by Robert Shea
XXXI
Tilia eyed Daoud apprehensively. "Is it not as I have said--she is welland happy?" She lifted the pectoral cross to raise its gold chain awayfrom her bosom and mop her flesh with a square of pale green silk. Heremembered the blade in the cross, and wondered if she was afraid hemight attack her.
He wished he could hate her for what had happened to Rachel. But allTilia had done was introduce Rachel to a way of life that Tilia herselfhad found rewarding.
"She is as well as I could have hoped," he said, hearing in his ownvoice the deadness he had heard in Rachel's. He sat down heavily on adivan.
Lorenzo looked at him searchingly. His big mustache hid his mouth whenit was in repose, but his eyes were wide, and they glistened wetly inthe light of the one candle that illuminated this small room. TheSicilian's hands lay limp in his lap, the hands of a man in pain andunable to do anything about it.
Through a peephole Daoud saw that Sordello had awakened. The gray-hairedbravo was staring about him in wonder, only six feet away from Daoud'seye, while Maiga gently pressed his shoulders back against the divan,Orenetta stroked his chest and whispered to him, and Caterina's blondhead rose and fell between his legs.
Francesca sat on the divan beside Daoud, offering him a slice of kid. Hetook it and chewed it, but even though Tilia had cooked and seasoned itperfectly, it was tasteless to him.
It was not only Rachel's fate that troubled him, he realized. It waswhat was happening on the other side of this wall--those three lovelywomen ministering like houris of paradise to that old ruffian. Theywould do it with skill and even with the appearance of enthusiasmbecause they had no choice. They did not even think of choosing. Theyjust did as they were told. Their orders came, through Tilia, fromDaoud. Francesca, here beside him, would do whatever he wanted, notbecause it was what _she_ wanted, but because she, too, had no choice.
And he had never really thought what it meant for women to live this wayuntil he saw, tonight, what had happened to Rachel.
_God is a flame_, Sheikh Saadi used to say, _and each human soul a sparkfrom that flame. When we treat our brother or sister like a thing, wetrample God Himself._
They were all slaves in this house of Tilia's. He had sent Rachel hereto become a slave.
_I, too, was once a slave._
But as a full-fledged Mameluke he was free. These women did not havethat way of escape. As long as they could, they must perform the act oflove, as it was called, with whoever paid them, or starve.
Baibars had done well to close the brothels of El Kahira. It was thevery meaning of love that it was freely given. Love was free submissionto another, just as Islam was free submission to God. Daoud had firstexperienced love when he and Nicetas gave their bodies to each other.And later with Blossoming Reed, even though theirs was an arrangedmarriage, that, too, was love.
He could not lie with Francesca tonight. It would be too much like lyingwith Rachel. He could not watch what Orenetta, Caterina, and Maiga woulddo with Sordello. The thing he was having them do to Sordello was anabomination. Despicable though Sordello was, he, too, had a soul, andtonight Daoud was trampling upon God in the person of Sordello.
And yet he must see that all went as planned tonight. Did he want hishomeland destroyed?
_But I have to get away from here._
He stood up suddenly. "I must go back to Cardinal Ugolini's." Tilia,Lorenzo, and Francesca stared at him.
Tilia recovered first. "But you were to stay the night here. Whatabout--" She gestured toward the wall.
Daoud shook his head. "I am not needed. And I have an important matterto discuss with Ugolini."
"Which you just remembered," Lorenzo said, eyeing him sourly.
Daoud pressed his lips together. "Those three women know what to do.There is no need for anyone to intervene unless he starts to resist. Andthen you can kill him as easily as I can."
Lorenzo stood up and bowed formally. "Thank you for your trust,Messere."
_If I am right in thinking that he hates this as much as I do, then hehates me for making him stay here._
* * * * *
The thump of Daoud's boots on the cobblestones echoed against the frontsof the huddled houses. Armed with sword and dagger, his head clear, andkeeping to the wider streets, Daoud felt safe from attack, even thoughit was well past midnight. Besides, the Filippeschi had been won over,so he need no longer fear them. Fear, he thought, was the wrong word forit. Tonight he would welcome battle.
And he had the Scorpion with him tonight. He no longer ever made themistake of going about in the streets of Orvieto at night withoutcarrying the Scorpion in a concealed pocket in his cloak.
He walked past the cathedral church of San Giovenale, and once againfrom the open doors heard the pale voices of the priests of thecathedral chapter. A heavy odor of incense, carried on the moist nightair, filled his nostrils.
