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 Godwin 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
fashion 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