'You are a fool,' returned the other. 'They seek only their meat. But you and I, and our like, seek nicer things than that. We have our souls to feed; and the soul of a man is a free eater, of stranger appetite than a shark.'
The Marquess looked at the flies. 'O God, Arabian, let us go away from this place! Is there no rest from the flies?
'None at all,' said the Arabian; 'for thousands have been slain here; and the flies also must be fed.'
'Pah, horrible!' said the Marquess, all in a sweat. The Arabian turned; but his face was hidden, with a horrible appearance, as if a hooded cloak stood up by itself and a voice proceeded from a fleshless garb. 'You, Marquess of Montferrat,' it said, 'what do you want with me by the Tower of Flies?'
The Marquess remembered his needs. 'I want the death of a man,' he said; 'but not here, O Christ.'
'Who sent you?' asked the Arabian.
'The Sheik Moffadin, a captive, in the name of Ali, and of Abdallah, servant of Ali.' So the Marquess, and would have kissed the man, but that he saw no face under the hood, and dared not kiss emptiness.
'Come with me,' said the Arabian.
An hour later the Marquess came into the Tower of Flies, shaking. He found Saint-Pol there, the Archduke of Austria, and Gilles de Gurdun. There were no greetings.