allah cleanse you of the charge.”
Shems-ud-dìn heard these words and many others; but their purport remained vague to him. He perceived only, and with a species of exultation, that he was called upon to exhibit that strength in resignation which now informed his whole being. On the broad road, beneath the echoing gate, in the rough-paved streets, he heard the murmur of a crowd, restless, inquisitive. Here it surrounded them, there dropped behind. Of a sudden, in a sunless place, a man cried suddenly:
“O Hassan Agha! O holy Shems-ud-dìn! O Allah most high! What thing do we behold?” The voice went along with them, shouting questions, till at length it fawned in entreaty. “O lords of kindness! O soldiers brave and good! Take us also, for the crime is ours.”
“Since thou and thy friend desire the scourge, the prison, even death, perhaps, who am I to gainsay thee, O father of two bad legs?” laughed the captain of the guard; and Nesìb the Thief, sustained of Ali, came in among them.
At the door of the Mehkemeh, several of the curious slipped in with the prisoners, for these were too plentiful for the soldiers to keep strict count, though the trial was ordered to be secret.
The hall, murmurous with their voices, struck dark on Shems-ud-dìn. It was some time ere he could see the likeness of the judge; but at length he discerned a fat man seated in apparent dejection upon a dais, a scribe before him, and on his right hand one but little leaner, who wore Frankish clothes beneath his fez, and appeared in the best of spirits—a servant of the English consul, it was whispered.