Dauntless was she now, as she paced there in the cool of the orchard, under the pink and white petals of the apricots, the flaming scarlet of pomegranate blossoms, and through orange-groves where the golden fruit glowed and amid foliage of sombre green. She was at her eternal work of poisoning the mind of her lord against Sakr-el-Bahr, and in her maternal jealousy she braved the dangers of such an undertaking, fully aware of how dear to the heart of Asad-ed-Din was that absent renegade corsair. It was this very affection of the Basha’s for his lieutenant that was the fomenter of her own hate of Sakr-el-Bahr, for it was an affection that transcended Asad’s love for his own son and hers, and it led to the common rumour that for Sakr-el-Bahr was reserved the high destiny of succeeding Asad in the Bashalik.
“I tell thee thou’rt abused by him, O source of my life.”
“I hear thee,” answered Asad sourly. “And were thine own hearing less infirm, woman, thou wouldst have heard me answer thee that thy words weigh for naught with me against his deeds. Words may be but a mask upon our thoughts; deeds are ever the expression of them. Bear thou that in mind, O Fenzileh.”
“Do I not bear in mind thine every word, O fount of wisdom?” she protested, and left him, as she often did, in doubt whether she fawned or sneered. “And it is his deeds I would have speak for him, not indeed my poor words and still less his own.”
“Then, by the head of Allah, let those same deeds speak, and be thou silent.”
The harsh tone of his reproof and the scowl upon his haughty face, gave her pause for a moment. He turned about.
“Come!” he said. “Soon it will be the hour of prayer.” And he paced back towards the yellow huddle of walls of the Kasbah that overtopped the green of that fragrant place.
He was a tall, gaunt man, stooping slightly at the shoulders under the burden of his years; but his eagle face was masterful, and some lingering embers of his youth still glowed in his dark eyes. Thoughtfully, with a jewelled hand, he stroked his long white beard; with the other he leaned upon her soft plump arm, more from habit than for support, for he was full vigorous still.
High in the blue overhead a lark burst suddenly into song, and from the depths of the orchard came a gentle murmur of doves as if returning thanks for the lessening of the great heat now that the sun was sinking rapidly towards the world’s edge and the shadows were lengthening.
Came Fenzileh’s voice again, more musical than either, yet laden with words of evil, poison wrapped in honey.
“O my dear lord, thou’rt angered with me now. Woe me! that never may I counsel thee for thine own glory as my heart prompts me, but I must earn thy coldness.”
“Abuse not him I love,” said the Basha shortly. “I have told thee so full oft already.”
She nestled closer to him, and her voice grew softer, more akin to the amorous cooing of the doves. “And do I not love thee, O master of my soul? Is there in all the world a heart more faithful to thee than mine? Is not thy life my life? Have not my days been all devoted to the perfecting of thine happiness? And wilt thou then frown upon me if I fear for thee at the hands of an intruder of yesterday?”
“Fear for me?” he echoed, and laughed jeeringly. “What shouldst thou fear for me from Sakr-el-Bahr?”
“What all believers must ever fear from one who is no true Muslim, from one who makes a mock and travesty of the True Faith that he may gain advancement.”
The Basha checked in his stride, and turned upon her angrily.
“May thy tongue rot, thou mother of lies!”
“I am as the dust beneath thy feet, O my sweet lord, yet am I not what thine heedless anger calls me.”
“Heedless?” quoth he. “Not heedless but righteous to hear one whom the Prophet guards, who is the very javelin of Islam against the breast of the unbeliever, who carries the scourge of Allah against the infidel Frankish pigs, so maligned by thee! No more, I say! Lest I bid thee make good thy words, and pay the liar’s price if thou shouldst fail.”
“And should I fear the test?” she countered, nothing daunted. “I tell thee, O father of Marzak, that I should hail it gladly. Why, hear me now. Thou settest store by deeds, not words. Tell me, then, is it the deed of a true believer to waste substance upon infidel slaves, to purchase them that he may set them free?”
Asad moved on in silence. That erstwhile habit of Sakr-el-Bahr’s was one not easy to condone. It had occasioned him his moments of uneasiness, and more than once had he taxed his lieutenant with the practice ever to receive the same answer, the answer which he now made to Fenzileh. “For every slave that he so manumitted, he brought a dozen into bondage.”
“Perforce, else would he be called to account. ’Twas so much dust he flung into the face of true Muslimeen. Those manumissions prove a lingering fondness for the infidel country whence he springs. Is there room for that in the heart of a true member of the Prophet’s immortal House? Hast ever known me languish for the Sicilian shore from which in thy might thou wrested me, or have I ever besought of thee the life of a single Sicilian infidel in all these years that I have lived to serve thee? Such longings are betrayed,
