“Let it be opened,” commanded the Emir.
It was accordingly hoisted out, deposited on the quay, and prized open; and from its capacious interior, in a deplorable plight from hunger, cramp, and sea-sickness, was extracted—Bishop Addo.
“We have,” explained the deputation, “wearied of our shepherd, who, shearing his flock somewhat too closely, hath brought the wolf to light. We therefore desire thee to receive him at our hands in exchange for our good Bishop Gaddo, promising one hundred casks of Lacrima Christi as yearly tribute for the future.”
“He stands before you,” answered the Emir; “take him, an ye can prevail upon him to return with you.”
The eyes of the envoys wandered hopelessly from one whiskered, turbaned, caftaned, and yataghaned figure to another. They could not discover that any of the Paynim present looked more or less like a bishop than his fellows.
“Brethren,” said Gaddo, taking compassion on their bewilderment, “behold me! I thank you for your kindly thought of me, but how to profit by it I see not. I have become a Saracen. I have pronounced the Mahometan confession. I am circumcised. I am known by the name of Mustapha.”
“We acknowledge the weight of your Lordship’s objections,” they said, “and do but venture to hint remotely that the times are hard, and that the Holy Father is grievously in want of money.”
“I have also taken a wife,” said Gaddo.
“A wife!” exclaimed they with one consent. “If it had been a concubine! Let us return instantly.”
They gathered up their garments and spat upon the ground.