"Silk, Your Signory." Daoud shrugged the pack off his shoulders and laid
it on the table. He unlaced its flap and drew out a folded length of
deep blue silk and then a crimson one. The shiny cloth slid through his
long fingers.
"I am not a lord," said Lorenzo softly, reaching out to caress the silk.
"Do not insult me by addressing me incorrectly."
"Yes, Messere."
Lorenzo took the pack with both hands and shook it. A shiny circular
object a little larger than a man's hand fell out. Lorenzo picked it up
and frowned at it.
"What is this, a mirror?"
"Yes, Messere. Our Trebizond mirrors are famed in Byzantium, Persia, and
the Holy Land. I brought this as another sample of what we can offer."
"It is a good mirror," Lorenzo agreed. "It shows me my ugly face all too
well."
Daoud was relieved to see Lorenzo had not guessed the secret of the
mirror, that it contained a deadly disk of Hindustan. Thrown properly,
the sharp-edged disk would slice into an opponent like a knife.
At Lorenzo's command, two of the guards searched Daoud briskly and
efficiently. They even made him take off his boots.
The fingers of one guard found the chain around Daoud's neck and pulled
on it. The locket Daoud had hidden under his tunic came out.
"What is that?" Lorenzo growled.
A chill ran over Daoud's body. Could Lorenzo possibly guess what the
locket was?
"A locket with a holy inscription in our Greek language, Messere."
"Open it up."
With a leaden feeling in his belly Daoud turned a small screw in the
hammered silver case. Perhaps he should not have taken the locket with
him. What would Lorenzo see when he looked at it? The cover fell open,
and he glanced down at the intricate etched lines and curves on the
rock-crystal inner face of the locket. When Daoud saw beginning to
appear on the crystal the face of a dark-skinned woman with accents of
blue-black paint around her eyes, he looked away.
He leaned forward to give Lorenzo a closer look at it without taking it
from around his neck. The locket's magic should work only for the person
to whom it was given.
Daoud heard a low growl. The great hound had risen to his feet and was
staring at him with eyes as dark brown as his master's. His upper lip
curled, revealing teeth like ivory scimitars.
"Silence, Scipio," Lorenzo said. His voice was soft, but iron with
command. The dog sat down again, but kept his eyes fixed on Daoud.
Heart pounding, he waited for Lorenzo's reaction to the locket. The
official grasped it, pulling Daoud's head closer still.
"Mh. This is Greek writing, you say? It looks more like Arabic to me."
"It is very ancient, Messere, and the two alphabets are similar. I
cannot read it myself. But it has been blessed by our Christian
priests."
Lorenzo let go of the locket and glowered at him.
"What Christian priests? Where did you say you are from? What is your
name?"
With deep relief Daoud stepped back from Lorenzo, snapped the locket
shut, and dropped it back inside the collar of his tunic.
"I am David Burian, from Trebizond, Messere."
"Trebizond? I never heard of it," said the mustached man.
"It is on the eastern shore of the Black Sea."
"You have come such a great distance with only a few yards of silk and a
mirror in your pack? Would you have me believe this is how you expect to
make your fortune?"
Daoud reached deep in his lungs for breath. Now he would see whether the
Christians would believe the story he and Baibars had devised.
"Messere, my city, Trebizond, lies on the only road to the East not cut
off by the Saracens. A few brave merchants come from the land called
Cathay bearing silk and spices. The samples I have brought with me,
doubtless you can see, are of the highest quality. We can send you many
bales of such silk overland from Trebizond to Constantinople, then by
ship to your port of Manfredonia. I am here to arrange this trade."
"Arrange it with whom?"
Daoud hesitated. He had come to Lucera to meet with King Manfred. If,
through some mistake, he should fall into the wrong hands, he would try
to get word to the king that he was there.
"Your local merchants, your royal officials," he said. "Even your King
Manfred, if he wishes to talk to me."
"So, a dusty peddler comes to our city gate and wants to speak with the
king." He turned to the guard with the spear. "Take him to the
castello."
Daoud molded the Face of Clay into an expression of naive wonderment.
"The castello? Where King Manfred is?"
Lorenzo grinned without mirth. "Where King Manfred's _prison_ is, my
man. Where we hang the people sent by the pope to murder King Manfred."
Lorenzo's eyes were hard as chips of obsidian, and when he said the word
_hang_, Daoud could feel the rough rope tightening around his neck.
But he was more angry now than frightened. His jaw muscles clenched. Why
had Aziz not made sure there would be no mistake like this?
"Why are you doing this to me, Messer Lorenzo? I mean no harm."
"And I intend to see to it that you _do_ no harm in this place, Messere
of Trebizond," Lorenzo shot back. He waved to the guard. "To the
guardroom, Ahmad."
_May a thousand afrits hound this infidel to his death_, thought Daoud
angrily. "And what will you do with me, Messer Lorenzo?"
"I will examine you further at my leisure, after I have passed all these
good people into the city." One violet-sleeved arm made a flowing
gesture toward the waiting throng.
Daoud noticed that the tiny firewood seller, who had already passed by
the guards, had paused at the inner portal. He shook his head sadly and
touched forehead, shoulders, and chest in that sign Christians made to
recall the cross of Jesus, their Messiah.
_Why, I believe he is praying for me. That is kindly done._
Ahmad, the guard, pointed his spear at Daoud and jerked his head. Daoud
stood his ground.
"What of my silk? If you keep it, I will truly have no honest business
in Lucera."
Lorenzo smiled. He stuffed the lengths of silk and the mirror back into
the pack and held it out to Daoud.
"There is not enough here to be worth stealing. Take it, then."
"And my sword?"