"It has healed so completely that no one would believe you got it a few
months ago. They know nothing of our Islamic medicine. You bear another
wound, though, that would have much to say to the observant--your
circumcision. That was why I had them put a loincloth on you and lay you
facedown on this rack."
"Lucky for me you were here," Daoud said.
"Not luck," said Erculio. "El Malik deemed it wise that, should you be
made a prisoner, one of his men ought to be among your captors."
_Even here, Baibars's hand reaches out to me_, thought Daoud, feeling a
rush of gratitude.
"Help me to escape," said Daoud. "The guards and the clerk are asleep."
Erculio brought his small hand downward in a gesture of flat rejection.
"There are a hundred men-at-arms on duty up above. The podesta himself
will be down here in an hour. Why can you not make up a story that will
satisfy him? Say you are a Ghibellino. That is what he believes, and
since it is not true, it will not help him. In a thousand years he would
never guess the truth."
"No. The only way I can protect those close to me is to admit nothing."
Erculio shook his head, and his black eyes were liquid with sadness.
"What a pity. Your case is hopeless, then. Ever since I saw you in
Lucera I have felt sorry for you. How can El Malik expect one man to
change the course of nations? You are like a man trying to hold apart
two ships about to collide." He sighed. "I have done all I can for you.
I have hurt you as much as I can without doing you permanent injury--so
far. There is only one other service I can perform for you."
"What is that?" said Daoud, though he felt sure he already knew the
answer.
"You would not want to reveal under torture that you are an agent of the
Sultan of El Kahira, and provoke the very crusade you were sent here to
prevent. You would not want to give your friends away. If you break, I
will see to it that you die before you might speak."
"I will not break," said Daoud. "And when it is all over, and d'Ucello
has killed me, he will at last come to believe that I was telling the
truth. Because he believes that no one can hold out against torture to
the very end. But promise me one thing."
"Insh'Allah, anything."
"If you must cripple me, see that I do not leave this dungeon alive."
Understanding and respect glowed in the black eyes peering at Daoud over
the edge of the rack. "As you wish, My Lord."
He knew he should be grateful that he had this man here to guarantee him
a decent death. But a great sadness came over him at the thought that
his life must end miserably in this dungeon. He had always hoped that he
would meet his fate amid the glory of jihad, holy war.
_Well, this is jihad of a kind._
* * * * *
The respite was over. Erculio fell upon Daoud with renewed vigor,
driving needles under his toenails and fingernails and beating him with
a whip of knotted rawhide cords that tore open his back. Daoud felt the
blood running down his sides and pooling underneath him. The little man
took a red-hot poker and pressed it, hissing, against the scar made by
the Tartar's arrow and Lorenzo's knife. That, Daoud realized, would make
it impossible to tell what sort of wound it had been.
The pain seemed to be happening to someone miles away as Daoud converted
it to ripples of light passing through his body. He understood that
Erculio was applying tortures whose effects could be seen. The podesta
would be satisfied that Erculio had done his work well.
Daoud did his part too. The rest had restored his strength, and now
Daoud screamed so loudly he woke the guards and the clerk. Erculio set
the guards to work replacing the burned-down candles in the sconces
around the dungeon. When Daoud turned his throbbing head to look at the
candles, he saw hazy rings around them and rays radiating from them.
Sweat stung his eyes.
The thick wooden door of the cellar swung inward, and d'Ucello entered.
He walked over to where Daoud lay on the rack, and stood staring at him
with his peculiar, glazed expression. D'Ucello's face was more sour than
usual, and his eyelids were puffed. He looked just awakened from a sleep
that had given him little refreshment. His mouth twitched under the thin
mustache.
Daoud noticed that in one hand d'Ucello held a small silver flask with a
narrow neck and a glass stopper. D'Ucello clenched his hand around it
tightly, as if he feared to drop it.
"What has he said?" he demanded, turning to Erculio.
"Just much screaming, Signore." Erculio looked across the room at the
bearded clerk, who nodded vigorously.