Pain crushed his heart as he passed beyond the pool of light thatspilled out the cathedral door. He seemed to feel a heavy hand on hisshoulder, and looked up. Conjured up from memory, his blond fatherappeared to tower over him, a red cross on the shoulder of his whitemantle. A warm hand gripped Daoud's, and his mother, her red-gold hairbound with pearls, smiled down at him. Her dress was blue, like thedress she had died in.
_What memories torment Rachel_, he wondered.
* * * * *
Just ahead of him, the narrow street opened into the broader one thatran past Cardinal Ugolini's mansion. He had just passed an inn calledVesuvio, after the burning mountain near Napoli, when a door openedsoftly behind him. Very softly, but it did not escape his trained ear.He glanced back and saw the upper half of a divided door mate with itslower half.
_Watching for me?_ That was unlikely, because a spy watching for himwould have had no idea when to expect him and would have had to stand bythat door all night. He looked back again at the doorway and then at thecardinal's residence. The street was wide enough to allow a personstanding in the doorway of the inn a good view of the front of themansion.
He walked out into the square and turned to the right so that he couldno longer be seen from the inn. Behind a filmy curtain on the thirdstory of the mansion shone a yellow glow. Sophia's room. Was that Simonde Gobignon in the inn doorway?
No, it was not, because now he saw de Gobignon. The unmistakable tallfigure was standing in the candlelit window behind the curtain. A thinarm pushed the curtain back, and though the light was behind deGobignon, Daoud could see the Frenchman plainly, looking down into thesquare. Even though he was sure de Gobignon could not see him, Daoudstepped farther back into the shadows.
De Gobignon in Sophia's room. Daoud clenched his fists, and his lipsdrew back in a snarl.
The Scorpion would not carry that far. No, but he could stride closer inan instant, aim at that spidery figure silhouetted against Sophia'slighted window, and bring down his enemy with a single bolt.
_Why am I thinking such a thing?_
Was he going mad? Sophia would let Simon make love to her, and in hispassion he would tell her much. Perhaps Daoud could find out more aboutwhy Simon had sent Sordello into his camp. Perhaps Simon would giveSophia some hint about the countermove he must be planning. MeanwhileSophia would trick Simon into thinking that Fra Tomasso had turnedagainst the alliance.
Killing Simon would be foolishness. Until now the mishaps that hadbefallen the French and the Tartars had seemed accidental. Murder Simon,and his enemies would have proof that there were plotters in Orvieto,and they would seek them out. And the first place they would look wouldbe the place where Simon was killed, the establishment of CardinalUgolini, the chief opponent of the Tartar-Christian alliance.
Still, Daoud felt his blood seethe. He remembered a summer night overten years before, when he had bribed a slave and slipped through anunlocked gate into the arms of Ayesha, the young wife of Emir Tughrilal-Din, then his commanding officer. They had lain together all thatnight on the roof of the mansion of T
ughril al-Din, bathed in sweat, andthe sweet terror of the blades that would hew his naked body to piecesif they were discovered goaded him into plunging into her again andagain. Only the moon and stars bore witness that he was enjoying thewife of his commander, the man who ordered him about and punished himwhen he made an error, the man who had the power of life and death overhim. Toward dawn, the delight of it bubbled up in his throat and helaughed so loudly that the small Circassian girl put her hand over hismouth.
_And now he does to me that which I did to Tughril al-Din._
Daoud shook his head. Nonsense. Sophia was not his wife, and it was forthis very purpose, to seduce, corrupt, and spy upon the enemy, that hehad brought her here.
_To use her, as I used Rachel and the women at Tilia's. First the Tartartook Rachel, and now de Gobignon takes Sophia. And I am nothing but aslave and a panderer._
A second silhouetted figure appeared beside Simon, much shorter, withunbound hair falling in waves and a narrow waist. Daoud saw Sophia resther hand on his shoulder. A moment later she took the Frenchman's hand,and they both turned away from the window. The curtain fell back inplace behind them.
_She leads him to bed!_
Daoud was shaking with rage. Every muscle in his body ached to kill deGobignon.
_Oh, God, give me the chance to destroy him!_
He heard another sound to his left, the scrape of a boot oncobblestones. His hand darting to his sword, he glanced toward thestreet he had just passed through. Nothing.
De Gobignon had brought a friend or servant with him. The friend waswaiting at that inn, where he could watch the front of Ugolini'smansion, and, perhaps, signal to de Gobignon as dawn approached.
