_Accept it!_ Daoud cried out to Manfred in his heart. _Hesitate no
longer._
"Yes, once a pope is elected," Daoud said. "But you can act before that
happens. Use the time Ugolini is gaining for you. March north now, Sire,
while your enemies are without a head. Join forces with your Ghibellino
allies in northern Italy--Siena, Florence, Pisa, and the rest. Surround
the College of Cardinals and you can force them to elect a pope of your
choice. Or scatter them. Three-fourths of them are needed for the
election of a pope. You might be able to stop the election altogether."
Manfred's back remained turned. Daoud looked at Lorenzo. He could not
read Lorenzo's expression; the Sicilian's mouth was hidden beneath his
grizzled mustache. But Lorenzo shook his head slightly, as if to say
that Daoud was not having the effect he wanted. At that, Daoud felt
himself waver toward despair. He commanded himself to stand firm.
Manfred walked back to the table. He stood before Daoud, his hands still
clasped behind him. His face wore a haunted look. The cheerful
self-confidence Daoud had always seen before was gone.
"The north is a quagmire this time of year."
"For your enemies as well as for you," Daoud said. "And they do
not--yet--have anything like the strength you can muster. You can call
up your vassals here in a few weeks' time. When Charles gets a summons
from the new pope, he will then have to gather his troops in France and
cross the Alps into Italy. By the time he is ready, you could have all
of Italy under your control. And there would be no pope to give
legitimacy to his invasion."
Manfred snorted and turned away. Daoud, Erculio, and Lorenzo watched him
pace.
He came back and said, "No. I do not trust those you call my allies in
the north. They opposed the pope, but neither do they want to be ruled
by me. If I were to try to make myself king of Italy, they would turn
against me."
Probably true, Daoud thought, remembering the reluctance of Lapo di
Stefano, the heir of Siena, to recognize Manfred's kingship over all of
Italy.
Baibars would be in the north like lightning, though. He would welcome
the bad weather, because it would impede his foes while he himself would
simply not _let_ his own troops slow down because of it. And if any of
his allies even thought of betraying him, he would kill them. But that
was Baibars. This king, Daoud remembered, had at first not wanted to
help him with his mission in Orvieto because it might provoke a war.
Manfred, he saw, kept raising objections because he really wanted to be
left alone to enjoy what he had. He showed no interest whatever in
conquering all of Italy. He was the enlightened ruler of a civilized,
prosperous land, and he probably would not go to war until the enemy was
on his border.
Though Daoud felt for Manfred and his wish to be at peace, he knew that
no ruler could refuse the duty of war. Peace could be achieved only by
conquering the enemies of peace. Every great ruler of Islam from the
Prophet to Salah ad-Din and Baibars had been a warrior on horseback.
Daoud's heart felt like a lump of lead. He saw so clearly that with one
stroke they could end the danger of a union between Tartars and
Christians and save Manfred's kingdom.
He sighed inwardly. He had tried his best and failed.
He had no choice but to accept that. But acceptance was not surrender.
You surrendered only to the will of God. You accepted things as they
were, but struggled to make them better.
_The potter does not sigh for better clay, but works with what God puts
in his hand_, Sheikh Saadi said.
Manfred turned away from Daoud, walked around the table with another
glance at the portrait, and sat down. He frowned at a parchment that lay
before him, as if wishing to end the conversation.
Daoud said, "Then, Sire, let us at least prepare to defend ourselves as
best we can." He untied a small leather bag from his belt and went over
to the desk. Manfred looked up, his blond eyebrows lifted.
Daoud said, "Allow the sultan of the lands of Islam, who feels himself a
brother to you, to come to your aid with this gift." He upended the
leather bag over the table, and a flood of tiny lights spilled out.
Erculio gasped and drew back from the small pile of precious stones.
Manfred stared in wonder. "This is enough to pay and equip enough
knights and men-at-arms to double the size of my army. Your sultan gives
with a great heart." He looked at Daoud with more warmth that Daoud had
ever seen in those cold blue eyes. "Or is it in fact you who give?"
"My lord the sultan commanded me to use this wealth carefully, and to
help you if your enemies should attack."
Manfred said, "These, then, remain of the jewels I sent you with to
Orvieto? Twelve? You are a remarkably good steward, Daoud. I should put
you in charge of my treasury."
Daoud inclined his head respectfully. "I hope you will put me where I
can serve you better, Sire."
"And where is that?"
"Sire, my work here is far from done. Give me a unit of your army to
command. Let them be, if you permit, fighting men of my own faith."
_And I may yet kill the Tartars and rescue Rachel._
Manfred's face fairly glowed. He picked up one of the jewels from his
table, a large precious topaz of a warm golden color. He took Daoud's
hand, laid the rare stone on his palm, and closed his fingers over it.
"This is yours. Use it to recruit and supply a troop of your own in my
service. They should count themselves blessed by God to have a Mameluke
to train and lead them."
"It is I who am blessed," Daoud said.
He looked at the stone in his hand. It was a shade lighter than the
color of Sophia's eyes.
He bowed again to Manfred. At last he could fight as he preferred to,
leading troops in open battle. As a Mameluke.
Smiling to himself, he stroked his chin.
_And at last I can let my beard grow._
* * * * *
_A letter from Emir Daoud ibn Abdallah to El Malik Baibars
al-Bunduqdari, from Lucera, 19th day of Rabia, A.H. 663:_
Next to the Byzantine Empire this kingdom of southern Italy and
Sicily is the most civilized of Christian nations. That is to say, a
Muslim might almost be comfortable here. In fact, many are.
The chief interests of King Manfred's courtiers are falconry,
poetry, dalliance with beautiful women, and philosophical
disputation. My lord will note that I do not mention warfare.
King Manfred seems to hope that some intervention by God or fate or
chance will make it unnecessary for him to take the field against
Charles d'Anjou.
Christian warriors generally prefer to wait for their enemies to
come to them, reasoning that a small force of defenders can defeat a
large force of attackers. That is why there are castles everywhere
in Europe, even in the cities of Europe. Their wars against us, that
they call crusades, are an exception, and perhaps, too, they have
learned something from the failure of those invasions.
But this is also an exceptional moment. The Guelfi and the French
are not ready to fight, and Manfred could win everything if he were
to act now.
I tried to persuade him to invade northern Italy and bring the
Papacy under his control, but he would have none of it. So we must
await Charles, and defeat him when he comes. After that Italy will
lie open to Manfred. Then for his own future safety he will have to
place the pope under his influence.
But how I long for a day like that when I rode behind my lord
Baibars to destroy the Tartars on the field at the Well of Goliath.
It appears to me now that God intends the destiny of the Dar
al-Islam to hinge on one great battle. If Manfred defeats Charles
d'Anjou in Italy, the Franks will withdraw to lick their wounds. The
French losses will deprive Louis of the troops he needs for his
crusade against us. But, if Manfred falls, then the pope and the
Franks, made greedy by victory, will be eager to join forces with
the Tartars and extend their empire into our sacred lands of Islam.
I will do my best to see that the Franks do not defeat Manfred, and
if I fail I hope not to live to see what comes after.
All is in the hands of God, the All-Powerful, the Compassionate.