"And I think it well," continued the Egyptian, flushing, but not raising his voice, "since we shall not soon meet again, that I say a few things. This Duke Godfrey, as your friend, shall fare as do you."
"Say it out, fledgling of Satan! Say it out," roared the Duke. "You will summon the headsman. By Our Lady of Antwerp, you will find those before Antioch who will not forget!"
"Gallantly done, my lord," taunted Richard. "At Palermo you boasted you loved to talk with a foe over two sword-blades; Syrian nard softens your courage and your arm."
Iftikhar lost control for a moment, and boasted wildly.
"Ya! You may well curse, for I have triumphed. As a lion you have lived; as a dog you shall die. The grudge is old; the vengeance sweetens with the years. Father, brother, mother, sister, I have taken from you. Yes, by the splendor of Allah, your bride also! Mary, Star of the Greeks, is mine! I will place your head before her. I will say, 'See, see, Richard, your lord, your husband.' For I have conquered—have conquered utterly!"
He paused to gather breath. Richard was silent, repeating to himself the proverb that "stillness angers most." The Egyptian recovered his control, and went on. "You, Richard Longsword," said he, "you, Cid Musa, and you, Duke Godfrey, have come to Aleppo to steal away my prize. You fail. You shall, as Allah reigns, count out the price! I designed to start for Antioch to-morrow, intent on taking your heads to the Star of the Greeks. And I should not have failed. Kerbogha's host is but ten leagues from your Christian camp. You know nothing. You will be struck as by a bolt from the clear sky. Knight and villain, you shall die far from Jerusalem,"—the Egyptian broke off in a laugh; for the Duke, steel against his own peril, had turned gray at this tale of danger to the army.
"Ah! my Lord Godfrey," went on Iftikhar, "it matters little to you whether you end all at Aleppo or at Antioch. For on my faith as a cavalier, I swear there shall not one man of all your host escape. Already Kerbogha advances beyond Afrin, and not a Christian dreams. Your scouting parties are gallantly led, fair Franks!"
"Dear God," prayed Richard, "not for our sakes, but for the love of the army of Thy Son, suffer us even now to escape this Thine enemy!" But Iftikhar continued: "I speak too long. Enough that I shall bring you this night before the tribunal of the Ismaelians, since the dagger is only for those whom our judgments cannot otherwise reach. You shall stand before our Daïs, that is to say the 'masters,' and our Refiks, that is the 'companions,' and it will be asked you if you sought the hurt of any Ismaelian. Make what defence you may. If the tribunal decide against you, you are delivered over by the court, and the world hears of you no more."
"Spare the mockery," thundered Richard, blazing forth at last. "Slay; but summon no judges who are sworn against all mercy!" Iftikhar's answer was a gesture toward the passage. "Look!" and Richard leaped forward, bound as he was, so fiercely that he nigh flung down the three Ismaelians that held him. Two eunuchs were leading Mary Kurkuas into the chamber. Longsword had never known a moment like this. Then, if never before, he felt the pains of hell. Angry God and angry devil might devise nothing worse. Mary was led before him. She was very white,—white dress, white hands, white face; and her eyes seemed to touch the bare gray room with brightness. They must have told her what awaited, else she had never been so calm and still and beautiful. So beautiful! Was Mary, Mother of God, sitting upon the Heavenly Throne, fairer than she? Blasphemy?—but the thought would come! And she did not moan, nor cry in agony. That was Mary's way,—Richard knew it,—that she was ready to turn Iftikhar's desires against himself, and make her last vision one of strength and of peace. With all the pain,—pain too deep for words,—under the influence of her eyes, he felt a sweet, holy spell creeping over him, and knew that the bitterness of death was past.
The two negroes led her until she stood beside Iftikhar. The Egyptian towered over her, splendid as Satan when robed as angel of light. The grand prior looked upon her face; and Richard knew he saw all the brightness of heaven therein. But a cloud passed across the countenance of Iftikhar, as if in that moment of earthly triumph he felt there was something passing betwixt his captive and his slave which not all the might of the "devoted" could win for his own. The Egyptian pointed from Mary to the Norman—his voice very proud.