Daoud drifted in and out of consciousness for two days after the fight
at the Monaldeschi palace. Sleeping was much better than being awake and
remembering failure.
In dreams he rode once again with his khushdashiya, his brother
Mamelukes.
A yellow silk banner rippled in the breeze before them, declaring, WAGE
WAR UTTERLY ON THE IDOLATORS, AS THEY WAGE WAR UTTERLY ON YOU.
Dust clouds swirled around them as they thundered down upon a row of
Frankish knights. From a distance Daoud sent bolt after bolt from his
compound bow whistling into the dark line of mail-clad men. He saw men
clutch at their throats and topple from the saddle.
Screaming, he charged into the midst of the Franks, whirling his saif
over his head, his lance in his left hand. A knight galloped into his
path, holding up a shield white as an eggshell, emblazoned with a red
cross. Daoud brought the saif down, and the knight raised his shield to
fend off the blow. That left the crusader momentarily blind, and Daoud
thrust under the shield with his lance.
The lance went in as if the knight wore no mail. As the Frank fell
backward from his horse, Daoud saw that it was Simon de Gobignon.
Sophia's light touch on his shoulder woke Daoud. He was lying on his
stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw the glowing,
diamond-shaped windowpanes and the familiar white walls of his room on
the upper floor of Cardinal Ugolini's mansion. He turned his head to
look at Sophia. Her dark eyes comforted him.
"Time for your poultice," she said.
He tried to smile at her. "And something to drink. My mouth tastes dry
and foul."
"Wine?"
"By the Archangel, no! The juice of oranges, and later kaviyeh."
Sophia laughed. "Oranges? In April? You must be dreaming. Trees do not
bear fruit all year round in this part of the world, David. Your bitter
beverage I can supply. But let me see to your wound first." She raised
the blanket that covered his body. He felt his skin grow hot from scalp
to toes. She was gazing upon his nude body. He was glad he was lying on
his stomach rather than on his back.
Did his nakedness mean anything to her? Among Christians, he knew, men
and women often saw each other naked. Not only did women go through the
streets with their faces uncovered, but in warm weather the common folk,
men and women both, walked to the public baths with barely a bit of
cloth wrapped around their loins. And all Christians slept naked. When
Sophia saw his body like this, was it just another unclothed body, like
the many she had doubtless seen in her lifetime? Did she feel any
embarrassment? Or desire? As for himself, his sense of helplessness made
him feel only embarrassed, nothing more.
He turned his head again to look at her. She was intent on administering
the poultice, and that doubtless took her mind off his nakedness. She
had lifted off the old cloth, stained an ugly yellow-brown, and dropped
it to the floor. He got a glimpse of the wound, a red slit about half a
finger's length with black knots of thread in it in the back of his
right leg, halfway between knee and buttock. Gently she patted and
stroked on the wound a paste made of ground rose petals, lime water, and
egg white, the Sufi remedy he had taught her to make.
Lorenzo had used his knife to open the hole made by the arrow so that he
would not tear Daoud's flesh pulling the barbed head out. While Lorenzo
worked over him, Daoud drew upon Saadi's final teaching to him to defend
himself against the pain. In his mind he began to create the drug called
Soma. He envisioned it as a bowl of glowing, silver-colored liquid, and
he believed it could form a capsule around any part of his body where
there was pain and wall it off from the rest of himself, at the same
time filling him with a feeling of well being.
_Once you have experienced the effects of material drugs on your body
and learned to master them_, Saadi said to him, _you have the knowledge
you need to create a drug of the mind, Soma. This is more powerful and
more reliable, and it will not harm your body in any way. Indeed, Soma
will make your body stronger. It will calm your mind, fill you with
peace, sometimes give you visions. But if you should suddenly need all
your faculties, they are yours at once. The drug is gone in an instant._
It was Saadi's teaching that whatever a man could accomplish with
drugs, he could accomplish more effectively and reliably with his mind
alone. A trained man could envision a drug that would serve any desired
purpose. And thus a man could transcend the Hashishiyya reliance on
administered drugs.
While he had drunk from the bowl of Soma and it had flooded through his
body, Daoud's fingers had gripped the little leather case hung around
his neck that contained the Sufi tawidh, the numerological invocation
that he believed would speed his healing. A river of blood had poured
out of his leg when Lorenzo drew out the arrow, and he had fainted.
Sophia had stitched the wound with cotton thread that was now black with
congealed blood.
Now Sophia laid a clean, folded linen cloth over the wound, used another
strip of linen to tie the poultice to his leg, and then pulled the
blanket up over him. Their eyes had not met once during the time she was
caring for him. He found to his surprise that he had to know what she
was thinking and feeling.
As if sensing his need, she spoke. "I have wanted to tell you, but you
were too sick to understand me. D'Ucello, the podesta, came here the
night of the uprising, looking for you and Lorenzo. As we planned, I
told him you had both gone to Perugia."
Daoud's body went cold. He felt as if he were being stalked, and the
hunter was closing in.
"Did he believe you?" he asked.
She shrugged. "He blustered some, but the cardinal ordered him off in
the end. I think he must have hoped to find you among the dead or
wounded at the Monaldeschi palace."
