“Where is he?  Why, aboard yonder ship, of course.  Oh! he has fooled you finely.  Another time you’ll search beggar’s rags more closely.”

“Cast off!  Cast off!” roared Menas.

“Nay,” said the officer, “cast not off.  Soldiers, drive away those men.  I must have words with the captain of this ship.  Come, bring that drunken fellow with you.”

“Now all is finished,” I said.

“Yes,” answered Heliodore, “all is finished.  After we have endured so much it is hard.  Well, at least death remains to us.”

“Hold your hand,” exclaimed Martina.  “God still lives and can save us yet.”

Black bitterness took hold of me.  In some few days I had hoped to reach Lesbos, and there be wed to Heliodore.  And now!  And now!

“Cut the ropes, Menas,” I cried, “and out with the oars.  We’ll risk the galley.  You, Martina, set me at the mouth of the gangway and tell me when to strike.  Though I be blind I may yet hold them back till we clear the quay.”

She obeyed, and I drew the red sword from beneath my rags.  Then, amidst the confusion which followed, I heard the grave voice of Yusuf speaking to me.

“Sir,” he said, “for your own sake I pray you put up that sword, which we think is one whereof tales have been told.  To fight is useless, for I have bowmen who can shoot you down and spears that can outreach you.  General Olaf, a brave man should know when to surrender, especially if he be blind.”

“Aye, sir,” I answered, “and a brave man should know when to die.”

“Why should you die, General?” went on the voice.  “I do not know that for a Christian to visit Egypt disguised as a beggar will be held a crime worthy of death, unless indeed you came hither to spy out the land.”

“Can the blind spy?” asked Martina indignantly.

“Who can say, Lady?  But certainly it seems that your eyes are bright and quick enough.  Also there is another matter.  A while ago, when this ship came to Alexandria, I signed a paper giving leave to a certain eyeless musician and his niece to ply their trade in Egypt.  Then there were two of you; now I behold a third.  Who is that comely lad with a stained face that stands beside you?”

Heliodore began some story, saying that she was the orphan son of I forget whom, and while she told it certain of the Moslems slipped past me.

“Truly you should do well in the singing trade,” interrupted the officer with a laugh, “seeing that for a boy your voice is wondrous sweet.  Are you quite sure that you remember your sex aright?  Well, it can easily be proved.  Bare that lad’s bosom, soldiers.  Nay, ’tis needless; snatch off that head-dress.”

A man obeyed, and Heliodore’s beautiful black hair, which I would not suffer her to cut, fell tumbling to her knees.

“Let me be,” she said.  “I admit that I am a woman.”

“That is generous of you, Lady,” the officer answered in the midst of the laughter which followed.  “Now will you add to your goodness by telling me your name?  You refuse?  Then shall I help you?  In the late Coptic war it was my happy fortune twice to see a certain noble maiden, the daughter of Magas the Prince, whom the Emir Musa afterwards took for himself, but who fled from him.  Tell me, Lady, have you a twin sister?”