"Child of Eblees the Devil, have you failed yet again? at Palermo, at Cefalu, and now in France?" And Iftikhar put forth his hand for the ivory staff that lay by the divan. "Sluggard, an hundred strokes on your bare heels for this!"
The dwarf still did not flinch.
"Master, once at Clermont where the Frankish lords were all gathered to prepare for taking Jerusalem, I stabbed at him through the walls of his tent; some jinn prompted him to wear a Valencia hauberk. Barely I made away. Again in Provence, when he stood by the Star of the Greeks, I would have stricken him in her arms; but that chain shirt, enchanted doubtless, turned the blow. I was cast into a dungeon, and only because Allah granted that I should know how to pick loose fetters, and because He shed sleep upon my guard, did I escape being food for dogs. Therefore, if I deserve stripes, lay on; yet my small wit could do no more. The hand of Allah protects Richard Longsword."
Iftikhar controlled himself by no common effort.
"You have ever been a trusty slave, Zeyneb; no man may contend against the Most High. I do wrong to be angry. Depart, and when refreshed, return and tell all; of the Star of the Greeks and of the commotions amongst the Franks; for of these last the Lord Kerbogha will be glad to hear."
But as Zeyneb was bowing himself out of the liwan, a low, weird song stole from the chambers within; now softly rising as the breeze, now mounting shriller, shriller, till the gilded stalactites trembled, and the whole hall throbbed with the wailing melody, then fainter, dying like the retreating wind. Again and again the three heard the wild song rise, throb, fall, and a strange awe spread over them, as if more than mortal accents drifted with the note.
"The song of Morgiana," said Iftikhar, dropping his eyes; "she is fallen in her trance. My Lord Kerbogha, let us go to her. For her eyes now see things hid to all save Allah!"
The three tiptoed down a long, dark way, Zeyneb following as a matter of course. At the end was a door where stood a second eunuch, a tall, beardless, ebony skeleton, with naked sabre held before him. The black knelt while his master passed. Iftikhar knocked thrice at the door; it turned on its pivots slowly, noiselessly, by some unseen power. As the three stepped within, they were nigh dazzled by the intense white light. They were in a court surrounded by a two-storied arcade, the delicate columns, the fantastic capitals, fretwork, and panelling, all in alabaster and marble. Below, the eye wandered over gilt mosaics, winding scroll into scroll, till sight grew mazed and weary. In the centre of the court sprang a tall silver pipe, embossed with strange figures, discharging itself aloft in a fine cool spray that drifted downward on all beneath. Perfume mingled with the spray, and what with the blinding light, shot through the mist, and the wandering song which ever grew nearer, sense lost itself as amid an enchanter's spell. Iftikhar led past the fountain, into the arcade; and in the shadows apart from the misty outer air a brazier was smouldering, and a heavy fragrance rose with the gray smoke. Still the song, very loud now, but no word heard clearly. Iftikhar spoke.
"Morgiana!" And Kerbogha saw sitting in the dark niche, behind the brazier, a woman, her head thrown back, drinking in the rising vapor. She was dressed only in a violet robe that fell from throat to feet. There was a girdle of silver chain-work; no sleeves; arms, neck, face, all bare; the skin, not so dark as of most Eastern women, rather a fine olive. Black and slightly waving was the long hair that tossed heedlessly over the shoulders. In the shadow Kerbogha could only see that the face presented a profile of marvellous symmetry, and the eyes—wonder of wonders,—now flashing with a half-drunken fire—were steel-blue. As Iftikhar spoke, the woman tossed her head, but continued the song. They heard her words:—
"Armies advancing; the vultures appearing,
Wheel for their prey.
Now the hosts mingle, a thousand blades flashing;
Hid is the day
By the twittering arrows; as, quaking like aspen,
The warring hosts sway!"