“From my camp?” he repeated, puzzled.
“I had intended that he should lose his head, but the Sultan himself pardoned him because he feared the consequence of some strange symbol the spy bore upon his breast.”
“Was he the Arab horseman captured at the well of Sabo-n-Gari?” asked the Khalifa, with knit brows, evidently recollecting the description I had given of the attack.
“The same. The Lalla Azala saved his life, and declared to me that she loved him.”
“Then I, the Khalifa, have a rival in Zafar, the chief of my body-servants!” my master cried angrily, between his teeth. “I will give orders to-day for his removal.”
“Send his head to her as a present,” suggested the Aga, with a brutal laugh. “The sight of it will break her spirit.”
“Thy lips utter words of wisdom. I will send it to thee, that thou mayest convey it to her.”
Thus I stood, hearing my fate being discussed, not daring to move a muscle, for so close was I to the pair, that I could have struck them dead with the keen jambiyah I carried in my sash.
“Then it is thine intention to annex Sokoto unto thine already extensive domains,” the Aga exclaimed, in a few moments.
The Khalifa nodded an affirmative, adding, “Hesitate no longer, but give thy decision. If thou wilt open the gates of Kano for the admission of my Ansar, thou shalt, as reward, occupy the highest and most lucrative post in the Empire. If not—” And he shrugged his shoulders significantly.