"Allah, and again, by Allah!" stormed Sayyid Absál. "My uncle's daughter identified this unbeliever as the stout swordsman of her visions. Let her at least identify this holy darvish."
"That also would be well," admitted Zantut. "But my lord knows as well as I do what value to set on the fancy of a woman. She saw him sitting in the souk, smoking, and he pleased her. Is that to be taken against the revelations of an angel to a devout and holy man?"
Zantut paused, stroked his beard, and continued: "Cousin of the Prophet, I am a peacemaker. I would not for the very treasure of Suleiman cause contention between you and your son. My disciple may have been deceived; or what he saw might have been a snare of Iblis. And lest injustice be done, let this kaffir accompany us; and if Humayd fails in the ritual, then let the kaffir prove himself. Thus we will have twice the chance of dissolving the curse that clouds the life of your brother's daughter."
"Done, by Allah and by my beard!" exclaimed the Shareef. "Wise and holy man, none but Suleiman himself has equal wisdom."
The Shareef twice clapped his hands.
"Fresh camels for Zantut and his followers," he commanded. "A litter for the lady Azizah. Then get the infidel swordsman, well bound, and put him in a litter."
With a lordly gesture, the Shareef dismissed Zantut and his companions.
An hour after sunset, ten swift meharis filed past the sentries at the Isfayan Gate. Two of them bore between them a richly adorned takht rawan; and a third carried a litter of ordinary design. The other seven camels were ridden by the darvishes who but a short while before had been dismissed by the Shareef.
A one-eyed hunch-backed beggar squatted at the gate, whining to Allah and all passers-by for alms.