The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 66

"But why do this to city after city?" Daoud asked.

"When we invade a kingdom, the rulers and people are determined to resist us," said John. "To fight them might cost us the lives of thousands of our warriors. But when we wipe out one or two whole cities, they become terrified. They lose their will to fight and surrender quickly. It saves many lives on both sides."

Philip grinned broadly. "It shows that we have power like no other people on earth." He shook both fists. "We can level whole cities. This teaches all men that Eternal Heaven has given us dominion over the whole earth."

Daoud heard whispers from the people around him, and Pope Urban coughed softly.

Daoud could hardly believe his luck. Not luck, he thought. G.o.d had delivered the Tartars into his hands.

"The whole earth?" said Daoud. "Even Europe? Even the Christian lands?"

Philip threw out his arms expansively. "The whole earth. All there is.

Every corner."

Daoud's earlier rage had subsided. Instead, he felt wild triumph, and he had to grip the seat of his chair to hold himself down.

Daoud heard Cardinal Ugolini declare, "You see? Exactly what we have been saying."

"You say Eternal Heaven gives you the right to rule the world?" Daoud asked. "Do you mean G.o.d?"

John shrugged. "Eternal Heaven is what our ancestors called Him. Now that we are Christians we call Him G.o.d."

Fra Toma.s.so suddenly cut in. "But surely you realize that the sky, or whatever you wors.h.i.+ped before you became Christians, is not the true G.o.d."

After Ana translated this, John questioned her, squinting at the Dominican as he did so, apparently wanting to make sure of Fra Toma.s.so's meaning.

"Would G.o.d have neglected us before Christian priests found their way to our land?" John said through Ana. "Of course He has spoken to us. Has He not made us the most powerful people on earth?"

"Perhaps He has done so in order that you might _now_ hear His word,"

said Fra Toma.s.so.

"I am not a priest," John said with a sudden broad grin. "But we have the highest priests of the Christian faith here tonight. Let them say whether Eternal Heaven and G.o.d are the same." He bowed his round head and held out his hand in invitation.

A silence fell. The little band of musicians playing vielles and hautboys in one corner of the room suddenly sounded very loud. Daoud turned to look once again at the audience his dialogue with the Tartars had drawn. The Contessa di Monaldeschi, Fra Toma.s.so, at least half a dozen cardinals. And Pope Urban himself. Their figures swam before Daoud, and he knew the wine was overcoming him--bodily, at any rate. The faces of the Christian leaders looked very grave, though, and the grimmer they looked, the more pleased he felt.

Fra Toma.s.so especially, he hoped, had heard enough to sway him.

He turned back to the Tartars. They, too, seemed aware of the uneasy, unhappy silence. The pope appeared not to feel that John's inquiry deserved an answer. The older Tartar's smile faded, and he carefully set down his wine cup. Philip's eyes darted this way and that.

John said something to Philip in a low voice, probably a warning to say no more. John had the look of a water buffalo beset by village curs, his eyes smoldering, his white-wreathed head turning from side to side.

Daoud sensed, because he often felt the same way himself, how alone John must feel, surrounded by enemies.

_He does not have ten thousand warriors at his back now._

Daoud heard a stir behind him, and turned to see the crowd parting to let Pope Urban leave, the broad back of Fra Toma.s.so following close behind him. A priest-attendant in black was coming from a corner of the room with a cloth-of-gold outer mantle for the pope. The contessa rustled after Urban, who turned and offered her his hand to kiss. As the aged hostess knelt unsteadily before Urban, Daoud rejoiced at the troubled, abstracted expression in the pope's aged eyes.

Daoud heaved himself out of his chair and stood, swaying. For a moment his eyes would not focus, and he thought he was going to fall. Then he saw John Chagan giving him a look as piercing as a Tartar lance. Now, Daoud saw, John understood what he had done to him. As for Philip, he sat slumped, only half awake, his empty wine cup held loosely. The stout, dark-haired Ana stood impa.s.sive, hands clasped in front of her, as if content to remain there all night. Her cheeks were now dry.

