“Dost thou know for whom I buy?” roared Tsamanni. “For the Basha himself, Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah,” He advanced upon Ayoub with hands upheld. “What shalt thou say to him, O dog, when he calls thee to account for daring to outbid him.”
But Ayoub remained unruffled before all this fury. He spread his fat hands, his eyes twinkling, his great lips pursed. “How should I know, since Allah has not made me all-knowing? Thou shouldst have said so earlier. ’Tis thus I shall answer the Basha should he question me, and the Basha is just.”
“I would not be thee, Ayoub—not for the throne of Istambul.”
“Nor I thee, Tsamanni; for thou art jaundiced with rage.”
And so they stood glaring each at the other until the dalal called them back to the business that was to do.
“The price is now one thousand and one hundred philips. Wilt thou suffer defeat, O wazeer?”
“Since Allah wills. I have no authority to go further.”
“Then at one thousand and one hundred philips, Ayoub, she is....”
But the sale was not yet to be completed. From the dense and eager throng about the gates rang a crisp voice—
“One thousand and two hundred philips for the Frankish girl.”