"You have not hurt him enough, then, Erculio," said the podesta. "He
should be offering us _something_ by now. To withstand torture for so
long almost smacks of sorcery."
"Perhaps he really has nothing to tell," Erculio ventured.
"Nonsense!" D'Ucello glared at the dwarf. "Even an innocent man would
make the torture stop, if he had to lie to do it. And this man is not
innocent."
_By that one remark Erculio risks much for me_, thought Daoud, praying
the little man would not again endanger himself.
"Attenzione," said d'Ucello, coming close to Daoud's head and holding
the flask so Daoud could see it. He withdrew the stopper, a long icicle
of glass. He held the flask low over the rack table and tilted it
momentarily. A few drops of dark brown liquid splashed onto the wood. At
once d'Ucello righted and stopped the flask.
A white flash, bright as lightning, burst before Daoud's face, blinding
him.
He jerked his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Erculio
curse in Italian and the clerk and the guards cry out.
Smoke burned Daoud's nostrils and throat. As he coughed, he opened his
eyes and saw a small fire burning its way into the wood a hand's breadth
from his face. He felt a wave of heat. D'Ucello and his men watched in
silence as the fire ate through the thick planking of the rack table.
Gradually the blaze lost its intensity as the liquid that started it was
used up. It ended in a hole a man could pass his fist through, with
glowing, smoking edges.
"What _is_ that?" said the clerk, tugging nervously at his brown beard.
"Witchcraft," said d'Ucello with a grim chuckle. The clerk and the
guards stared at him. Erculio was expressionless.
In spite of Soma, in spite of his years of training, Daoud felt a scream
of horror rising inside him at the thought of what d'Ucello was
threatening.
"Not witchcraft, but just as evil," d'Ucello went on. "It is a weapon
devised by the Byzantines."
"Ah!" said the clerk. "This must be that Greek Fire I have heard
crusaders tell of. I always thought it another of their lies about the
East."
"It is real," said d'Ucello. "Perhaps our guest, being from the East,
has seen it before. The Turks stole the secret from the Byzantines and
have been using it against the crusaders. It starts burning the moment
it is exposed to air. It clings to whatever it touches, and its flames
cannot be put out. Maligno."
The podesta turned to Daoud. "But in this case we will be using it for a
good purpose. Messer David, do you love your organs of manhood?"
"What are you saying to me?" Daoud cried, determined that he would be
David of Trebizond to the very end. His real terror now matched his
pretended terror, but he managed to keep them two separate feelings. The
scream trying to escape him battered itself like a trapped animal
against the inner wall of the Face of Steel.
D'Ucello bent closer to Daoud, and from his painful position, belly
down, arms and legs stretched taut, Daoud lifted his head to look at the
podesta. D'Ucello glowered at him, his lips tight under his thin
mustache.
"I mean that if you do not tell me who you really are and what you are
doing in Orvieto, I will apply this healing potion to your male member.
It should not take more than a drop to burn away everything you have
there." D'Ucello feinted at Daoud's face with the flask, and Daoud
flinched back and cried out. He strained desperately against the chains
that held him.
Greek Fire--what a cruel turn of fate that a thing invented by Sophia's
people should destroy him. Grief swelled in his throat as he mourned the
end of those hours of delight they had passed together.
But, Daoud thought, d'Ucello did not need Greek Fire to destroy his
manhood. He could burn it with oil and a torch, or he could order
Erculio to slash it away with a knife. The podesta had chosen Greek Fire
because it was strange, hinted of magic--maligno. Daoud remembered what
d'Ucello had said, an eon ago, when they were talking upstairs: that he
would prefer picking a lock to forcing it. Even now the podesta was
trying to use fear rather than pain to make Daoud tell him what he
wanted to know. D'Ucello himself did not really relish inflicting
physical pain; he preferred to work on men's emotions.
D'Ucello peered at him. "Under the appearance of a helpless and
terrified merchant, there is bravado. But now you know what a terrible
thing is going to happen to you if you persist. I will give that
understanding time to ripen."
He drew away and turned to Erculio. "I will return at midday, after my
morning audiences. See that he thinks about what is going to happen to
him."