"I am looking for Sheik Ilderim, surnamed the Generous," the stranger said.
His language and attire bespoke him a Roman.
What he could not read, he yet could speak; so the old Arab answered, with dignity, "I am Sheik Ilderim."
The man’s eyes fell; he raised them again, and said, with forced composure, "I heard you had need of a driver for the games."
Ilderim’s lip under the white mustache curled contemptuously.
"Go thy way," he said. "I have a driver."
He turned to ride away, but the man, lingering, spoke again.
"Sheik, I am a lover of horses, and they say you have the most beautiful in the world."
The old man was touched; he drew rein, as if on the point of yielding to the flattery, but finally replied, "Not to-day, not to-day; some other time I will show them to you. I am too busy just now."
He rode to the field, while the stranger betook himself to town again with a smiling countenance. He had accomplished his mission.
And every day thereafter, down to the great day of the games, a man—sometimes two or three men—came to the sheik at the Orchard, pretending to seek an engagement as driver.
In such manner Messala kept watch over Ben-Hur.
CHAPTER V.
The sheik waited, well satisfied, until Ben-Hur drew his horses off the field for the forenoon—well satisfied, for he had seen them, after being put through all the other paces, run full speed in such manner that it did not seem there were one the slowest and another the fastest—run, in other words, as if the four were one.
"This afternoon, sheik, I will give Sirius back to you." Ben-Hur patted the neck of the old horse as he spoke. "I will give him back, and take to the chariot."
