"Ha! what said the Giaour?" exclaimed the Emir, laying his hand
on his poniard hilt, while his forehead glowed like glancing
copper, and the muscles of his lips and cheeks wrought till each
curl of his beard seemed to twist and screw itself, as if alive
with instinctive wrath. But the Scottish knight, who had stood
the lion-anger of Richard, was unappalled at the tigerlike mood
of the chafed Saracen.
"What I have said," continued Sir Kenneth, with folded arms and
dauntless look, "I would, were my hands loose, maintain on foot
or horseback against all mortals; and would hold it not the most
memorable deed of my life to support it with my good broadsword
against a score of these sickles and bodkins," pointing at the
curved sabre and small poniard of the Emir.
The Saracen recovered his composure as the Christian spoke, so
far as to withdraw his hand from his weapon, as if the motion had
been without meaning, but still continued in deep ire.
"By the sword of the Prophet," he said, "which is the key both of
heaven and hell, he little values his own life, brother, who uses
the language thou dost! Believe me, that were thine hands loose,
as thou term'st it, one single true believer would find them so
much to do that thou wouldst soon wish them fettered again in
manacles of iron.
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