"Terrible as an army with banners," indeed, was Kheyr-ed-Din in this
eventful summer: things had gone badly with the crescent flag, the Padishah
was unapproachable in his palace, brooding perchance on that "might have
been" had he not sold his honour and the life of his only friend to gratify
the malice of a she-devil; those in attendance on the Sultan trembled, for
the humour of the despot was black indeed.
But "the veritable man of the sea" was in some sort to console him for that
which he had lost; as never in his own history--and there was none else
with which it could be compared--had the Corsair King made so fruitful a
raid. He ravaged the coasts of the Adriatic and the islands of the
Archipelago, sweeping in slaves by the thousand, and by the end of the year
he had collected eighteen thousand in the arsenal at Stamboul. Great was
the jubilation in Constantinople when the Admiralissimo himself returned
from his last expedition against the infidel; stilled were the voices which
hinted disaffection--who among them all could bring back four hundred
thousand pieces of gold? What mariner could offer to the Grand Turk such
varied and magnificent presents?
Upon his arrival Barbarossa asked permission to kiss the threshold of the
palace of the Sultan, which boon being graciously accorded to him, he made
his triumphal entry. Two hundred captives clad in scarlet robes carried
cups of gold and flasks of silver behind them came thirty others, each
staggering under an enormous purse of sequins; yet another two hundred
brought collars of precious stones or bales of the choicest goods; and a
further two hundred were laden with sacks of small coin.
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