Terror filled the little room like a pool of icy water. Soon, Sophia
thought, terror would drown them.
The worst for her was not knowing whether Daoud was alive or dead.
_Before dawn I had him here in this bed. Now after sunset I have no idea
where he is._
Sophia lay back on the bed, while Tilia sat on cushions laid over
Sophia's traveling chest. Ugolini sat in an armchair reading--trying to
read, Sophia suspected--a leather-bound book by the light of a candle in
a brass holder standing on the arm of the chair. Only the yellow gleam
of the candle and the reddish light of a low fire on the hearth
illuminated the room. From the shadows along the wall, the icon of Saint
Simon stared at her.
She wondered whether she should have spoken to Daoud of what she had
come to suspect. Her time of the month, regular as the moon itself since
she was a girl, was over six weeks late. It seemed the brew of myrrh,
juniper berries, and powdered rhubarb Tilia had concocted for her, and
which she had drunk faithfully every morning for six months, might have
finally done its work.
She wanted Daoud to know, though she was not sure whether he would be
pleased. He had never said that he had any children. She wanted to be
sure she was truly carrying his child before she told him. Tilia had
advised her to wait until at least twelve weeks had gone by without an
issue of blood.
But now it hurt her that she had not told him. It would have been
another parting gift she could have given him.
Darkness had fallen. The foreboding quiet of Benevento was broken by
shouts in the distance, growing louder as they came closer.
She heard a scream from the street. A woman's voice, shrill with fear.
She shut her eyes and shuddered. Another scream, this time a man's voice
and full of agony.
Sophia's body grew colder. She looked at Ugolini and saw that he was
trembling.
It was not just terror that was making her cold. The fire was burning
too low. She got up and laid two more split logs on it.
Back on the bed, she reached into the neck of her gown and pulled on the
long silver chain, drawing out the locket Daoud had given her. She
twisted the screw and opened it and stared for a moment at the engraved,
interlocking arabesque pattern.
Then Daoud's face superimposed itself, and the pattern disappeared. It
was not a picture of him; it _was_ Daoud, as if she were seeing him
through an open window. It was magic, and it frightened her. She had
never before encountered magic. His face was alive, though it did not
move. His blue eyes seemed to look right at her. She never quite caught
him blinking, but it seemed as if he might have, just a moment ago. He
appeared about to speak to her. Just as the fresh logs on the fire made
the room warmer, so her terror subsided at the sight of him.
"What is that?" Tilia asked.
"A keepsake Daoud gave me." She closed the hammered silver case and slid
it back inside the top of her gown.
"We cannot just sit here," Tilia said. "We are like mice waiting for the
cat to come and eat us."
"I don't like depending on someone else to save me any more than you,
Tilia," Sophia said, "but all we can do is wait. Someone will come for
us. Daoud or Lorenzo. Someone."
"We should have left long ago, when the men-at-arms ran away," said
Ugolini. "Then we would have had horses." He looked reproachfully at
Sophia. Sophia felt he had a right to. She had persuaded them to stay
here. How could she have been so sure that the news that the battle was
lost, which had thrown the men-at-arms into a panic, was merely a
baseless rumor? It was her faith in Daoud, she thought, her certainty
that no matter what happened on the battlefield he would come for her
and take her to safety.
"Adelberto, you cannot ride very well," said Tilia. "And I cannot ride
a horse at all. You may be sure those poltroons would not have carried
us on litters. We could not have left then."
"You could ride if your life depended on it," said Sophia. "You may
still have to."
"My life depends on _never_ getting on a horse," said Tilia. "I would
surely break my neck."
There were more anguished shrieks from somewhere nearby, and they looked
at each other and the pool of terror rose higher.
Sophia heard hoofbeats and men's voices, loud, in the street outside.
She went to the door that led out to the balcony and pushed it open a
crack. With a clattering of hooves on cobblestones, three mounted men
rode down the street, looking up at buildings. They carried no torches,
but their drawn swords gave off pale glints. There was no way she could
tell who they were or which side they were on.
The man in the lead pointed with his sword at the house where Sophia
was. She leaned farther out, her heart pounding at her ribs, to see the
trio dismount and tie their horses.
She turned away from the doorway to the balcony and pointed silently
downward. Ugolini closed his book with shaking hands. Tilia fingered her
pectoral cross that Daoud had long ago told Sophia contained a poisoned
blade. And Sophia loosened the mouth of the leather bag tied to her belt
that held the tiny crossbow Daoud had given her.
