He said no more than the buyers recognized to be true, and excitement stirred faintly through their usually impassive ranks. A Tagareen Moor named Yusuf offered at once two hundred.
But still the dalal continued to sing her praises. He held up one of her arms for inspection, and she submitted with lowered eyes, and no sign of resentment beyond the slow flush that spread across her face and vanished again.
“Behold me these limbs, smooth as Arabian silks and whiter than ivory. Look at those lips like pomegranate blossoms. The price is now two hundred philips. What wilt thou give, O Hamet?”
Hamet showed himself angry that his original bid should so speedily have been doubled. “By the Koran, I have purchased three sturdy girls from the Sus for less.”
“Wouldst thou compare a squat-faced girl from the Sus with this narcissus-eyed glory of womanhood?” scoffed the dalal.
“Two hundred and ten, then,” was Hamet’s sulky grunt.
The watchful Tsamanni considered that the time had come to buy her for his lord as he had been bidden.
“Three hundred,” he said curtly, to make an end of matters, and—
“Four hundred,” instantly piped a shrill voice behind him.
He spun round in his amazement and met the leering face of Ayoub. A murmur ran through the ranks of the buyers, the people craned their necks to catch a glimpse of this openhanded purchaser.
Yusuf the Tagareen rose up in a passion. He announced angrily that never again should the dust of the sôk of Algiers defile his slippers, that never again would he come there to purchase slaves.
“By the Well of Zem-Zem,” he swore, “all men are bewitched in this market. Four hundred philips for a Frankish girl! May Allah increase your wealth, for verily you’ll need it.” And in his supreme disgust he stalked to the gates, and elbowed his way through the crowd, and so vanished from the sôk.
Yet ere he was out of earshot her price had risen further. Whilst Tsamanni was recovering from his surprise at the competitor that had suddenly appeared before him, the dalal had lured an increased offer from the Turk.
“ ’Tis a madness,” the latter deplored. “But she pleaseth me, and should it seem good to Allah the Merciful to lead her into the True Faith she may yet become the light of my harem. Four hundred and twenty philips, then, O dalal, and Allah pardon me my prodigality.”
Yet scarcely was his little speech concluded than Tsamanni with laconic eloquence rapped out: “Five hundred.”
“Y’Allah!” cried the Turk, raising his hands to heaven, and “Y’Allah!” echoed the crowd.
“Five hundred and fifty,” shrilled Ayoub’s voice above the general din.
“Six hundred,” replied Tsamanni, still unmoved.
And now such was the general hubbub provoked by these unprecedented prices that the dalal was forced to raise his voice and cry for silence.
When this was restored Ayoub at once raised the price to seven hundred.
“Eight hundred,” snapped Tsamanni, showing at last a little heat.
“Nine hundred,” replied Ayoub.
Tsamanni swung round upon him again, white now with fury.
“Is this a jest, O father of wind?” he cried, and excited laughter by the taunt implicit in that appellation.
“And thou’rt the jester,” replied Ayoub with forced calm, “thou’lt find the jest a costly one.”
With a shrug Tsamanni turned again to the dalal. “A thousand philips,” said he shortly.
“Silence there!” cried the dalal again. “Silence, and praise Allah who sends good prices.”
“One thousand and one hundred,” said Ayoub the irrepressible.
And now Tsamanni not only found himself outbidden, but he had reached the outrageous limit appointed by Asad. He lacked authority to go further, dared not do so without first consulting the Basha. Yet if he left the sôk for that purpose Ayoub would meanwhile secure the girl. He found himself between sword and wall. On the one hand did he permit himself to be outbidden his master might visit upon him his disappointment. On the other, did he continue beyond the limit so idly mentioned as being far beyond all possibility, it might fare no less ill with him.
He turned to the crowd, waving his arms in furious gesticulation. “By the beard of the Prophet, this bladder of wind and grease makes sport of us. He has no intent to buy. What man ever heard of the half of such a price for a slave girl?”
Ayoub’s answer was eloquent; he produced a fat bag and flung it on the ground, where it fell with a mellow chink. “There is my sponsor,” he made answer, grinning in the very best of humours, savouring to the full his enemy’s rage and discomfiture, and savouring it at no cost to himself. “Shall I count out one thousand and one hundred philips, O dalal.”
“If the wazeer Tsamanni is content.”
“Dost thou know for whom I buy?” roared Tsamanni. “For the Basha himself, Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah,” He advanced upon Ayoub with hands upheld. “What shalt thou say to him, O dog, when he calls thee to account for daring to outbid him.”
But Ayoub remained unruffled before all this fury. He spread his fat hands, his eyes twinkling, his great lips pursed. “How should I know, since Allah has not made me all-knowing? Thou shouldst have said so earlier. ’Tis thus I shall answer the Basha should he question me, and the Basha is just.”
“I would not be thee, Ayoub—not for the throne of Istambul.”
“Nor I thee, Tsamanni; for thou art jaundiced with rage.”
And so they stood glaring each at the other until the dalal called them back to the business that was to do.
“The price is now one thousand and one hundred philips. Wilt thou suffer defeat, O wazeer?”
“Since Allah wills. I have no authority to go further.”
“Then at one thousand and one hundred philips, Ayoub, she is. …”
But the sale was not yet to be completed. From the dense and eager throng about the gates
