CHAPTER I

THE BEAUTIFUL JAILER OF GUDENFELS


The aged Emir Soldan sat in his tent and smiled; the crafty Oriental
smile of an experienced man, deeply grounded in the wisdom of this
world. He knew that there was incipient rebellion in his camp; that the
young commanders under him thought their leader was becoming too old
for the fray; caution overmastering courage. Here were these dogs of
unbelievers setting their unhallowed feet on the sacred soil of Syria,
and the Emir, instead of dashing against them, counselled coolness and
prudence. Therefore impatience disintegrated the camp and resentment
threatened discipline. When at last the murmurs could be no longer
ignored the Emir gathered his impetuous young men together in his tent,
and thus addressed them.

"It may well be that I am growing too old for the active field; it may
be that, having met before this German boar who leads his herd of
swine, I am fearful of risking my remnant of life against him, but I
have ever been an indulgent general, and am now loath to let my
inaction stand against your chance of distinction. Go you therefore
forth against him, and the man who brings me this boar's head shall not
lack his reward."

The young men loudly cheered this decision and brandished their weapons
aloft, while the old man smiled upon them and added: