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sprigs and young shoots of laurels that were just at hand—the wound healed and what could not have happened, but to so glorious a horse, the sprigs took root in his body, grew up, and formed a bower over me, so that afterwards I could go upon many other expeditions in the shade of my own and my horse's laurels.
But gentlemen, for all that; I was not always successful. I had the misfortune to be overpowered by numbers, to be made prisoner of war; and what is worse, but always usual among the Turks, to be sold for a slave. In that state of
E
humiliation,
