And it was of the wooing of blades that, not many days later, when the palace and the town, the mosques and bazaars and caravanserais rang with shouts of joy to celebrate the double wedding, Tollemache marrying the princess, and Hector marrying Jane Warburton, Ayesha Zemzem, the old nurse, spoke to Koom Khan and Gulabian.
“Two heads are better than one,” she said, “when it comes to deal with such crafty rogues as you two—not to mention the governor of the western marches and Musa Al-Mutasim and many other scoundrels. The two Al Nakias! The two Expected Ones! Brothers and friends! And together rulers of this land! A brave wooing of blades indeed!”
“And a wooing of hearts,” said Kumar Zaida, the little slave girl, “a wooing of bodies and …”
“Silence!” shrilled the nurse. “Silence, shameless daughter of a pimple! Thou art too young to know aught of love!”
“And thou too old!” came the reply, as Kumar Zaida ducked and ran to escape the nurse's stick.