_We defeated your army at the Well of Goliath, Tartar, and now I have defeated you at Orvieto._

"Monsters!" It was the voice of the contessa, and Daoud turned to see her, losing his balance and having to put out a foot to catch himself.

He saw de Verceuil as well, coming across the hall almost at a run, just ahead of the contessa, his aquamarine cloak flying. His eyes were wide, his little mouth tight with fury. The contessa, looking just as angry, was hurrying to keep up with him and tell him what she thought.

"You have brought monsters into my house. Everything bad I have heard about them they have now admitted. In a year or two they will be at the gates of Rome. They are the Huns all over again." Her eyes were huge, and her nostrils flared with pa.s.sion. Daoud suppressed an urge to laugh aloud with delight.

De Verceuil checked his rush to get to his Tartar charges, and turned to the contessa. "Your Signory, I beg you to understand. They have been drinking. They did not know what they were saying. Old soldiers'

boasting. Exaggerated tales of their exploits. The Tartars are given to that sort of thing."

"It is not exaggerated," the old lady cried shrilly. "We have heard tales before of their ma.s.sacres. Now I have heard the same from their own lips. These very men whom I have welcomed into my house--their hands drip with the blood of children. One of them told how he slit the throats of forty babies. And they are proud of what they have done. They feel no remorse. Old soldiers' boasting? Old soldiers boast of overcoming strong enemies. These--these bestioni gloat over the slaughter of the helpless. Perhaps they look at my palazzo and think that one day it will be theirs. And you have brought them under my roof."

"Donna Elvira," de Verceuil pleaded, "let me find out the truth about what has been happening here."

Daoud's heartbeat quickened. He should slip away now. Drunk as he was, he would be too vulnerable to de Verceuil.

The French cardinal was shouting at the Bulgarian woman. John the Tartar was smiling as if de Verceuil's appearance were enough in itself to extricate him from the consequences of his too-free speech. Philip's fleshy chin rested on his chest and his eyes were fast shut.

Something white moved in the corner of Daoud's eye, and he looked toward the doorway leading to the inner galleria, where the gaming had been going on. Lorenzo was just sauntering out. He was all the way across the room, and Daoud's vision was too blurred to see his expression, but he was probably smiling. He walked closer, seeming to be looking at Daoud for a signal, but Daoud could think of none to send.

_Well done, Lorenzo. How badly, I wonder, did you have to play at backgammon to keep de Verceuil occupied all this time?_

"How could I stop them from speaking, Your Eminence?" Ana was protesting. "I am here only to translate what they say. This man came up to talk to them, and I simply repeated what they said to him and what he said back to them."

"What man?" de Verceuil asked the question almost in a whisper, and Ana's eyes turned toward Daoud.

_Too late. Now I must face him._

"You," de Verceuil said in the same low voice.

Daoud swayed, and it came to him at once how best to respond. He would pretend to be too drunk to understand what was happening.

"You provoked these indiscretions," the cardinal ground out. The jeweled cross hanging on his chest winked and glittered as it rose and fell with his deep breathing.

Daoud put out a hand to grasp the back of his chair. Smiling at the cardinal, he leaned heavily on the chair and circled it methodically. He sat down heavily on the arm, almost tipping the chair over. Then he slid into the seat with a thump.

He looked up at de Verceuil and said, "What?"

The cardinal's hands--they were very large, Daoud saw--clenched and unclenched.

_He wishes he could strangle me._

"Why have you tried to embarra.s.s these amba.s.sadors?" de Verceuil demanded. His voice was a good deal louder now.

Daoud let his head loll. He caught sight of Lorenzo again. The Sicilian was much closer. Daoud shook his head ever so slightly and jerked his chin.

_Go away._

He let his head fall forward.