“She is standing in,” they cried, “and, by the Prophet, she seemeth not a ship of the true believers.”

She was not, but she bore a flag of truce.  Pitching and rearing, the little bark bounded in, and soon was fast in harbour.  Ere long messengers of peace had landed, bearing presents and a letter from the Bishop of Amalfi to the Emir of Biserta.  The presents consisted of fifty casks of Lacrima Christi, and of a captive, a tall, noble-looking man, in soiled ecclesiastical costume, and disfigured by the loss of his left eye, which seemed to have been violently plucked out.

“Health to the Emir!” ran the letter.  “I send thee my captive, Gaddo, sometime Bishop of Amalfi, now an ejected intruder.  For what saith the Scripture?  ’When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace; but if one stronger than he cometh, he divideth the spoils.’  Moreover it is written:  ‘His bishopric let another take.’  Having solemnly sworn that I would not kill or blind or maim my enemy, or imprison him in a monastery, and the price of absolution from an oath in this corrupt age exceeding all reason and Christian moderation, I knew not how to take vengeance on him, until a sagacious counsellor represented that a man cannot be said to be blinded so long as he is deprived of only one eye.  This I accordingly eradicated, and now, being restrained from imprisoning him, and fearing to release him, I send him to thee, to retain in captivity on my behalf; in return for which service, receive fifty casks of the choicest Lacrima Christi, which shall not fail to be sent thee yearly, so long as Gaddo continues in thy custody.

“+ Addo, by Divine permission Bishop of Amalfi.”

“First,” said the Emir, “I would be certified whether this vintage is indeed of such excellence as to prevail upon a faithful Mussulman to jeopard Paradise, the same being forbidden by his law.”

Experiments were instituted forthwith, and the problem was resolved in the affirmative.

“This being so,” declared the Emir, “honour and good faith towards Bishop Addo require that Bishop Gaddo be kept captive with all possible strictness.  Yet bolts may be burst, fetters may be filed, walls may be scaled, doors may be broken through.  Better to enchain the captive’s soul, binding him with invisible bonds, and searing out of him the very wish to escape.  Embrace the faith of the Prophet,” continued he, addressing Gaddo; “become a Mollah.”

“No,” said the deposed Bishop, “my inclination hath ever been towards a military life.  At present, mutilated and banished as I am, I rather affect the crown of martyrdom.”

“Thou shalt receive it by instalments,” said the Emir.  “Thou shalt work at the new pavilion in my garden.”

Unceasing toil under the blazing sun, combined with the discipline of the overseers, speedily wore down Gaddo’s strength, already impaired by captivity and ill-treatment.  Unable to drag himself away after his fellow-workmen had ceased from their labours, he lay one evening, faint and almost senseless, among the stones and rubbish of the unfinished edifice.  The Emir’s daughter passed by.  Gaddo was handsome and wretched, the Princess was beautiful and compassionate.  Conveyed by her fair hands, a cup of Bishop Addo’s wine saved Bishop Gaddo’s life.