"Look him fairly in the face—as at Dorylæum!" cried the Greek, in hot scorn. "As at Dorylæum!"
"And Richard Longsword," continued Iftikhar, still steadily, "as surely as the sun moves from east to west, I will slay in battle, or, taking alive, you shall see him my captive. Yes; by the brightness of Allah! When I go to Antioch, you go also; with your own eyes you shall see the fate of those Franks you love. You shall see Richard borne asunder on the cimeters of the 'devoted' or haled fettered before me."
He paused, expecting an outburst. None! The Greek was standing proudly, her head poised high, eyes very bright.
"And at the end you shall indeed touch the head of your Richard. The head,—for you shall hear the crier traverse the city, proclaiming, 'He who would amuse himself, come to the great square,—the body of Richard the Frank is exposed to the dogs!'"
Mary took two steps toward the Ismaelian; her voice was low; she was pale, but did not tremble.
"Lord Iftikhar, if God suffered and you placed even now the head of Richard Longsword in my arms, rest assured I would kiss it with never so much love. For I would know a brave and noble spirit waited on high till it were granted me to stand at his side, all his sins washed white by God's mercy. But, my Cid, better to think of bearding the lion than of celebrating the hunting. For, hear my word; go to Antioch, you, the 'devoted,' the hordes of Kerbogha,—go all, and meet there men with a love for God in their hearts, a heaven-sped strength in their good arms. Not with dagger and stealth shall you meet; but man to man, breast to breast, sword to sword,—and Christ shall conquer!"
"Silence!" tossed out the emir, losing self-control.
"Well you cry 'silence'! First silence your own dark soul—silence reproach for blood spilled wantonly, for tears your deeds have made to flow. At heart you Ismaelians believe in no God! Believe then in devils; tremble! For many await you! And this you shall find: men can die for Christ no less than for Allah! Aye, and can live for Christ; by His strength, make you Moslems die! As for me I shall not die; in some strange way, by some strange voice, I am warned God will save me utterly; and I shall see you blasted, stricken, accursed—and that were joy of joys!"
Mary's voice had risen higher, fiercer; her hands outstretched in imprecation. Before the wild gust of her passion Iftikhar had shrunk back like a timid beast. For a moment the Greek was master, queen as never before. Then sudden as the flame had flashed, it died. Mary stood with drooping head, silent, statue-like.
"Away! From my sight!" commanded Iftikhar. His captive did not move. Hakem had reëntered.