Daoud rolled over in bed, the wooden frame creaking, and the pain tore
through his leg like the slash of a scimitar. He groaned through
clenched teeth. Despite his ability to shield his mind from pain when it
took him unexpectedly like this, it could hurt like the torments of the
damned.
"What are you doing?"
He gasped. "Trying to get up. D'Ucello will be back, and he must not see
me wounded." He tried to sit up, and she laid her hand, firm and cool,
on his forehead and pushed him back against the pillows.
"You are in more danger from fever than you are from d'Ucello," she
said, letting her hand rest on his forehead.
"You will be surprised at how quickly the wound heals," he said,
touching the tawidh at his neck. "As for fever, it is healthy. It burns
out impurities." He laughed bitterly. "I hope it is burning the
stupidity out of me."
"You--stupid?" She laughed.
He did not join her. It pleased him a little, in the midst of his
anguish and self-disgust, to see that she thought well of him. But she
was wrong about him--and her life depended on him, and that thought made
him feel worse.
"De Gobignon was waiting for me. He knew I was coming for the Tartars.
He _knew_."
"How much could he have known?" she asked. "No one knew what your plans
were."
"Sophia, if de Gobignon had not been there, I would have been able to
kill those two barbarian pigs easily. I did my best, with all my skill,
all my training, all my experience, and it went for nothing."
That was a pain Soma would not shield him from, the pain of failure. It
felt like a mace blow to his chest every time he remembered the fight in
the blackness of the spice pantry.
To drive away the damnable memory of being routed by the Christians, he
had to concentrate on the present and the future.
"Send someone to fetch Sordello to me."
"You should be resting."
He laughed and touched her hand lightly. "Resting! Our enemies are not
resting." She sighed, but went.
When Sordello entered Daoud's room, Lorenzo followed him closely, eyes
boring into the back of the mercenary's skull. Sophia entered behind
Lorenzo.
Trembling, Sordello knelt by Daoud's bed. "I feared for you, Messer
David. I am happy to see you looking so well."
Would Sordello give up the pleasures of hashish and the promise of a
paradise with beautiful women? What reward could Simon de Gobignon offer
him that could be more enticing?
_Yet, I have always known that this man was a two-edged sword that could
turn in my hand._
"The Monaldeschi were prepared for us," said Daoud. "They were armed and
on their battlements when we came. Someone warned them."
"You do not suspect me, Messer David?" Sordello, crouched on the floor
by Daoud's bed, looked up slyly sideways at him. "I would be a fool to
injure one who has been so great a benefactor to me."
Daoud felt rage boil up inside him at Sordello's false abjectness. He
glared at the old bravo and saw a faint tremor in his jaw.
Propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned toward Sordello. "Your
fawning insults me. I think you lie."
Hatred briefly twisted Sordello's face. Then a knowing smile made it
even uglier.
"Messer David, if I had told the Count de Gobignon what I know about
you, you would surely be dead by now."
Daoud forced himself to his feet. The pain shot through him like a
lightning bolt, but in his fury he ignored it. He bent down and seized
Sordello's throat with his right hand. He fell back sitting on the bed,
pulling the popeyed bravo toward him so that his good knee pressed into
the Sordello's chest.
Somewhere, nearby, he heard Sophia cry out in protest, but he paid no
attention.
"Confess that it was you, and I will kill you quickly," Daoud whispered.
"I have shown you paradise, and I can show you hell. If you do not give
yourself up now, and I find out later that it was you, I will inflict
torments of mind and body on you beyond your imagining."
"David, stop, you will kill him!" Sophia screamed. She gripped Daoud's
arm, digging her nails into his muscle.
Gradually Daoud released his hold on the corded throat. With his eyes
alone, employing the Hashishiyya "look that imprisons," he held Sordello
fast. The bravo's eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.
He was glad Sophia had stopped him. She must have realized that he would
regret it if he killed Sordello in a fit of rage. If Sordello had not
betrayed them, his false reports to Simon de Gobignon would still be
useful. And in any case his sudden disappearance immediately after the
attack on the Monaldeschi palace would draw de Gobignon's attention.
"If it is not you, then there is another among us who told Simon de
Gobignon about my plans. If you want to save your life, you will find
out who it is."
"I promise you, Messere." Sordello's voice was a hoarse croak. "Whoever
the escremento is, I will deliver his life into your hands."
Sordello stood up, then turned to Sophia and bowed.
"Madonna," Sordello gasped. "My eternal gratitude--"
"Just get out," Sophia snapped.
Was there a suggestion of a leer in Sordello's lumpy face as he stared
at Sophia? But pain spread from the wound in Daoud's leg in great
ripples through him, and he lay back and concentrated on the Sufi
exercise that detached him from his body.
The heavy oak door closed behind Sordello. They were all three silent
for a moment. Then Lorenzo jerked the door open and looked out into the
corridor. He nodded, indicating Sordello had truly gone.
"It might have been wiser to strangle him," said Lorenzo. "He has all
our lives in his hands."
Daoud held up his hand. "What he said was true. He could have delivered
us to our enemies before the attack. I believe he is still in my power."
* * * * *
When alone with Sophia, Daoud lay back on his cushions. She stood
looking down at him, and he wondered if that was pity he saw in her
face.
"You are in such pain," she said.