They returned
and reported its apparent desolation. Hassan Subah, then directing
that a guard should surround the walls to prevent any of the enemy from
escaping, passed with his warriors through the vast portal into the
silent street. The still magnificence of the strange and splendid scene
influenced the temper even of this ferocious cavalry. They gazed around
them with awe and admiration. The fierceness of their visages was
softened, the ardour of their impulse stilled. A supernatural feeling
of repose stole over their senses. No one brandished his scimitar, the
fiery courser seemed as subdued as his lord, and no sound was heard but
the melancholy, mechanical tramp of the disciplined march, unrelieved
by martial music, inviolate by oath or jest, and unbroken even by the
ostentatious caracoling of any showy steed.
It was sunset; the star of eve glittered over the white Ionian fane that
rose serene and delicate in the flashing and purple sky.
'This way, my lord!' said the merchant guide, turning round to Hassan
Subah, who, surrounded by his officers, led the van. The whole of the
great way of the city was filled with the Seljukian warriors. Their ebon
steeds, their snowy turbans, adorned with plumes of the black eagle and
the red heron, their dazzling shawls, the blaze of their armour in
the sunset, and the long undulating perspective of beautiful forms and
brilliant colours, this regiment of heroes in a street of palaces.
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