They pelted him with pieces of wood, clods of earth, and anything they could lay hands on, so fiercely, that one of Said’s guards was obliged to intervene. “Back, unruly ones,” he cried, “give place, you women; the man who slew the noble Almansor must die, it is true, but by the hand of a brave man, not by the hand of a woman.”
When they reached an open space amongst the tents they stopped, the prisoners were fastened together in couples, and the booty carried into the tents. Said, however, was bound alone and was led into a large tent where an old man sat. He was magnificently clothed and his stately mien showed that he was the chief of the robber band. The men who led Said in approached him with sorrowful looks and bent heads.
“The shrieks of the women have broken to me the news of what has occurred,” he said majestically, “and your attitudes confirm it; Almansor has fallen.”
“Almansor has fallen, indeed,” answered the men, “but we bring here to you his murderer in order that you may determine what manner of death he shall die. Shall we shoot at him from a distance with our arrows, or shall we chase him down a pathway of spears, or shall we hang him, or have him torn to pieces by horses?”
“Who are you?” asked Selim, the chief, glancing gloomily at the captive, who stood before him waiting courageously to meet his death.
Said answered briefly and with truth.
“Did you murder my son treacherously, attacking him with arrow or spear from the rear?”
“Not so,” replied Said, “I killed him in fair fight, and because he had slain eight of my companions before my eyes.”
“Is it as he says?” demanded Selim of Said’s guard.
“Yes, it is true enough,” one of them made reply, “Almansor was killed in fair fight.”