The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 78

"But Sophia takes a great risk meeting with him," said Ugolini. "What if de Gobignon attempts to force the truth out of her?"

The thought of de Gobignon laying violent hands on Sophia angered Daoud, and he spoke impulsively.

"_Then_ I will kill him."

"G.o.d help us!" Ugolini went back to his work table and sat down behind it, his hands over his face.

At once Daoud regretted what he had said. But was there no way to instill courage into this man?

"There is much work for you to do, Cardinal," he said. "You must not falter now."

"Then let there be no more talk of killing," said Ugolini fiercely, taking his hands from his face.

Daoud poured himself another cup of kaviyeh and stood looking down at Ugolini.

"With so much at stake, surely you know I would not do anything rash."

"You need not think of _doing anything_," Ugolini said, a plea in his eyes. "As long as the pope delays his decision about the Tartars, your people are safe."

True enough, Daoud thought. Delay was a large part of his mission. But, despite what Ugolini might think, it was not enough. For the safety of Islam, an alliance between Tartars and Christians must be made impossible.

"Your Eminence, will it please you to visit the cardinals who heard the Tartars condemn themselves last night?" He tried not to make it sound like an order.

"I see no need for that," said Ugolini.

Of course, Daoud thought. The little cardinal's mind was so full of fear that he could not see at all.

"But I am hoping that you can organize a delegation of cardinals to go to the pope and urge him to give up the idea of an alliance with the Tartars. After all, you are the cardinal camerlengo. Your word has weight."

Ugolini made a bridge of his interlaced fingers and rested his forehead against them, as if his head ached.

"I have attacked the Tartars at the pope's council." He spoke down at his table, barely loud enough for Daoud to hear him. "I have introduced you into the highest circles in Orvieto. I have let you recruit criminals and instigate riots while you live in my mansion. I hear you plotting murder." He looked up suddenly, wild-eyed. "Basta! Enough!"

Despair made Daoud feel weak. He knew this sick feeling came partly from being awake all night, poisoning himself with al-koahl, and nearly getting himself murdered. He told himself it did not matter how he felt.

He was Sufi-trained, and could control his feelings. He was a Mameluke, and must remain on the attack.

But he chose not to meet Ugolini's refusal directly.

"I also hope that you will be able to persuade Fra Toma.s.so d'Aquino to write an open letter, to the pope or to the King of France, denouncing the Tartars. Copies of the letter can be circulated to men of influence throughout Christendom."

Ugolini shook his head, whiskers fluttering. "Fra Toma.s.so is neutral and wants to stay that way."

_But if I can, I intend to push Fra Toma.s.so away from his neutrality._

"Surely he could not have failed to be moved by what he heard last night," said Daoud. "I could see that he was."

"It will take more than one incident to move Fra Toma.s.so," said Ugolini.

_Now I have him!_ Daoud glanced at Lorenzo, who nodded encouragingly.

Daoud leaned forward, pressing both hands on the table. "There! You yourself have said the very thing I have been trying to tell you. Last night was just one incident. It was not enough to move Fra Toma.s.so _or_ the cardinals _or_ the pope. We must do more. You can accomplish everything we want by persuasion and cunning and subterfuge. If you do, I will never have to put my hand to my dagger, and you will have nothing to fear." He shook his open hand at Ugolini. "Take the lead yourself."

Ugolini sat staring at the skull while Daoud held his breath.

The little cardinal pulled at his whiskers and looked up at Daoud. "What must I do?"

Daoud let his breath out. Strength surged back into his body, and despair fled before it.

"Tell me," he said, "if Fra Toma.s.so were to turn against the Tartars, what do you think the Franks would do about it?"

Ugolini frowned. "I think that then the only way to reach him would be through the Dominicans. If his superiors commanded him to change his opinion on the Tartars, or to be silent, he would have to obey."

"And who, of the alliance's chief supporters, would speak to the Dominican order for the French?" Daoud pressed.

"Count Simon lacks the authority," Ugolini said. "Friar Mathieu is eloquent and knows the Tartars well, but I cannot imagine that the chief Dominicans would pay any attention to an ordinary Franciscan priest."

"What of de Verceuil?" Daoud asked.

Ugolini nodded. "As a cardinal, de Verceuil can speak as an equal to the head of the Dominican order."

"Good," said Daoud. "That is what I hoped you would tell me." He turned away from Ugolini. He had accomplished as much as he could for the moment. Exhaustion struck him like a mace on the back of his head.

"Lorenzo, when you meet that bravo Sordello, tell him that I have decided he and the three with him can join us. I am going to bed."

"I have a bad feeling about him," said Lorenzo.

Daoud paused to consider this. It was precisely for such advice that he needed Lorenzo.

He put his hand on Lorenzo's shoulder. "If he is spying on us, we need to know who sought to place him in our camp. Let him feel he is secure with us. Then start keeping a close watch on him. See to whom he leads us."

Daoud turned from Lorenzo to look at Sophia. She was looking at him intently, but he could not tell what she was thinking or feeling. Tired as he was, he wished she would come to bed with him. If only she were willing. If only he could invite her.

Rachel lay with her face to the wall, crying silently. She wanted not to weep because she was still afraid of offending the Tartar, even though it was all over.

She realized that her gown was still above her waist, and she lifted her hips to pull it down. But what was the point of modesty for her anymore?

Especially with this man, who had taken her virginity.

She heard the rustling of silk as he dressed behind her. He had not taken all of his clothes off, just enough to bare his member. It had been smaller than she imagined. Once, in a stable in Perugia, a boy had shown himself to her and tried to rape her, but she had run away. That stableboy's thing had been much bigger.

John said something to her, but she understood only his "Reicho." He was probably telling her to stop crying.

Even though he had been kindly before getting into the bed with her, she had expected that he would become like the wild, savage Tartars she had heard about. His weight on top of her, even though he was a small man, had frightened her, but he had entered her slowly, and stopped and waited when she cried out. In the end it had been she, wanting in desperation to get it over with, who finished the piercing by pressing upward with her hips. His few quick thrusts and his shout of pleasure--a drawn-out horseman's yell--followed in a moment. And that was all there was to it.

She sobbed aloud suddenly and bit into the pillow. The thought that her whole future had been decided by a moment that had not lasted even as long as it takes to light a candle was too much to bear.

_Angelo would say I am not a good woman anymore._