“My lord,” said Sakr-el-Bahr, when they were alone, “yesterday I made thee a proposal for the healing of this breach between us, and it was refused. But now had I been the traitor and mutineer thou hast dubbed me I could have taken full advantage of the humour of my corsairs. Had I done that it need no longer have been mine to propose or to sue. Instead it would have been mine to dictate. Since I have given thee such crowning proof of my loyalty, it is my hope and trust that I may be restored to the place I had lost in thy confidence, and that this being so thou wilt accede now to that proposal of mine concerning the Frankish woman yonder.”
It was unfortunate perhaps that she should have been standing there unveiled upon the poop within the range of Asad’s glance; for the sight of her it may have been that overcame his momentary hesitation and stifled the caution which prompted him to accede. He considered her a moment, and a faint colour kindled in his cheeks which anger had made livid.
“It is not for thee, Sakr-el-Bahr,” he answered at length, “to make me proposals. To dare it, proves thee far removed indeed from the loyalty thy lips profess. Thou knowest my will concerning her. Once hast thou thwarted and defied me, misusing to that end the Prophet’s Holy Law. Continue a barrier in my path and it shall be at thy peril.” His voice was raised and it shook with anger.
“Not so loud,” said Sakr-el-Bahr, his eyes gleaming with a response of anger. “For should my men overhear these threats of thine I will not answer for what may follow. I oppose thee at my peril sayest thou. Be it so, then.” He smiled grimly. “It is war between us, Asad, since thou hast chosen it. Remember hereafter when the consequences come to overwhelm thee that the choice was thine.”
“Thou mutinous, treacherous son of a dog!” blazed Asad.
Sakr-el-Bahr turned on his heel. “Pursue the path of an old man’s folly,” he said over his shoulder, “and see whither it will lead thee.”
Upon that he strode away up the gangway to the poop, leaving the Basha alone with his anger and some slight fear evoked by that last bold menace. But notwithstanding that he menaced boldly the heart of Sakr-el-Bahr was surcharged with anxiety. He had conceived a plan; but between the conception and its execution he realized that much ill might lie.
“Mistress,” he addressed Rosamund as he stepped upon the poop. “You are not wise to show yourself so openly.”
To his amazement she met him with a hostile glance.
“Not wise?” said she, her countenance scornful. “You mean that I may see more than was intended for me. What game do you play here, sir, that you tell me one thing and show me by your actions that you desire another?”