Would she be able to use it? She had shot a longbow for sport a few
times in her life, with indifferent accuracy. But she had never fired
even a normal-size crossbow. Still, if the darts were poisoned, she need
not hit a man in a vital spot to stop him.
Sophia heard Scipio barking in the room below, Tilia and Ugolini's room,
where they had tied him. There was, she knew, no one in the house except
the three of them. The house belonged to a Guelfo merchant who had fled
town when Manfred's army arrived. But she did not hear anyone moving
about downstairs, as they would if they were looting the place. Instead,
heavy footsteps came up the stairs and a voice called, "Madonna Sophia!
Madonna Sophia, are you up there?"
Her heart leapt with relief. It was not yet Daoud, but it must be
someone he had sent. They were rescued.
She was about to explain the good news to the others when the door to
the room swung open. There, grinning triumphantly at her, sword in hand,
stood Sordello.
He strode across the room, the floorboards squeaking under his boots,
and stood facing her. The hound's barking boomed up from below. Her
heart sank. She had never trusted this man. Her flesh crawled whenever
he looked at her.
"Thank God I have found you, Madonna."
Two men followed him in, dressed in the padded body armor and
bowl-shaped helmets of crossbowmen. As he did, they carried shortswords.
"How _did_ you find me, Sordello, and for whom are you fighting?"
His back was to the two men who had followed him. He frowned at her and
shook his head slightly, as if trying to tell her not to say too much.
But the little signal did not allay her suspicion of him, and her fear.
"Why, I am here in the service of Charles d'Anjou, rightful King of
Sicily by decree of the pope," Sordello trumpeted. "And I serve His
Signory, Count Simon de Gobignon." Gloved fists on his hips, he turned
slowly to gaze around the room.
At his words, the pool of fear became a flood of terror that threatened
to sweep her from her feet. She swayed dizzily. This meant the battle
was surely lost.
_Dear God, what has happened to Daoud?_
With a life of their own, her trembling hands pressed against her
stomach.
"And look who we have here," Sordello said. "His magical Eminence, the
vanishing Cardinal Ugolini. And Tilia Caballo, Orvieto's most
distinguished brothel keeper, of whose establishment I have such happy
memories. Are you two now reduced to being Manfred's camp followers?"
Tilia stared with wide-eyed hatred at Sordello. Ugolini's face was as
blank as if he had been clubbed. What Tilia had said earlier about cat
and mouse was apt, thought Sophia. Sordello was tormenting his prey.
_But he could have learned where I am only from Daoud._
If Daoud had told him where to find her, it must be that Sordello was
still secretly Daoud's man, as he had been in Orvieto. That must be what
the frown and the headshake meant.
"You need not glare at me like that, Madama Tilia," Sordello said. "You
are very lucky to be under my protection tonight."
"What will your protection cost us?" Tilia's voice was heavy with scorn.
Sordello spread his hands. "Why, whatever your lives are worth to you.
You have had much practice putting a price on that which is precious."
"The battle--King Manfred?" Sophia pressed him.
Sordello's grin broadened, showing more stumpy, crooked teeth.
"We--Anjou's men--are here in Benevento, are we not? Manfred von
Hohenstaufen is dead. With my own eyes I saw him fall."
Sophia felt sick to her stomach. Blindly, she staggered to the bed and
sat down heavily.
A long, high-pitched wail came from Ugolini. He threw his book to the
floor and rocked back and forth with his face in his hands. Tilia rushed
to him and held him.
_Manfred, dead._
Sophia's cry of grief was as heart-tearing as Ugolini's, but she kept it
inside herself. She had loved Manfred once, and even after that was
over, she had delighted in attending his court and had marveled at the
felicity of his kingdom.
_Gone in a day! What a loss, what a waste!_
"Manfred died in a most chivalrous manner," said Sordello, showing no
sympathy for the anguish he was causing. "He fought to the end, a few
faithful followers beside him, surrounded by enemies. Cardinal de
Verceuil killed him. I think I will write a poem about it."
"De Verceuil!" Ugolini cried. "That pestilence in red robes! If only I
had had him poisoned."
Had Daoud been one of the faithful who fought beside Manfred?
Sophia's throat almost closed with fear as she asked the question. "What
of--David of Trebizond?"
Again that little frown and shake of the head, aimed at her alone. "More
of him later." There must be things he did not want to say in front of
the two Venetians.