The Saracen: Land of the Infidel

by Robert Shea

  XXXIV

  Sordello's face, looking as if hewn from granite by an indifferentsculptor, was gray with fatigue. His arms bound behind his back, heknelt before Daoud, wearing a tattered brown frieze robe Tilia hadsomewhere found for him.

  Daoud sat once again on the former papal throne. Dressed in blackcassocks and hoods that covered their faces, Lorenzo and five of Tilia'sblack servants stood along the walls of the room. Every so oftenSordello's eyes flickered to the implements of torture around the roomand quickly away again.

  Yet the night's assault on his mind had not altogether broken hisspirit. "If you think to frighten me with this clowning, think again,Messer David. I have stood undaunted before the Inquisition in my day,and they are a good deal more fearsome than you and your henchmen."

  _Leave him his shred of dignity_, Daoud thought. _A man who has lostthat is too dangerous._

  "We are beyond fear now, Sordello, are we not?"

  Sordello's eyes glowed in the torchlight like a trapped animal's. "Whatkind of devil are you?"

  Daoud tried to smile kindly. "You call me a devil after I have sent youto paradise?"

  The old bravo sighed, and his eyes closed. "I did not know that my bodywas capable of feeling so much pleasure. Even when I was twenty and atmy best, I never knew such delight. It shook me to the very root of mysoul."

  "I know," said Daoud. He was thinking back to his own initiation. Givensanctuary in Egypt, the Hashishiyya had built a tent-palace of wood andsilk west of El Kahira, at the foot of the pyramids. Over a series ofmoonlit nights, Daoud had drunk the Old Man of the Mountain's brew. Hehad entered hell in the bowels of the Great Pyramid and then hadascended into paradise, where the houris promised by the Prophet hadministered to him for what seemed an eternity. Yes, he knew very wellwhat spirit-freezing delights Sordello had experienced.

  "What are you, then?" Sordello growled, his eyes flashing open. "Somekind of stregone? What was that witches' potion you made me drink?"

  "Do you wish to return to paradise?"

  "You _are_ a devil, Maestro. You want my soul."

  The man was quick, Daoud thought. For all that he was a flawed man, hehad a strong mind. He remembered being made to drink the preparation ofwine and hashish. And he already realized why Daoud had done this tohim.

  _So delicate, this part._

  Now the bond must be forged. As a succession of Old Men of the Mountainhad forged it between themselves and their disciples in Alamut, inMasyaf, in all those mountain strongholds across Persia and Syria fromwhich terror had gone forth for more than a hundred and fifty years.

  "I am but a man like you, Sordello. I do not want your soul. I want yourloyalty."

  "You want my treachery, you mean. You want me to betray my master, theCount de Gobignon."

  There was more than quickness here, Daoud thought. There was thatfoolhardiness he had seen in Sordello before. A man of sense, knowingthat he was in the power of a force beyond his control, even beyond hisunderstanding, would do nothing to antagonize that force. Yet Sordellopersisted in challenging Daoud.

  At the mention of Simon de Gobignon's name, Daoud's concentrationwavered. When de Gobignon found his knight dead outside Ugolini'smansion, what would he do? There would be trouble over this, surelythere would be trouble. Daoud cursed himself for leaving Tilia's houseand going back to the cardinal's mansion.

  He forced his mind back to Sordello. How to work with this provokingspirit?

  "To send you into the enemy camp as he did, Count Simon must have greatconfidence in your ability."

  Sordello laughed angrily. "Confidence? That high and mighty French fop?He was probably hoping you would catch me. Sia maledetto!"

  He curses de Gobignon. Excellent. Or is this merely for my benefit?Daoud peered at Sordello, wishing the room were lit by more than a fewtorches burning in cressets. The flickering light was impressive, likethis gilded throne, but if Daoud could get closer to Sordello and seebetter, he could be more sure of what the man was really feeling.

  Daoud said, "He who is loyal to me is never cast out, no matter howfoolishly he behaves."

  "Does he who is loyal to you get to go to paradise often, Maestro?"Sordello's voice was thick with yearning.

  It was time for the final step. Daoud beckoned. The nearest hoodedfigure on his right, who was actually Lorenzo, came forward with a greenearthenware cup. He bent and held it before the kneeling Sordello.

  "More of your stregoneria? Or have you finally decided to poison me?"

  "Would I have showered you with wonders, as I have tonight, only to killyou? No, I have one final wonder to show you. Drink, Sordello."

  _This wonder probably will be the death of you, but not for a while._

  After a long hesitation, the old bravo lifted his head and swallowed theliquid Lorenzo poured down his throat. He made a sour face. "Paugh! Ittastes bad!"

  Daoud said nothing and waited. After a few moments of silence Sordellosat back on his heels. His gray head began to nod. His eyes closed.

  Daoud arose from the throne and went down to him, holding a candle inone hand.

  "Look at me, Sordello." The prisoner's head lifted, and his brown eyesstared fixedly into Daoud's. Daoud bent and passed the candle flamebefore Sordello's face, but his eyes remained motionless.

  "Do you love Simon de Gobignon, or do you hate him?"

  "Hate. I hate him," Sordello said in a dull voice. "I have suffered muchon his account."

  "Would you kill him if you had the chance?"

  Even in his trance Sordello's eyes seemed to glow, and his face flushed."Yes. Oh, yes, Maestro. Gladly."

  That was good. The will must already be there. Then it remained only toshape the deed. Daoud reached inside the collar of his tunic and pulledout the silver locket Blossoming Reed had given him. It was, he haddecided, better than a word or combination of words. It was somethingSordello would never see again unless Daoud wished him to see it.

  He dangled the locket by its chain before Sordello's face, letting itswing from side to side. He held the candle so its flame reflected fromthe silver disk.

  "Watch the locket, Sordello. Look closely at it. The design on its faceis like no other in the world. Make certain that you would know it ifyou saw it again."

  For a time he let the locket swing, and Sordello's head turned from sideto side, following it.

  "Do you know this locket now, Sordello? Truly know it?"

  "Yes, Maestro."

  "Could you mistake it for another?"

  "No, Maestro."

  "Good. Now I command you. When you see this locket again, it will be asign. It will mean that you are to kill Simon de Gobignon at once. Assoon as you see the locket, you will take up the first weapon thatcomes to hand, and you will await your first good chance, and you willstrike him down. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Maestro."

  "Will you do it?"

  "Yes, Maestro. With much joy."

  "Say what you will do, Sordello."

  "When I see that locket, I will kill Simon de Gobignon at once."

  "That is good. Now, in a little while you will wake up. And you will notremember anything I have said to you about the locket and about killingSimon de Gobignon. You will forget all about it until you see the locketagain. And then you will strike."

  "Yes, Maestro."

  Daoud went back to the throne and sat down. He slipped the locket'schain over his head and dropped the silver disk back inside his tunic.Sordello slumped in his kneeling posture like a figure of wax that hadbeen placed too close to a fire.

  Daoud waited patiently, and in a few moments Sordello raised his head,his eyes bloodshot but alert.

  "Will you let me visit paradise again soon?" His memory had gone back tothe moment before he drank the drug.

  "Not _very_ soon," said Daoud. "But serve me well, and it will happenagain." He could not make Sordello wait a year, as the Hashishiyyausually did with their initiates. But it must be a wait of some months,or the experience would lose its magic
. And in months his work inOrvieto might be done.

  _And then again, I might still be here ten years from now._

  "Tell me what I have to do, Maestro."

  "Serve me faithfully, and from time to time, when it pleases me, youwill visit paradise. Disobey me or betray me--we will know instantly ifyou do--and when you least expect it you will find yourself in hell. Notthe one we created for you last night. The real one."

  "You don't need to threaten me," said Sordello with a flash of his oldrebelliousness. "Just tell me what you want."

  "Simply go on doing what you have been doing. You will give the Count deGobignon information about us--but from now on we will tell you what totell him. And you will keep me informed about the young count. Hardlyany work at all, you see."

  Sordello grunted. "I doubt it will be that easy. But as long as youoffer a reward so great, I am your man."

  _My slave_, thought Daoud, hoping that his pity for this creature didnot show in his face.

  But he must remember that there were hidden places in this man's soul.And he had never before tried to enslave a man as the Hashishiyya didit. He could not be sure that he had succeeded fully, and so he had madea creature potentially as dangerous to himself as to anyone else. Theflesh on the back of his neck crawled.

