“Maybe. But their allegiance belongs to Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah. Did it come to a choice between us, their faith would urge them to stand beside him in spite of any past bonds that may have existed between them and me.”
“Yet there were some who murmured when thou wert superseded in the command of this expedition,” Vigitello informed him. “I doubt not that many would be influenced by their faith, but many would stand by thee against the Grand Sultan himself. And do not forget,” he added, instinctively lowering his voice, “that many of us are renegadoes like myself and thee, who would never know a moment’s doubt if it came to a choice of sides. But I hope,” he ended in another tone, “there is no such danger here.”
“And so do I, in all faith,” replied Sakr-el-Bahr, with fervour. “Yet I am uneasy, and I must know where I stand if the worst takes place. Go thou amongst the men, Vigitello, and probe their real feelings, gauge their humour and endeavour to ascertain upon what numbers I may count if I have to declare war upon Asad or if he declares it upon me. Be cautious.”
Vigitello closed one of his black eyes portentously. “Depend upon it,” he said, “I’ll bring you word anon.”
On that they parted, Vigitello to make his way to the prow and there engage in his investigations, Sakr-el-Bahr slowly to retrace his steps to the poop. But at the first bench abaft the gangway he paused, and looked down at the dejected, white-fleshed slave who sat shackled there. He smiled cruelly, his own anxieties forgotten in the savour of vengeance.
“So you have tasted the whip already,” he said in English. “But that is nothing to what is yet to come. You are in luck that there is a wind to-day. It will not always be so. Soon shall you learn what it was that I endured by your contriving.”
Lionel looked up at him with haggard, blood-injected eyes. He wanted to curse his brother, yet was he too overwhelmed by the sense of the fitness of this punishment.
“For myself I care nothing,” he replied.
“But you will, sweet brother,” was the answer. “You will care for yourself most damnably and pity yourself most poignantly. I speak from experience. ’Tis odds you will not live, and that is my chief regret. I would you had my thews to keep you alive in this floating hell.”
“I tell you I care nothing for myself,” Lionel insisted. “What have you done with Rosamund?”