Shots sounded in rapid succession, but we remained unharmed, and with loud, angry curses sounding in the distance, we rode speedily forward, to where there was a breach in the city walls, and then away through the fertile oasis. As in silence we pressed onward at a wild, mad gallop, I was filled with admiration at the magnificent manner in which my companion sat his horse. He seemed merely a youth, for he was not tall, and his haick, well drawn over his face, half concealed his features, yet he rode at a pace that was killing, regardless of obstacles or the uneven nature of the ground.
“For me this day hath indeed been one full of events,” I managed to gasp at length, when, in ascending the rising ground, our horses slackened.
“And for me also,” he replied, without glancing towards me. “How sad it is that the daring Hámma, hero of a hundred fights, should have fallen in his valiant attempt to rescue thee!”
“Yes,” I answered. “He fought bravely, indeed. But how didst thou know of his death?”
“I was awaiting thee outside the mosque opposite the Fáda gate, with a horse for Hámma and thyself,” he answered. “I saw him fall, and then I witnessed thy flight. I could not reach thee in time, but by the shouts of the janissaries I knew the direction thou hadst taken, and posted myself in readiness. Praise be unto Allah that thou hast escaped those fiendish brutes!”
“But it is all a mystery,” I said. “Tell me who plotted my deliverance; why should it be attempted by an outlaw?”
“I know nothing,” he replied, “save that it was imperative that thy life should be saved.”
“Why?”
“Because thou art the Amîn, and the Well-Beloved.”
“What dost thou know of me?” I asked, in surprise. “Nothing, beyond the fact that thou, who hast undertaken a secret mission, fell into the hands of the slave-raiders and became a prisoner in the inner court of the Fáda.”