The sting of her words was as salt on a wound. The answer was a curse upon jinns and angels who should stand between him and his prey. His feet flew up the stairway, but the Greek remained steadfast.
"You see, Cid Iftikhar, I am weak, and with empty hands. But without the walls is Richard Longsword, who will speak to you in my behalf. This is your night, my lord; but in the morning—"
"Leave the morning to the rebel jinns!" rang the Egyptian's cry. "To-night, to-night,—I possess you. To-night! To the castle with all speed!" He snatched her in his impure arms. He crushed her to his breast, and pressed on her cold cheeks burning kisses. Mary neither struggled nor moaned. What she said in her heart was heard only by God. In his delirium Iftikhar saw neither Morgiana nor any other. He leaped down the stairs three at a bound,—his captive in his arms.
"Allah akhbar!" went his shout through the lower court. "I have won; the stars fight for me. Mine, to do with as I will!" And he kissed her again on lips and neck. Then of a sudden he stopped motionless, as though a charmer had made him stone, for outside in the street was sounding an angry command to the Soudanese to make way—the voice of Musa.
The grasp of the Egyptian on his prey never weakened, though his weapon was out once more. Yet Mary, in his grasp, for the first time began to struggle,—helpless as bird in the snare,—but her call sped out into the street shrilly: "Rescue! Rescue, for the love of God!"
For reply she saw the Soudanese by the door dashed to one side like shapes of wood, and across the threshold strode Musa, in no armor, but his cimeter also in hand. A glance, and the Spaniard knew all. He took one step toward Iftikhar, as if to cross swords without passing a word. Then, with point outstretched, he spoke, but mildly, as if in grave irony.
"Cid, is this the manner of Egyptian emirs in keeping truce?" Iftikhar's only response was to make his grip of Mary's arm so vise-like that she cried out with pain.
Musa spoke again, still gently. "Cid, this is my own house, my own harem. For what cause is it surrounded by your negroes, and violated?"
Iftikhar pointed toward the door with his cimeter. "I made truce with you," he retorted defiantly, "not with her." And he glared madly at the Greek. "Away, or the Soudanese strike off your head!"
The Spaniard calmly let his weapon sink to the pavement, and smiled as he leaned upon it. "Good emir, we have our hands busy—as Allah knows—to defend El Kuds. Do we well to nurse private lusts and hates, while the jewel of Islam trembles in the balance?"