Part 12 (2/2)
At these words the face of Georgios beamed.
”What, n.o.ble sir,” he exclaimed, ”do you know my land of Cyprus?
Oh, then indeed I kiss your hands, and surely you will not affront me by refusing this little present? Indeed, to be frank, I can afford to lose its price, who have done a good trade, even here in Ess.e.x.”
”As you will,” said Sir Andrew. ”I thank you, and perhaps you have other things to sell.”
”I have indeed; a few embroideries if this most gracious lady would be pleased to look at them. Some carpets also, such as the Moslems used to pray on in the name of their false prophet, Mahomet,” and, turning, he spat upon the ground.
”I see that you are a Christian,” said Sir Andrew. ”Yet, although I fought against them, I have known many a good Mussulman. Nor do I think it necessary to spit at the name of Mahomet, who to my mind was a great man deceived by the artifice of Satan.”
”Neither do I,” said G.o.dwin reflectively. ”Its true servants should fight the enemies of the Cross and pray for their souls, not spit at them.”
The merchant looked at them curiously, fingering the silver crucifix that hung upon his breast. ”The captors of the Holy City thought otherwise,” he said, ”when they rode into the Mosque El Aksa up to their horses' knees in blood, and I have been taught otherwise. But the times grow liberal, and, after all, what right has a poor trader whose mind, alas! is set more on gain than on the sufferings of the blessed Son of Mary,” and he crossed himself, ”to form a judgment upon such high matters? Pardon me, I accept your reproof, who perhaps am bigoted.”
Yet, had they but known it, this ”reproof” was to save the life of many a man that night.
”May I ask help with these packages?” he went on, ”as I cannot open them here, and to move the casks? Nay, the little keg I will carry myself, as I hope that you will taste of it at your Christmas feast. It must be gently handled, though I fear me that those roads of yours will not improve its quality.” Then twisting the tub from the end of the wain onto his shoulder in such a fas.h.i.+on that it remained upright, he walked off lightly towards the open door of the hall.
”For one not tall that man is strangely strong,” thought Wulf, who followed with a bale of carpets.
Then the other casks of wine were stowed away in the stone cellar beneath the hall.
Leaving his servant--a silent, stupid-looking, dark-eyed fellow named Petros--to bait the horses, Georgios entered the hall and began to unpack his carpets and embroideries with all the skill of one who had been trained in the bazaars of Cairo, Damascus, or Nicosia. Beautiful things they were which he had to show; broideries that dazzled the eye, and rugs of many hues, yet soft and bright as an otter's pelt. As Sir Andrew looked at them, remembering long dead days, his face softened.
”I will buy that rug,” he said, ”for of a truth it might be one on which I lay sick many a year ago in the house of Ayoub at Damascus. Nay, I haggle not at the price. I will buy it.” Then he fell to thinking how, whilst lying on such a rug (indeed, although he knew it not, it was the same), looking through the rounded beads of the wooden lattice-work of his window, he had first seen his Eastern wife walking in the orange garden with her father Ayoub. Afterwards, still recalling his youth, he began to talk of Cyprus, and so time went on until the dark was falling.
Now Georgios said that he must be going, as he had sent back his guide to Southminster, where the man desired to eat his Christmas feast. So the reckoning was paid--it was a long one--and while the horses were harnessed to the wain the merchant bored holes in the little cask of wine and set spigots in them, bidding them all be sure to drink of it that night. Then calling down good fortune on them for their kindness and liberality, he made his salaams in the Eastern fas.h.i.+on, and departed, accompanied by Wulf.
Within five minutes there was a sound of shouting, and Wulf was back again saying that the wheel of the wain had broken at the first turn, so that now it was lying upon its side in the courtyard. Sir Andrew and G.o.dwin went out to see to the matter, and there they found Georgios wringing his hands, as only an Eastern merchant can, and cursing in some foreign tongue.
”n.o.ble knights,” he said, ”what am I to do? Already it is nearly dark, and how I shall find my way up yonder steep hill I know not. As for the priceless broideries, I suppose they must stay here for the night, since that wheel cannot be mended till to-morrow--”
”As you had best do also,” said Sir Andrew kindly. ”Come, man, do not grieve; we are used to broken axles here in Ess.e.x, and you and your servant may as well eat your Christmas dinners at Steeple as in Southminster.”
”I thank you, Sir knight; I thank you. But why should I, who am but a merchant, thrust myself upon your n.o.ble company? Let me stop outside with my man, Petros, and dine with your people in that barn, where I see they are making ready their food.”
”By no means,” answered Sir Andrew. ”Leave your servant with my people, who will look after him, and come you into the hall, and tell me some more of Cyprus till our food is ready, which will be soon. Do not fear for your goods; they shall be placed under cover.”
”All unworthy as I am, I obey,” answered the obsequious Georgios.
”Petros, do you understand? This n.o.ble lord gives us hospitality for the night. His people will show you where to eat and sleep, and help you with your horses.”
This man, who, he explained, was a Cypriote--a fisherman in summer and a muleteer in winter--bowed, and fixing his dark eyes upon those of his master, spoke in some foreign tongue.
”You hear what he says, the silly fellow?” said Georgios. ”What?
You do not understand Greek--only Arabic? Well, he asks me to give him money to pay for his dinner and his night's lodging. You must forgive him, for he is but a simple peasant, and cannot believe that anyone may be lodged and fed without payment. I will explain to him, the pig!” And explain he did in shrill, high notes, of which no one else could understand a word.
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