“She hath told me nothing,” I answered, still helpless in his murderous grasp. “For many moons have I journeyed over oasis and desert, hamada and dune, in search of the truth, but nothing, alas! hath been revealed.”
“She entrusted to thy keeping the Crescent of Glorious Wonders; she unveiled before thee, an Infidel; therefore the punishment to which she was condemned is just.”
“What was her punishment?” I gasped breathlessly. “At least tell me whether she still lives.”
“The hand that wrought treacherous deeds was sent thee, so that thou mightest gaze upon the result of thy gallant adventure,” he answered sternly.
“Yes, yes, I know. Its sight was horrible!” I said, shuddering, his words bringing back to my memory the cold, dead, bejewelled lingers in all their sickening hideousness.
“Disgraced in the eyes of the people of Al-Islâm, untrue to her creed, faithless to her people, she hath already received the just reward of spies and those who play us false. The vengeance of the Ennitra shall also fall upon thee!”
“Was she murdered?” I demanded. “Tell me.”
“She, the One of Beauty, who was possessed of powers strange and inexplicable, exhibited to thee wonders that none have seen, marvels that she alone was able to work,” he continued, murder lurking in every line of his dark, forbidding countenance. “The Great Secret that hath for generations been so zealously-guarded by our people she gave into thine unscrupulous hands. To thee, a dog of a Christian—upon whom may the wrath of Allah descend—she transferred her power, thus allowing her people to be ignominiously defeated and slaughtered by the homards. Of the disasters that have fallen upon us, of the misfortune that ever dogs the footprints of those of our men who set out upon expeditions, of all the discomforture that hath been experienced by us; nay, of the terrible doom that hath overtaken the perfidious Daughter of the Sun who entranced thee, thou art the author.”
“Merciful Allah!” I cried loudly. “I have been unconscious of having brought catastrophe upon thee. True, I am not of thy creed, but—”
“Silence, thou bringer of evil! Let not the name of the One of Might pass thy polluted lips,” he cried, glaring into my face with fierce, passionate anger. “To thee we owe the loss of the Marvellous Crescent. With it our good fortune hath departed. Crushed by defeat, the downfall of Hadj Absalam seemeth imminent, owing to the false, fickle sorceress Zoraida—may Allah burn the hell-vixen!—having fallen under thine amorous glances. Upon thee her power hath fallen, and as thou refusest to give back to us that which is our own, thou shalt not live to witness the rising of to-morrow’s sun.”