“Go, my lad,” said the Pasha; “but do not ride that ungovernable Shèitan, or his mad freaks will get you into trouble.”
“Shèitan is quiet and well-behaved now,” replied Hassan; “your Excellency will see that he is not bad at the jereed.”
The game began, and the Mamelukes galloped in succession at the wooden head with their long spears, some carrying it off, and the greater number missing it; and while they were thus employed Hassan entered the arena from the stable entrance mounted on Shèitan. Whether it was that the latter had been left unexercised the preceding day, or that he was excited by the crowd and the galloping and neighing of strange horses, certain it is that his behaviour seemed much more to justify Delì Pasha’s caution than Hassan’s good report. He reared, he plunged, he shook his long mane, and every now and then he bounded into the air as if maddened by anger or excitement. Hassan sat easy and unconcerned, and his usual good-natured smile played over his lips as he patted the horse’s neck and said—
“Shèitan, you are playful this morning.”
“Mashallah! what a noble horseman is that Mameluke of yours!” exclaimed the Kiahia, addressing Delì Pasha; “where is he from?”
“He is not a Mameluke,” replied Delì Pasha; “he is my khaznadâr, lately arrived. He was brought up among the Bedouins; in a room he is as quiet and still as a cat, but on a horse he is as mad as the animal he is now riding,” and as he spoke he shouted aloud to Hassan to come under the verandah.
In a second Hassan’s stirrup touched the flank of Shèitan, who bounded into the air, and then came at full speed to within a few yards of the house, when he stopped dead short, while Hassan looked up to inquire the orders of his chief.
“Hassan,” said Delì Pasha, “I told you that it would be impossible for you to play at these games on the back of that wild, unruly beast; had you not better change it for one more manageable? You may ride one of mine if you will.”
“Bakkalum [we shall see], my lord,” was Hassan’s only reply, and wheeling his horse, he charged in full career at the head on the post. Lowering his lance as he approached, he struck the head so full in the centre that the point of the lance entered several inches into the wood, and there it remained, while Hassan, galloping round the arena, came again under the verandah, and, holding up his lance, presented the head, still fixed on it, to Delì Pasha.
“Aferin! [bravo! bravo!] my son!” said the old Pasha, and it was echoed by many a surrounding voice.