Читать книгу The Pacha of Many Tales - Фредерик Марриет - Страница 7

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“Mustapha,” said the pacha the next day, when they had closed the hall of audience, “have you the other Giaour in readiness?”

“Bashem ustun! Upon my head be it, your highness. The infidel dog waits but the command to crawl into your sublime presence.”

“Let him approach, that our ears may be gratified. Barek Allah! Praise be to God. There are others who can obtain stories besides the Caliph Haroun.”

The slave was ordered into the pacha’s presence. He was a dark man with handsome features, and he walked in with a haughty carriage, which neither his condition nor tattered garments could disguise. When within a few feet of the carpet of state he bowed and folded his arms in silence. “I wish to know upon what grounds you asserted that you were so good a judge of wine the other evening, when you were quarrelling with the Greek slave.”

“I stated my reason at the time, your highness, which was, because I had been for many years a monk of the Dominican order.”

“I recollect that you said so. What trade is that, Mustapha?” inquired the pacha.

“If your slave is not mistaken, a good trade everywhere. The infidel means that he was a mollah or dervish among the followers of Isauri (Jesus Christ).”

“May they and their fathers’ graves be eternally defiled,” cried the pacha. “Do not they drink wine and eat pork? Have you nothing more to say?” inquired the pacha.

“My life has been one of interest,” replied the slave; “and if it will please your highness, I will narrate my history.”

“It is our condescension. Sit down and proceed.”