CHAPTER XXVI
“No; I say no. Allah forbid so great a sin. He is a good poor man, who never wronged anyone, my friend these many days. For my sake came he to this city, mistress of wickedness; and if he have sinned herein, the blame is mine. Let me die and save him.”
Shems-ud-dìn stood between Yûsuf Effendi and the helpless Zeyd, confronting the former in a posture not of suppliance. The Câdi frowned, while his eyes shifted nervously from side to side, then settled on his string of beads.
“Art possessed, old man?” he remonstrated, in a whisper. “Seest thou not it is thy chance to escape? Some one must die. Let it be this dog, who is certainly not good. It is impossible thou canst know him, call him friend. Look once more on him, I entreat thee, what a vile face is there! Thou wast deceived at the first, the hall is dim. It is not thy friend, but a villain undeserving of compassion. Let him take his wages.”
“If he dies, I die with him. He is my friend, my faithful follower. See, he holds a paper crumpled in his hand. It may be a writing of importance to us. Let it be read, O Excellency. Doubtless it shall explain his presence here.”
“So be it; but we waste time,” said the Câdi fretfully. “I grudge every minute lest by ill-hap that Nazarene should return and end my power to befriend you.”
A soldier disengaged the paper from Zeyd’s hand, and passed it to the judge with a reverence. Yûsuf Effendi read it and turned to stone. His eyes bolted from their sockets. Then he made the gesture of throwing dust on his head, of rending his clothes, and bemoaned the day he was born.
“O Allah, what can be done? O Allah, pity me. Let the man go, you soldiers. It is an envoy from the illustrious Mahmûd Ali. O Lord of mercy, what shall I do, whom slay? O Almighty, appoint me some victim quickly, for the pig may return who cares not though I perish, my lord with me. Oh, Allah! Allah!”