“Hold there!” he had bellowed to his sea-hawks, using the lingua franca. “Back, and leave this to me. I will rid you of these foes.” Then in English he had summoned his countrymen also to desist. “Sir John Killigrew!” he called in a loud voice. “Hold your hand until you have heard me! Call your men back and let none others come aboard! Hold until you have heard me, I say, then wreak your will.”
Sir John, perceiving him by the mainmast with Rosamund at his side, and leaping at the most inevitable conclusion that he meant to threaten her life, perhaps to destroy her if they continued their advance, flung himself before his men, to check them.
Thus almost as suddenly as it had been joined the combat paused.
“What have you to say, you renegade dog?” Sir John demanded.
“This, Sir John, that unless you order your men back aboard your ship, and make oath to desist from this encounter, I’ll take you straight down to hell with us at once. I’ll heave this lantern into the powder here, and we sink and you come down with us held by your own grappling hooks. Obey me and you shall have all that you have come to seek aboard this vessel. Mistress Rosamund shall be delivered up to you.”
Sir John glowered upon him a moment from the poop, considering. Then—
“Though not prepared to make terms with you,” he announced, “yet I will accept the conditions you impose, but only provided that I have all indeed that I am come to seek. There is aboard this galley an infamous renegade hound whom I am bound by my knightly oath to take and hang. He, too, must be delivered up to me. His name was Oliver Tressilian.”
Instantly, unhesitatingly, came the answer—“Him, too, will I surrender to you upon your sworn oath that you will then depart and do here no further hurt.”
Rosamund caught her breath, and clutched Sakr-el-Bahr’s arm, the arm that held the lantern.
“Have a care, mistress,” he bade her sharply, “or you will destroy us all.”