'
'Thou art very serious.'
'Love is ever so.'
'Nay, sweet! It makes me wild and fanciful. Now I could do such things,
but what I know not. I would we had wings, and then we would fly away.'
'See, I must salute this victor in the games. Must I unloose thy hand!
Dear hand, farewell! Think of me while I speak, my precious life. 'Tis
done. Give back thy hand, or else methinks I shall die. What's this?'
A horseman, in no holiday dress, but covered with dust, rushed into the
circus, bearing in his hand a tall lance, on which was fixed a scroll.
The marshals of the games endeavoured to prevent his advance, but he
would not be stayed. His message was to the king alone. A rumour of news
from the army circulated throughout the crowd. And news from the army it
was. Another victory! Scherirah had defeated the Sultan of Roum, who was
now a suppliant for peace and alliance. Sooth to say, the intelligence
had arrived at dawn of day, but the courtly Honain had contrived that it
should be communicated at a later and more effective moment.
There scarcely needed this additional excitement to this glorious day.
But the people cheered, the golden dirhems were scattered with renewed
profusion, and the intelligence was received by all parties as a solemn
ratification by Jehovah, or by Allah, of the morning ceremony.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244