“Sir,” replied the skipper, “the heathen will throw Greek fire on board. Neither sword nor shield can do aught against that. The ship will be burnt, and all the men either burnt therewith or drowned.”
No one knew what to advise, so all stood silent about the king. Suddenly a voice was heard from the mast-head:
“All arms below! Bring up the merchandise, and let the sails be reefed, lest the enemy guess that we thought of flight.”
“Hey-day! It is Alberich,” said Ortnit; “how could I have forgotten him?”
He looked up and saw the king of the dwarfs slipping rapidly down the mast to the deck. In another moment he was at his side.
“You forgot both the ring and me,” said Alberich, “but a father does not so soon forget his son. Now hasten and see that my commands are carried out.”
Much ashamed of himself, Ortnit gave the necessary orders. All weapons of offence were stowed away below, and the costly wares Zacharis had provided were spread temptingly on deck. Meanwhile the dwarf climbed the mast again, and, as soon as he was aloft, shouted to the Moors:
“See here—we are peaceful merchants bringing wares from Italy. Give us free convoy into the harbour of Tyre.”
Ylyas stared up open-mouthed at the top of the mast. The flag was flying there as usual, and no one was to be seen. What voice was that he had heard?
“Is the devil on board?” he asked, crossing himself, “or is it a good spirit? Whom did you speak to, nephew? Who called from the top-mast even now?”