  * * * * *

  She was sitting by the window, staring out at the spot on the streetwhere the young man's body had lain. She heard the door open behind her.She turned, and there was David. Golden-haired, lean, tall, with thoselight-filled eyes. She forgot herself and felt a leap of love, and thenher heart clenched like a fist with anger.

  _Wait, let him tell it before I judge him._

  He closed the door slowly, a strange expression on his face. She lookedfrom him to the image of the saint. Yes. The look around the eyes wasthe same. They had accepted pain and sorrow, did not struggle against itas ordinary people did, and they knew _something_.

  Except that David's eyes were not the bright blue of the saint's.David's eyes seemed to reflect whatever color was about him.

  How could it be that the icon she had painted could remind her of twosuch different men as Simon de Gobignon and David of Trebizond?

  He stood there looking at her, and she realized that he was waiting forher to speak. He wanted to know what she and Simon had done in thisroom, and he did not want to ask. And she knew at that instant, watchinghis face, that he was expecting to be hurt by what she would tell himabout herself and Simon.

  _But what about that young Frenchman in the street? I saw Simon kneel byhim, weep for him, bear him away._

  "Something terrible has happened," she said.

  His eyes narrowed. "You did not succeed with de Gobignon?"

  "No, someone killed his friend, who was waiting for him, down there inthe street. Everything is ruined. Simon will not want to see me again.He will be certain to blame me for that young man's death."

  "Why should he?" David walked over to the chest, where the enameledcandlesticks on either side of the painting of the saint still heldburnt-out stumps of candles. He sat cross-legged on the floor in frontof the chest. He rested his forearms on his knees and his gaze on theflame and azure carpet. There were deep lines in his face. He looked asif he had not slept all last night.

  His face in front of the saint's face. Looking from one to the other,Sophia saw the resemblance more plainly than ever.

  She sighed and spoke with elaborate patience. "What else can Simon thinkbut that his friend was killed by some overzealous protector of mine?"

  "Why would a protector kill a man standing in the street when there isanother man up in the bedroom with the woman he is supposed to protect?"There was something in the harshness of his gaze, a flatness in hissteel-colored eyes, that told her beyond the possibility of doubt thatit was he who had killed Simon's young companion.

  But had he not been at Tilia's house all night?

  She nodded her head slowly. "Simon will probably think that way, too."

  From his seat on the floor, David looked up at her with a hard smile."And, since I am certain you gave him incomparable pleasure in bed, hewill overcome any objections he has to seeing you again."

  She felt as if he had stamped on her heart. To him she was nothing but aharlot to be used to ensnare his enemies.

  And if that was all _he_ thought she was, how could she find it possibleto think any better of herself?

  _If I am not a whore, what am I?_

  But she would tell him the truth whether or not he chose to believe it.

  "Nothing happened between us," she said tonelessly.

  He stared at the carpet. She saw hope struggling with doubt in his face.

  Doubt won. His smile was cynical.

  "You failed to seduce him? I cannot believe that."

  "Whatever you may believe, that was how it was."

  "Why do you bother to lie to me?" Anger smoldered in his face. Hischeeks were reddening.

  "Why _would_ I lie to you? It would make no difference to you if I wentto bed with Simon."

  "If, as you say, nothing happened, then explain to me why it did not."He folded his arms and sat hunched forward.

  "When a man like Simon is in love--" she said, and stopped. "You _do_understand what I mean by love?" How did a man brought up in Egypt as aslave to Turks feel about women? Saracens, she knew, kept their manywives locked up most of the time.

  Daoud shrugged. "I can only guess at what _you_ mean by love."

  "A man like Simon shows his love by holding back his ardor. He does notrealize that I know this. I have let him think he is teaching me aboutcourtly love."

  "And what did you learn by letting him woo you in this courtly way?" Helooked pleased. He was beginning to believe her.

  "He tried to find out things from me. He is such an innocent. He had noidea that I was telling him what you told me to tell him."

  David sighed, stood up, and walked to the window. She could see thetension in his back. How broad his shoulders were. Not huge, like thoseof some knights, but graceful and powerful. His posture was not justerect; it was perfect, straight yet flexible, like a blade of the fineststeel. She imagined him with his shirt off. The palms of her handstingled at the thought of stroking his shoulders.

