Exhausted with
fatigue, vexation, and terror, the disconsolate Mousa was led forward.
"Cheer up, worthy Mousa!" said Iskander, lying his length on the green
turf. "We have had a sharp ride; but I doubt not we shall soon find
ourselves, by the blessing of God, in good quarters. There is a city
at hand which they call Croia, and in which once, as the rumour runs,
the son of my father should not have had to go seek for an entrance.
No matter. Methinks, worthy Mousa, thou art the only man in our
society that can sign thy name. Come now, write me an order signed
Karam Bey to the governor of this said city, for its delivery up to the
valiant champion of the Crescent, Iskander, and thou shalt ride in
future at a pace more suitable to a secretary."
The worthy Mousa humbled himself to the ground, and then talking his
writing materials from his girdle, inscribed the desired order, and
delivered it to Iskander, who, glancing at the inscription, pushed it
into his vest.
"I shall proceed at once to Croia, with a few friends," said Iskander;
"do you, my bold companions, follow me this eve in various parties, and
in various routes.
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