Before
the curtains, on guard, stood some dozen corsairs with attendant negro
slaves.
Beyond and above the wall glistened the white dome of a zowia, flanked
by a spear-like minaret and the tall heads of a few date palms whose
long leaves hung motionless in the hot air.
Suddenly in the crowd beyond the gates there was a commotion. From one
of the streets six colossal Nubians advanced with shouts of--
"0ak! 0ak! Warda! Way! Make way!"
They were armed with great staves, grasped in their two hands, and with
these they broke a path through that motley press, hurling men to right
and left and earning a shower of curses in return.
"Bal?k! Make way! Way for the Lord Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah!
Way!"
The crowd, pressing back, went down upon its knees and grovelled as
Asad-ed-Din on a milk-white mule rode forward, escorted by Tsamanni his
wazeer and a cloud of black-robed janissaries with flashing scimitars.
The curses that had greeted the violence of his negroes were suddenly
silenced; instead, blessings as fervent filled the air.
"May Allah increase thy might! May Allah lengthen thy days! The
blessings of our Lord Mahomet upon thee! Allah send thee more
victories!" were the benedictions that showered upon him on every hand.
He returned them as became a man who was supremely pious and devout.
"The peace of Allah upon the Faithful of the Prophet's House," he would
murmur in response from time to time, until at last he had reached the
gates.
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