"But now I ask for his life, Kleon. Zaid is my favorite grandson. I brought him up. I loved him better than his dear mother—better than all my children. Look now, I share with thee all the booty, and all I ask of thee is mine own—flesh of my flesh."
The unhappy youth, hearing these words, fell at Ali's feet and embraced his knees, wept, covered his hands with kisses, and implored him to release him—he would be a good and dutiful son to him ever afterwards.
"Thou seest, too, how much he loves me," said Ali, looking with tearful eyes at Zaid and covering the cowering fugitive with his long gray beard. "Well, Zaid," said he, "so thou dost now fly for refuge beneath the shadow of that same gray beard, by grasping which thou wert minded to take Ali's head to thy mother, eh?"
Kleon looked at Ali Pasha with a contemptuous smile. Then Ali was tender, Ali had a heart, Ali's heart ached at the slaying of his kinsfolk! The Greek felt a cruel satisfaction in tormenting the pasha.
"If thou dost not wish to see Zaid die," said he, "depart from hence. Alive thou shalt not have him!"
"What!" cried Ali, and, standing erect, he drew his sword. "Because my beard is long dost thou think thou canst trample upon me? I will defend my blood with my blood, and will perish myself rather than let him be slain. Let us see, mad youth, wouldst thou lop off thine own right hand?"
Kleon was so surprised that he did not know what to do. It was in his power to slay Ali; but then that would be a greater triumph for Stambul than all the victories of the campaign.
At that moment a herald arrived from Odysseus with a command for Kleon to send all the Turkish officers captured at the battle of Puló to Prevesa, that they might be exchanged against the youths of the sacred army who had been captured in Moldavia.
Kleon's pride was wounded by this direct command. He considered himself just as good a general as Odysseus or Yprilanti, and did not recognize orders sent from them.
Turning from the herald to Tepelenti, he thus replied: