Cormac laughed savagely and mockingly.
“Amory would laugh at you and tell you to cut my throat and be damned, or he would cut the throat of the girl as it struck him. Besides, though I am in your castle, surrounded by your warriors, I am not entirely helpless. Seek to take me and I will flood these walls with blood before I die.”
It was no idle boast as the Moslems well knew.
“Enough!” Suleyman made an impatient gesture, “You were promised safety – what’s that?”
A commotion had arisen without; a scuffling, shouts, threats and maledictions in the Arab tongue. The outer door was thrust open and a bearded Turk who had been guarding the door entered, dragging a struggling victim whose beard bristled with wrath. He clung to a pack from which spilled various trinkets and ornaments.
“I found this dog sneaking about in an adjoining chamber, master,” rumbled the guardsman, “Methinks he was eavesdropping. Shall I not strike off his head?”
“I am Ali bin Nasru, an honest merchant!” shouted the Arab angrily and fearfully, “I am well known in Kizil-hissar! I sell wares to shahs and sheikhs and I was not evesdropping. Am I a dog to spy upon my patron? I was seeking the great chief Suleyman Bey to spread my goods before him!”
“Best cut out his tongue,” growled Belek, “He may have heard too much.”
“I heard nothing!” clamored Ali, “I have but just come into the castle!”
“Beat him forth,” snapped Suleyman Bey in irritation, “Shall I be pestered by a yapping cur? Lash him out and if he comes again with his trash, strip him and hang him up by his feet in the market-place for the children to pelt with stones. Cormac, we ride at dawn, and if you have tricked me, make your peace with Allah!”
“And if you seek to trick me,” snarled Cormac, “make your peace with the Devil for you will swiftly meet him.”
It was past midnight when a form climbed warily down a rope let down from the outer wall of the town. Hurriedly making his way down the slopes, the man came soon upon a thicket where was securely hidden a swift camel and a bulky pack – for the man was not one to trust all his belongings in a town ruled by Turks. Recklessly casting aside the pack, the man mounted the camel and fled southward.
CHAPTER 4
Amory rested his chin on his fist and gazed broodingly at the Arab girl, Zuleika. In the past days he had found his eyes straying often to his slender captive. He wondered at her silence and submission, for he knew that at some time in her life, she had known a higher position than that of a slave. Her manners were not those of a born serf; she was neither impudent nor servile. He guessed faintly at the fierce and cruel school in which she had been broken – no, not broken, for there was a strange deep strength in her that had not been touched, or if touched, only made more pliable.
She was beautiful – not with the passionate, fierce beauty of the Turkish women who had lent him their wild love, but with a deep, tranquill beauty, of one who’s soul has been forged in fierce fires.
“Tell me how you came to be a slave,” the voice was one of command and Zuleika folded her hands in acquiesence.
“I was born among the black felt tents of the south, master, and my childhood was spent upon the desert. There all things are free – in my early girlhood I was proud, for men told me I was beautiful, and many suitors came to woo me. But there came others, too – men who wooed with naked steel and me they carried off.
“They sold me to a Turk, who soon wearied of me and sold me again to a Persian slave-dealer. Thus I came into the house of the merchant of the city, and there I toiled, a slave among the lowest slaves. My master once offered me my freedom if I would return his love but I could not. My body was his; my love he could not shackle. So he made of me his drudge.”
“You have learned deep humilty,” commented Amory.
“By scourge and shackle and torture and toil I have learned, master,” she said.
“Do you know what we mean to do with you?” he asked bluntly. She shook her head.
“Cormac thinks you resemble the princess Zalda,” said Amory, “And it is our intention to cheat Suleyman Bey with you. We will show you to him on the wall, and I think he will pay a high price for you. When we have delivered you to him, you will have your chance. Play your cards well and perchance you may bewitch him, so when he learns of the trickery, he will not put you aside.”
Again Amory’s eyes swept over her slim form. A pulse began to thrum in his temple. For the time being, she was his; why should he not take her, before he gave her into the arms of Suleyman Bey? He had learned that what a man wants he must take. With a single long stride he reached her and swept her into his arms. She made no resistance, but she averted her face, drawing her head back from his fierce lips. Her dark eyes looked into his with a deep hurt and suddenly he felt ashamed. He released her and turned away.
“There are some garments I bought from a wandering band of gypsies,” he said abruptly, “Put them on; I hear a trumpet.”
Across the desert a distant trumpet was faintly sounding. Amory had his men in full armor lining the walls, weapons in hand, when the horsemen rode up to the castle gate, which was flanked by a tower.
Amory hailed them. He saw Suleyman Bey in heron plumed helmet and gold scaled mail, sitting his black mare. Close behind him sat Belek the Egyptian on a bay horse, and beside the chief, Cormac FitzGeoffrey on his great stallion. And Amory grinned. Was it not strange to see the man riding in the company of those who had sworn to cut his throat? Some three hundred riders were ranked behind the chief.
“Ha, Amory,” said Cormac, “Fetch forth the princess – let her be shown upon the wall of the tower that Suleyman Bey be convinced; he thinks us liars, by the hoofs of the Devil!”
Amory hesitated, as a sudden revulsion shook him, then with a shrug of his shoulders he made a gesture to his men-at-arms. Zuleika was escorted out upon the wall above the gate and Amory gasped. Rich clothes had wrought a transformation in the slave girl; indeed she wore them as if she had never worn the flimsy rags of a serf. She did not carry herself with the haughty pride of a princess, thought Amory, but there was a certain quiet dignity about her, a certain proud humility that many of royal blood might well copy.
Suleyman Bey gasped also; he gazed at her in bewilderment and reined closer.
“By Allah!” he said in amazement, “Zalda! Is it she? No – yes – by Asrael, I cannot say! She does not carry her chin as she did, if it be she, and yet – yet – by the gods, it must be she!”
“Of a surety it is the princess Zalda,” rumbled Cormac, “By Satan, do you think there is no faith in Franks? Well, chief, what say you? Is she worth ten thousand pieces of gold to you?”
“Wait,” answered the Turk, “I must have time to consider. This girl is alike the princess Zalda as can be – yet her whole bearing is different – I must be convinced. Let her speak to me.”
Amory nodded to Zuleika, who gave him a pitiful look, then raising her voice, said: “My lord, I am Zalda, daughter of Abdullah bin Kheram.”
Again the Turk shook his hawk-like head.
“The voice is soft and musical like Zalda’s, but the tone is different – the princess was used to command and her tone was imperious.”
“She has been a captive,” grunted Cormac, “Three years of captivity can change even a princess.”
“True – well, I will ride to the spring of Mechmet which lies something more than a mile away, and there camp. Tomorrow I will come to you again and we will talk on the matter. Ten thousand pieces of gold – a high price to pay, even for the princess Zalda.”
“Good enough,” grunted Cormac. “I’ll remain at the castle – and mark you, Suleyman – no tricks. At the first hint of a night onset we cut Zalda’s throat and throw her head to you. Mark!”