"This is indeed Arabic—or, rather, Saracenic, the language of Turcomania. Your crutch, devout pilgrim, testifies to the truth of everything you have told these good people. Come with me to my castle, where you will be a welcome and honored guest."
Before he had quite concluded this speech, the bailiff had lost himself in the crowd—he was nowhere to be seen.
I was hoisted to the shoulders of a pair of sturdy citizens, and, accompanied by the shouting multitude, borne in triumph to the Templars' castle, situated on a moat-encircled hill, a little distance from the city.
Here, I was committed to the care of the guards on duty; they stripped me of my rags; lifted me into a vat of water, scrubbed me thoroughly, combed and shaved my head, and then put on me a scarlet habit of coarse cloth, which, to judge from its ample proportions, must once have garbed the form of a brother whose conditions of life had been more fortunate than mine.
Attired thus, I was conducted to the refectory, where the red-bearded knight and twelve of his companions were assembled.
"Quadraginta tonitrua, lad, you please me well!" exclaimed the red-bearded knight, who seemed to be the leader. "Never, in all my life, have I ever heard so glib a tongue at lying as yours! You must stop here with us. The devil has taken our sacristan—that's his habit you've got on—he died of small-pox yesterday."
You may imagine my feelings when I heard that I was wearing the garment of a man that had succumbed to so loathsome a disease!
I made bold to say that I had never learned the duties requisite to the office of a sacristan.
"Per septem archidiabolos!" merrily exclaimed the knight. "I believe you. But, we will instruct you—never fear!"
Here he noticed the iron band on my neck and added: "Ha, Lucifer te corripiat! Why do you wear that curious band around your neck?"