De Gobignon's friend had been watching Daoud. He must be all in a sweat,knowing that Daoud had seen the young count in Sophia's window. He wouldexpect Daoud to raise an alarm. And if Daoud did not, then de Gobignonwould guess that David of Trebizond _approved_ Simon's making love tothe cardinal's niece. And from that it would only be a step to realizingthat David and Sophia must be plotting together.
It would extinguish any suspicion of Sophia the count might have ifDaoud were to rush into the mansion, raise an alarm, and pursue Simon.But if de Gobignon were caught, it would mean a scandal. His Frenchcompatriots would certainly do all they could to stop him from seeingSophia again.
Again Daoud heard the scrape of a boot sole on the stone of the street.He drew farther back under the overhanging upper story of a house facingthe mansion. Now de Gobignon's man could not see him without showinghimself.
There was only one thing to do. And it gave Daoud grim satisfaction torealize it.
_I cannot kill Simon de Gobignon, but I have to kill his man._
He drew the Scorpion from its pocket in the hem of his cloak. Quicklyand silently he unfolded it. A leather case held a sting for theScorpion, a steel dart half again as long as his finger, coated with thesame paste he had used to render Sordello unconscious. He pulled thestring of twisted rawhide back with his fist, slipped the dart intoplace.
The Frank took a step out of hiding. Daoud saw him as a big shadow atthe corner of the building. He imagined the Frank's thoughts. He must betrying desperately to think of some way to warn his master before thecardinal's guards were roused.
Daoud raised the Scorpion, but the darkness made the shot difficult. DeGobignon's man was too hard to see.
"Pardonnez-moi, Messire," he said in the language he had not used sincehe was ten. "I have a message for Monseigneur the Count de Gobignon." Hespoke in as casual and friendly a tone as he could muster.
Daoud was close enough now to see that the man's hand was on his swordhilt.
"Why do you speak of the count to me?" The voice was young.
"Because you are his man," said Daoud, and he thumbed the notched wheelthat held the bowstring in place. The string thrummed, the dowels sprangforward, and the dart buried itself in the Frenchman's body.
To avoid hitting breastbone or rib, Daoud had aimed for the stomach.The Frank uttered a cry of pain and anger, and his left hand clutched athis middle as his right hand drew his sword.
"You Greek bastard!" he groaned, and fell first to his knees, then onhis face. So he had recognized him as David of Trebizond. He must surelydie.
Daoud rolled the unconscious man over on his back. His fingers quicklyfound the dart. Just a bit of it protruded from the Frank's stomach; hisfall had driven it deeper. Daoud pulled the dart out, keeping his fingeron the wound. He laid the dart on the ground and drew his dagger. Hedrove it upward just below the breastbone, striking the heart. The man'storso jerked violently, the body trying to save itself even though themind was asleep. As Daoud pulled the blade out, blood flowed out afterit, warm on his hand. He whispered a curse and wiped his hand and hisblade on the man's tunic.
This must look like a street stabbing, a man murdered for his purse.Daoud thrust his dagger into the body again, this time in the placewhere the dart had gone in.
He felt for a heartbeat and found none. He sheathed his dagger, felt forthe dart on the street beside the Frank, and put it back in its case.Case and Scorpion went back in the hidden pocket in his cloak.
The Frank's dead body was heavy as he dragged it into the deeperdarkness under the overhang of the nearest house. He fumbled about thedead man until he found his purse, a small one and not very heavy, andtucked it into his own belt. The pottery maker would be shocked in themorning to find a robbed and murdered man on his doorstep.
Had anyone seen? The houses around the square were dark and silent as somany stone tombs. There was only that one light in the third-floorwindow of Ugolini's mansion.
He could not enter the mansion now, with blood on him. Whoever unlockedthe gate for him would be sure to connect him with the murdered man whowould be found in the morning. Orvieto's authorities would bequestioning everyone, and Ugolini could not control what his servantsmight say.
Back to Tilia's, then.
He chose another street leading out of the square so as not to pass theinn where de Gobignon's man had been on watch. As he walked, he cast hismind back over what he had done. The killing left him troubled.
Saadi had taught him never to waste human life. _To wage war is a holyobligation. But have a care that you kill, not with a small soul, butwith a great soul._
This had been a necessary murder, Daoud thought. This young Frank had todie that Islam might be saved from infidel hordes of East and West. But,looking into his heart, Daoud knew that he had, indeed, killed with asmall soul. He had been forced to kill de Gobignon's man, but he hadalso wanted to, and he had felt unworthy triumph over Simon de Gobignon.It had not even been an honorable fight. The Frank had no chance.
_Purify my heart, oh, God_, he prayed as he walked back to TiliaCaballo's brothel.
