Solomon and Pietro advanced with head erect and calm and respectful demeanor. The officer raised his hand slightly, as if in astonishment, but promptly suppressed all symptoms of his emotion. Solomon too looked fixedly, but made no sign. “Let these men be secured until I shall have occasion to question them,” was the order. “Have they been taken with weapons?” inquired the officer, at once divining a reason for leniency. The reply being in the negative,—“Then let their bonds be removed and let water and food be supplied.”
Solomon and Pietro were conducted to a hut that seemed to have belonged to a swineherd. Here a scanty supply of coarse bread, and a gourd of water were furnished them, several skins of the liquid being placed on a wagon and covered with a rough awning of branches. But the water was muddy and disagreeable. The prisoners thankfully removed the dust that had begrimed them, and enjoyed the shade and rest. After an hour they were summoned into the presence of the commanding officer, who demanded in very bad German if either of them understood anything of medicine. Solomon replied in a mixture of Arabic and Spanish that he had acquired some knowledge of the art of healing and had practiced it. “Several of my men,” replied the officer in broad Spanish, “have been wounded in a skirmish, and your services on their behalf would be acceptable. But beware,” he added, “how any malpractice becomes mingled with your proceedings. Instant death will result from the least deviation from prescribed rules.”
