"Dead snakes never bite!" came the answer.
Mary never forgot the terrible glow on Morgiana's face when that deed was done, which made the Greek shiver. The body of the eunuch dropped from her arms, lay upon the rugs, the blood spurting from the neck. The Arabian was kneeling over the prone form of Zeyneb. She thrust away the vest, laid a hand on his heart.
"Living!" whispered she, raising her eyes. "I may do wrong, but he is my foster-brother, and faithful to Iftikhar."
The Greek was too faint to do anything; but Morgiana rapidly plucked the curtain from the doorway, tore into strips, knotted about the dwarf's arms and feet. Then she felt in his bosom and drew forth a small key.
The three bronze lamps high up in the vault were flickering dimly. The shadows of the pillars lay long and dark across the gray slabs of the pavement. Upon the floor in irregular semicircle sat a score of figures in white mantle and turban, red girdle and shoes. The figures were rigid as marble, features moving not, lips speaking not; only the dark eyes flashed back the shimmerings of the lamps. In the centre of the group, and facing the others, another figure was standing, habited like the rest, save that the turban was black, and a great diamond, bright as a tiger's eye, twinkled against it. This figure was speaking.
"Musa, son of Abdallah, and you, Godfrey and Richard, lords of the Franks,"—the words came cold and metallic,—"you have been brought before the tribunal of the holy Order of Ismael. You have been accused of being the foes and plotting the hurt of the Grand Prior of Syria, Iftikhar Eddauleh. Nor have you denied this; you have confessed you desired his hurt, you have boasted you desired his death and dishonor. And now it behooves to ask, were you acquainted with the lot of those who so much as imagine harm to the least 'aspirant,' a Lasīk of the sacred Ismaelians, far from comparing such to the vice-gerent of our Lord Hassan Sabah's self?"
Whereupon Musa, facing the semicircle, with Richard and Godfrey at his side, answered in his melodious Arabic:—
"We well understand that he who offends against one of your order shall sooner receive mercy from Eblees than from you. Knowing that, we went forth; knowing that, we stand here. Our foe is Iftikhar Eddauleh. You are his slaves; bought cattle were not his more utterly. Proceed to sentence."
Rain beating an iron wall had made deeper dint than his words on that array of stony features. A long silence—then the former speaker looked upon his colleagues. Slowly he began: "It is the custom, O Ismaelians,—and it is here observed,—that those admitted to the degrees called Tessis and Teevil, the sixth and seventh of our holy brotherhood, shall sit in judgment upon those brought within danger of the cord. You have heard these men and the accusation. The mysteries of our order, the mandate of our Lord Hassan Sabah, are known to you. Yet let me repeat the word of the first of the seven Imams, the Lord Hossein the martyr, as runs the revered tradition, 'He that offendeth the least of you, let him wash away his guilt in his own blood.' Therefore I command that whosoever of you may believe these men cleared and worthy of liberty, let him speak forth; but whosoever thinks they should endure the cord, keep silence. For speech is life, and silence is death. I have spoken."