  "Did you not want to take him into your bed?" His voice was cold.

  She thought back to her night with Simon. During those hours when shehad been Sophia Orfali, she had been disappointed when Simon insistedthat he would not touch her. But Sophia Orfali had to accept hisjudgment.

  Earlier, she had wanted to take Simon to bed as a kind of revenge onDavid for letting Rachel be used by the Tartar. But last night she hadlet Simon decide what they would do. When she was with Simon, she waswhat Simon wanted her to be.

  _Is that what I am, a woman who becomes whatever the man she is withwishes?_

  She expelled her breath in a short, sharp sigh.

  "I wanted to do whatever was necessary. If it had been necessary to makelove to him, I would have done it."

  She shut her eyes momentarily. Her head spun. Now, with David here, shewanted David, not Simon. And she hated herself for wanting him, when hesaw her as no more than a useful object, as Manfred had.

  _If only Alexis had lived. These loves I feel for men, for Manfred, forSimon, for David. I cannot help myself, and it betrays me. It divides meagainst myself. And they do not return my love._

  And yet, she was sure David did care for her, perhaps even loved her,though he would never admit it. Why else this jealous questioning?

  _That might even have been why he killed Simon's friend!_

  The thought made her heart stop beating for an instant and her body turncold. Killing Simon would have upset David's plans, but he might havetaken out his jealous rage on Simon's friend.

  "But what did you _want_ to do with de Gobignon?" he demanded, turningfrom the window.

  He would not let it alone. She slid off the bed and got to her feet. Shewent to the chest and stood with her
back to David, staring at thepicture of the saint. Anger clouded over her vision so that she couldnot see the painting. She clasped her hands together to control theirtrembling.

  "I do not have to tell you that," she said in a choked voice. "It doesnot matter. I do what is necessary."

  "As I do!" There was a snarl in his voice.

  What did he mean by that, she wondered. She turned and the look she sawon his face made her stomach knot itself. His teeth were bared and hiseyes were narrowed to glowing slits.

  Now she had to hear him say it. "Did you kill that boy?"

  She watched him slowly regain command of himself. Calm returned to thehard, tan features. His eyes held hers, and their color seemed to changefrom white-hot to the cold gray of iron.

  "Of course."

  She felt something break inside her. Grief overwhelmed her. She mournedfor the young Frenchman. She did not know the man David had killed, butshe imagined him to be just like Simon. She wept for him and for Simon.And for David. She did not want to cry, but she could not help herself.She walked slowly to her bed and sat down heavily. She could feel thetears running down her cheeks.

  "Why did you kill him?"

  "I had to leave Tilia's. I made the mistake of coming back here. Fromacross the street I saw de Gobignon in this window." His voice wastight, his words clipped, as if he were trying to hold something in. "Atthe same time, the Frank, who was on watch, saw me. If I had allowed himto live, de Gobignon would have known that I approved of his being withyou. And he was no boy, but a knight, strong and trained."

  "He could have been no match for you."

  "I gave him no chance to match himself against me. This is not sometournament. Your life is in as much danger as mine is."

  "I never forget that," she said.

  David had killed Simon's friend. She wished that she had gone to bedwith Simon.

  "Do you think de Gobignon will now be afraid to try to see you again?"There was a sneer in David's voice, and she felt the heated blood risingto her face.

  "He is no coward."

  He looked at her with weary eyes and a tight little smile. "Well, then.He will want to see you again. Send a message to him. Have him meet yousomeplace other than here. Someplace where he will feel safe. A church,perhaps."

  "A church. Yes, that is a good suggestion. Then you will not have towonder what we are doing."

  "From what I have heard of Christian churches, that is not necessarilytrue."

  She wished she had the skull to throw at him again. That was all thatpoor young knight would soon be--a skull, buried in the earth.

  "How dare you insult the religion you were born into?" she shouted."Have you forgotten that I am a Christian?"

  He glared at her, turned on his heel, and slammed the door behind him.

  Feeling alone, unloved, and desolate, not even sure who she was, Sophiasat heavily on her bed. Sobs racked her chest, one after the other. Notwilling to admit how much Daoud had hurt her, she struggled with hertears for a time, then gave in and threw herself full length on the bed,pain spreading through her body.