"What are we going to do to him now, Signore?" said Erculio, still all
eagerness. He needed to know, Daoud thought, when it would be time for
the poison ball.
"Untie him and sit him up slowly," said d'Ucello.
"Oh, Signore!" Erculio exclaimed. "May we not play with him some more?"
D'Ucello's mouth twisted. "Enough of your infernal questions,
pervertito! Do as I say."
The impact of this surprise was like a rock smashing into Daoud's Face
of Steel. What was happening? Was he not to have his manhood burned
away? Was he not to die?
This, too, could be a trick. Realizing that the threat of Greek Fire had
not broken Daoud, d'Ucello might be making one last and very effective
attempt to destroy his resolve by making it seem his fortunes had
suddenly reversed themselves.
Daoud tried to bring the upwelling of hope under control, to resume the
Face of Steel. But something in his bones was already sure that he was
saved, and spasms of trembling ran through his body. His face felt as if
it were falling to pieces, the Mask of Clay broken like a useless pot.
Bustling around the table, Erculio undid the knots at his wrists and
ankles. In his surprise, Daoud relaxed his defenses against pain, and
agony stabbed him like spears in every muscle of his body.
"We have not the means to treat your wounds here in this chamber," said
d'Ucello. "But lower your legs over the side of the table and sit there
for a moment. Then, if you can stand and walk, we will take you upstairs
and my own physician, Fra Bernardino, will attend you."
_Can it be? Am I to go free?_
Joy burst up in him like a fountain in the desert. The candlelight
seemed to flicker, and he nearly fainted. The sudden rush of emotion was
unbearable.
Unless this was indeed a ruse, which seemed less and less likely with
each passing moment, his suffering was over. The contessa had
prevailed! But why? Why had she intervened to save him? Daoud remembered
his vision of Sophia hurrying through the night to Tilia's house. Had
Sophia done something that brought the contessa into it?
As he sat on the edge of the table, Daoud brought his eyes up to fix
them on d'Ucello's. The dark eyes of the podesta, with the deep black
rings under them, stared back. There was a look of defiance in
d'Ucello's eyes, as if Daoud were the accuser and d'Ucello the one being
interrogated.
Daoud's throat was tight and dry, and it ached when he tried to speak,
but he forced words out.
"What are you going to do with me? Are you setting me free?"