“Didst thou know,” began Sakr-el-Bahr, “all that is involved for me in this....”
“I neither know nor care,” Asad cut in. “Whatever it may be, it should be as naught when set against my will.” Then he discarded anger for cajolery. He set a hand upon Sakr-el-Bahr’s stalwart shoulder. “Come, my son. I will deal generously with thee out of my love, and I will put thy refusal from my mind.”
“Be generous, my lord, to the point of forgetting that ever thou didst ask me for her.”
“Dost still refuse?” The voice, honeyed an instant ago, rang harsh again. “Take care how far thou strain my patience. Even as I have raised thee from the dirt, so at a word can I cast thee down again. Even as I broke the shackles that chained thee to the rowers’ bench, so can I rivet them on thee anew.”
“All this canst thou do,” Sakr-el-Bahr agreed. “And since, knowing it, I still hold to what is doubly mine—by right of capture and of purchase—thou mayest conceive how mighty are my reasons. Be merciful, then, Asad....”
“Must I take her by force in spite of thee?” roared the Basha.
Sakr-el-Bahr stiffened. He threw back his head and looked the Basha squarely in the eyes.
“Whilst I live, not even that mayest thou do,” he answered.
“Disloyal, mutinous dog! Wilt thou resist me—me?”
“It is my prayer that thou’lt not be so ungenerous and unjust as to compel thy servant to a course so hateful.”