The vessel’s vast prow, which ended in a steel ram and was armed with a culverin on either quarter, was crowded with lounging corsairs, who took their ease there until the time to engage should be upon them. They leaned on the high bulwarks or squatted in groups, talking, laughing, some of them tailoring and repairing garments, others burnishing their weapons or their armour, and one swarthy youth there was who thrummed a gimri and sang a melancholy Shilha love-song to the delight of a score or so of bloodthirsty ruffians squatting about him in a ring of variegated colour.
The gorgeous poop was fitted with a spacious cabin, to which admission was gained by two archways curtained with stout silken tapestries upon whose deep red ground the crescent was wrought in brilliant green. Above the cabin stood the three cressets or stern-lamps, great structures of gilded iron surmounted each by the orb and crescent. As if to continue the cabin forward and increase its size, a green awning was erected from it to shade almost half the poop-deck. Here cushions were thrown, and upon these squatted now Asad-ed-Din with Marzak, whilst Biskaine and some three or four other officers who had escorted him aboard and whom he had retained beside him for that voyage, were lounging upon the gilded balustrade at the poop’s forward end, immediately above the rowers’ benches.
Sakr-el-Bahr alone, a solitary figure, resplendent in caftan and turban that were of cloth of silver, leaned upon the bulwarks of the larboard quarter of the poop-deck, and looked moodily back upon the receding city of Algiers which by now was no more than an agglomeration of white cubes piled up the hillside in the morning sunshine.
Asad watched him silently awhile from under his beetling brows, then summoned him. He came at once, and stood respectfully before his prince.
Asad considered him a moment solemnly, whilst a furtive malicious smile played over the beautiful countenance of his son.
“Think not, Sakr-el-Bahr,” he said at length, “that I bear thee resentment for what befell last night or that that happening is the sole cause of my present determination. I had a duty—a long-neglected duty—to Marzak, which at last I have undertaken to perform.” He seemed to excuse himself almost, and Marzak misliked both words and tone. Why, he wondered, must this fierce old man, who had made his name a terror throughout Christendom, be ever so soft and yielding where that stalwart and arrogant infidel was concerned?
Sakr-el-Bahr bowed solemnly. “My lord,” he said, “it is not for me to question thy resolves or the thoughts that may have led to them. It suffices me to know thy wishes; they are my law.”
“Are they so?” said Asad tartly. “Thy deeds will scarce bear out thy protestations.” He sighed. “Sorely was I wounded yesternight when thy marriage thwarted me and placed that Frankish maid beyond my reach. Yet I respect this marriage of thine, as all Muslims must—for all that in itself it was unlawful. But there!” he ended with a shrug. “We sail together once again to crush the Spaniard. Let no ill-will on either side o’er-cloud the splendour of our task.”
“Ameen to that, my lord,” said Sakr-el-Bahr devoutly. “I almost feared....”
“No more!” the Basha interrupted him. “Thou wert never a man to fear anything, which is why I have loved thee as a son.”