"It is so! Wallah, the emir was mad. It is so!" came voices from the doorway. Ammar's face was lowering when he demanded:—
"Yet how will you answer to Al Afdhal, the vizier?"
Musa drew himself to full height haughtily.
"Victory covers all pasts. Let me fling back the Christians and Al Afdhal will forget to question. If defeated"—Musa swept his hand in a wide gesture—"I will not be here to make reply. And now you, O Ammar, are my lieutenant, and I commandant this night of Jerusalem. Leave Iftikhar Eddauleh to Allah, and get you to the ramparts, for there is work in store." The clatter of a horseman in the streets cut him short; a breathless messenger was entering. "Allah akhbar!" gasped the courier, "I am from the Gate of St. Stephen. We have sallied forth to burn the Franks' siege towers. All the unbelieving jinns aid them. The towers are repaired. We were driven back with loss. They attack at dawn."
"Fellow, fellow," began Musa, while Ammar dropped his jaw in surprise, "no tales, as you love your head! With my own eyes I saw those towers in ruins—they can never be fought again."
"In Allah's great name I do not lie," flew back the answer; "and the Christians have just flung the corpse of an Egyptian inside the city on a mangonel, with letters saying they send us the courier from Al Afdhal, who promises aid, but that they will be in Jerusalem ere he can set forth from Egypt."
The Spaniard cast about a lightning glance of high command; never was Iftikhar more lordly. "Then for El Islam we shall win glory or martyrdom by another sun. Lead to the walls, Cid Ammar, I follow instantly. Call all the city-folk to repair the breach. Hurry the Greek fire and oil caldrons from the citadel. We must each have a thousand hands betwixt now and morning. But on your lives say nothing of Iftikhar."
"Allah! Allah! Death to the Franks! Death!" roared the Soudanese, vanishing down the dark street as suddenly as they had come. But Ammar halted. "Cid," said he, gravely, "you are indeed commandant, but if the news flies out at this last grapple that Iftikhar lies dead, needless to tell how every sword-hand will weaken. The name of Iftikhar is worth a thousand in the death-grip. What is to be done?" Musa had bent over the corpses, and was unbuckling the Egyptian's gilded armor.
"See," declared he, holding up the gem-set baldric, "I will put on the emir's mail. I have his height; none will miss his shoulders. With the casque drawn down, all but those in the secret will know nothing. I can again put on my own sombre armor, and appear elsewhere on the wall. The host will think they have both commanders. Ere the truth is known the city is saved."
"Allah! You have the craft of Solomon! So be it!"