"
"You say truth," said the Saracen; "for the curse is still on
yonder sea of death, and neither man nor beast drinks of its
waves, nor of the river which feeds without filling it, until
this inhospitable desert be passed."
They mounted, and pursued their journey across the sandy waste.
The ardour of noon was now past, and a light breeze somewhat
alleviated the terrors of the desert, though not without bearing
on its wings an impalpable dust, which the Saracen little heeded,
though his heavily-armed companion felt it as such an annoyance
that he hung his iron casque at his saddle-bow, and substituted
the light riding-cap, termed in the language of the time a
MORTIER, from its resemblance in shape to an ordinary mortar.
They rode together for some time in silence, the Saracen
performing the part of director and guide of the journey, which
he did by observing minute marks and bearings of the distant
rocks, to a ridge of which they were gradually approaching. For
a little time he seemed absorbed in the task, as a pilot when
navigating a vessel through a difficult channel; but they had not
proceeded half a league when he seemed secure of his route, and
disposed, with more frankness than was usual to his nation, to
enter into conversation.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84