"Pardon," replied Zeyneb, looking about unflinchingly, and speaking very good Languedoc. "You will find you have no power at all. You cannot slay me—"
"Cannot?" flew from Hardouin.
"Truly," was the calm answer. "All things are in the hand of God. Without His will you can do nothing."
"Silence, blasphemer!" thundered Sebastian, smiting the dwarf on the mouth. "Who are you to utter God's name?"
"I?" retorted Zeyneb, a little proudly, holding up his head. "I? Know, Christian, that we Ismaelians are chosen by God Himself to execute His will. Our sovereign here below says to us, 'Do this,' and we do it, knowing that no harm can befall, save as it is foreordained by the Most High."
"Away! Away to the dungeon!" raged Hardouin; "to-morrow you shall have cause to remember your sins!"
Strong hands were on Zeyneb's shoulders, but he almost writhed out of them, and stood before Richard.
"Ya! Cid Richard; thrice now have I sought your ending. Well—Allah preserves you! Sometimes death is sweeter than life. Would you have me tell of what befell at Cefalu? I saw your mother die, your brother, your father, your sister—"
"Away!" roared Longsword, "or I shall kill him, and he will escape too mercifully."
The men-at-arms tugged Zeyneb down the dark stairs. Herbert had him very tightly by the scruff.