“Let me live!  Only let me live!” the voice continued.  “I am not old.  Many men have lived twenty or even thirty years longer than I have.  They say when you are really old death comes like sleep.  Nothing is so terrible as death.  That is why I have shown myself merciful in my power.  What other Sultan has kept his own brother alive for thirty years?  Did I not give him a great palace to live in, and gardens where he could walk with few to watch his safety?  Did I not send him every day delicate food from my own table?  Did I not grant him such women as he desired, and books to read, and musicians to delight his soul?  His were the joys of Paradise, and he was alive as well.  He had life—­the one thing needful, the one thing that can never be restored!  And now my own brother turns against me.  He will let them take my life.  The shock of death will strike me down, and I shall be nothing any more.”

“Truly,” said the jester, “the joys of the Prophet’s Paradise are nothing to be compared with the blessedness of your Majesty’s happy reign.  Yet men say that where there is life there is sorrow.”

“Have I not watched over my people?  Have I not upheld the city against the enemy?  Have I not toiled?  What pleasure have I given myself?  When have I been drunk with wine as the Infidels are drunken?  What excess of delight have I taken with the women sent me as presents year by year?  They dwelt in their beautiful chambers, and I saw them no more.  I have neglected no duty to God or man.  Week by week I risked my life to worship God.  From dawn till evening I have laboured, taking no rest and seeking no pleasure, though the right to all pleasure was mine.  Whatever passed in my Empire, I knew it.  Whatever was whispered in secret, I heard.  The breath of treason could not escape, me, and where treachery thrust out its head to look, my sword was ready.”

“Truly, Sire,” said the jester, “from the days of Midhat it was ready, and there are peacemakers more silent than the sword.”

“The Powers of the Infidel stood waiting.  Like vultures round a dying sheep they stood waiting round the dominions of Islam.  Here and there one snatched a living piece and devoured it as though it were carrion, while the others screamed with gluttonous fury and threatened with wings and claws.”

“Ah, Sire,” said the jester, “you have shown us how these Christians love one another!”

“One war,” the voice went on, “one war I have lost, but the enemy did not receive the fruits of victory.  In one war I was victorious, and the Crescent would again be flying over Athens if the Infidel Powers had not barred the way.  I have not lived without glory.  From east to west the moon of Islam shines brighter now.  The sons of Islam are gathering side by side.  They stand again for the glory of the Prophet and his Khalif.  I see the brown peoples of Asia, I see the black hordes from African deserts and forests.  They pass quick