"Another stranger?"
The mute nodded.
"Can he be trusted?" the second question from Kerbogha.
A second nod. "Let him come in."
And the curtains gave way for none other than the dwarf Zeyneb, travel-stained, with a ragged beard and a very tattered costume. At sight of his master and Kerbogha, the dwarf bowed to the rugs, then laid his hand on lips and forehead. At last Iftikhar spoke:—
"You come from Frankland?"
"I have been amongst the Franks, lord, as you deigned to command."
"And Richard Longsword, whom my soul hates?" came eagerly.
The dwarf looked his master full in the eye.
"He still lives, and to my knowledge prospers."