Richard made an angry gesture.
"Good, then! What is left to fear? I think Trenchefer can still sting before his master's fingers loosen." But his voice grew very grave in turn,—"Were it not for my wife! But we have chosen!"
"We have chosen, my brother. Trusting in Allah we went to Aleppo; trusting in Him let us wait. But we have not struck in vain. Iftikhar shall never set eyes on the sorrow of the Star of the Greeks." A cry from Godfrey brought Musa to his side.
"Now by St. Nicholas of Ghent!" swore the Duke, in Languedoil. "What new devil's devisings? Look, Sir Musa! What do you see in the dark?" He pointed from the casement by the stairs, into the night.
Musa strained his eyes. "I see many men; they are bearing bales, I think; perhaps of straw and grass. They are approaching the door at the stairway." Without a word Godfrey caught a second of the ebony tables,—nothing light,—raised it to the sill—cast it down. A great howl of pain, and many curses; then the rush of a score of feet. The defenders awaited a new attack by the stairs, where Musa's cimeter had already sped three; but the Ismaelians did not ascend. They fled back into the gloom, and an instant later half a dozen arrows twittered in at the window and dashed harmlessly against the wall.
"Cover the lamps!" commanded Godfrey; "they give light to aim." Morgiana hid them behind a curtain. But despite the darkness there came more arrows, and yet more; in vain hopes to harm by a chance shaft.
"They waste bowstrings," muttered the Duke. "Lie close a little longer!" As he spoke a short moan came from Mary's divan. Richard quitted guard, and was beside her instantly. "Lights!" ordered he. And Morgiana brought a lamp, despite the danger. There was an arrow pinning the Greek's left arm just below the elbow to the cushion, and the blood was flowing. Before her husband could cry out, she plucked fourth the shaft with her own hand. There was no tremor, and her lips were firm, though very white.
"It is nothing!" said she, looking upward. "Do you forget my wound the day before Dorylæum?" But Richard was nigh to weeping when he saw the blood.
"Dear God!" cried he, "wilt Thou suffer even this?"
Mary smiled. "Now, by St. Basil, you almost weep, while your own face is all wounds."