Swords From the Desert by Harold Lamb Page B

born, but her father, who was a Frankish a1-comes," was dead, and no men of her family were in the city. She was as a dove in a cage, without guardian-"
    I thought of the warrior named Richard who had given her the gray courser, saying naught of this to Arbogastes, whose tongue wagged on.
    "-may my days be ended, Lord Khalil, but this maid doth not fill mine eye. Too young, lacking wisdom, and too lean i' the shanks. Yet my lord Menas, the Domastikos, burns with fever at thought of her. For the present he desires not to be seen at her gate, or to risk the anger of the patriarch by snatching this dove from the garden. But there will come a time when he, my master, will be able to go to the cage and take from it this dove. Then he will give me many pieces of gold and I shall have another matter to attend to."
    The whisper ceased and Arbogastes waited for me to promise him more gold. But that is an evil promise to make, with his breed. It is better to let them expect.
    "Wai, Arbogastes," I said, "a reward awaits thee at my hand, if thou art faithful. By the weight of thy deeds shall this reward be weighed."
    The palace of Count Menas, the Greek, was within sight of the church. As we passed the guards in red livery, we heard the bells of the church sounding below us. For the palace was on the summit of a hill, overlooking the hovels of Galata and the sea. I listened to the voice of the surf as we passed through the courtyard, where slaves loitered by empty litters and restless horses. By the time we made our way into an outer hall of columns-each the likeness of a woman in marble-Arbogastes had painted himself the victor over fifty lawless soldiers, and sworn by the Greek gods and the breath of Ali that he had slain six, and I two. Some of the nobles who waited in the hall smiled, but no one laughed at the Persian, and I thought that he was a favorite of the Domastikos.
    From the hall we entered a corridor with an arched roof, where Arbogastes' leather boots rang heavily. Here he motioned me to silence, and we bowed the head to several noblemen who were talking together in low voices, glancing impatiently at bare cedar doors at the far end.
    But the Persian bowed his way through the guests, knocked upon the portal four times and nudged me in the ribs when we passed through the cedar doors between two Tatars who stood with drawn sabers.
    "That behind us is the whispering gallery," he breathed in my ear. "An opening runs from the ceiling to the wall near my lord's couch, and ofttimes he amuses himself listening to the talk of those who think themselves alone in the gallery. Remember it."
    It was not easy, the path to the Lord Menas. We climbed a winding stair, and at each turn there was a lamp in a recess, and in the darkness behind the lamp a curtain that moved and fell again when we had passed.
    "Archers," Arbogastes whispered again. "Look at the carpet."
    The carpet was leather, from which fresh blood might be wiped in a moment. At the head of the stair a Greek eunuch met us and stared insolently at me. From chin to toe he wore a plain red robe, and the square cap on his shaven head was cloth of gold.
    With his staff he led us out upon a gallery where the floor was veined marble and a fountain cast rose scent into the air. Beyond the fountain was a dais, and here on a couch lay the Lord Menas.
    "What word, 0 bladder of a mule?" he asked of Arbogastes softly.
    He was a young man, beautiful indeed. The veins showed blue on his skin, his eyes were clear and bright. His yellow hair curled about his neck in oiled locks and there was henna-red upon his cheeks. His lips curved willfully, like a spoiled woman's. A single sapphire of great size gleamed on his bare throat and his crimson tunic was edged with ermine.
    "The bird is in the cage, your Magnificence. And in the city-"
    "I know the city. Why did you leave the garden before dark?"
    "At the gate I was set upon by some rogues." Arbogastes had wit enough to dispense with needless