They had missed the precious object hidden in a pouch tied in his groin.
And they missed the Scorpion, the miniature crossbow devised by the
Hashishiyya, its parts concealed in the hem of his cloak. Nor did they
have any idea that the tie that held his cloak at the neck could be
pulled loose to become a long strangling cord, flexible as silk and hard
as steel.
Daoud pulled his hood back over his head, shrugged into the pack under
his cloak, and began walking. Every step he took sent a jolt of anger
through his body. He would like to use his strangling cord on the man
responsible for this blunder.
The news might well travel northward that a blond merchant had been
arrested trying to enter Lucera. And if that man should later appear at
the court of the pope, there might be those who would remember hearing
of him and wonder why he had gone first to the pope's enemy, Manfred von
Hohenstaufen.
His first feelings of anger became a cold turmoil in his belly as he
thought what could happen if his mission failed--El Kahira leveled, its
people slaughtered, Islam crushed beneath the feet of barbarian
conquerors.
He must not let that happen.
The narrow street he walked on was lined with circular houses, their
brick walls a warm yellow color. The conical roofs were covered with
thin slates.
A Muslim sword maker looked up from his forge to stare at Daoud and his
guard as they passed. Veiled women with red pottery jars on their heads
stopped and looked boldly into his eyes.
Daoud lifted his gaze to the octagonal central tower of the citadel,
bright yellow-and-black flags flying from its battlements. Instead of
being squared off, the battlements were topped by forked points, like
the tails of swallows, proclaiming allegiance to the Ghibellini,
partisans of the Hohenstaufen family, enemies of the pope.
Closer to the citadel, noises of men and animals came at Daoud from all
directions. He saw many buildings, all connected with one another, their
small windows protected by iron grillwork. To his right, in a large
grassy open field, a hundred or more Muslim guards in red and green were
swinging their scimitars as an officer on a stone platform called out
the count in Arabic. Daoud and his guard passed by a second yard, where
still more Muslim soldiers were grooming their slender Arab horses.
A pungent smell of many beasts and fowl pent up close hung in the warm,
damp air. Another row of buildings echoed with the shrieks of birds.
Falconers in yellow-and-black tunics walked up and down holding wicker
cages. As he peered into a doorway, Daoud saw the golden eyes of birds
of prey gleaming at him out of the shadows.
The sun was high by the time they came to the gateway of the castello.
_Well, so far they have taken me where I wanted to go_, Daoud thought
grimly.
The entry hall of the castello was a large, vaulted room, as Daoud had
expected. He had studied the citadel of Lucera before leaving Egypt, as
he had studied many other strongholds in Italy, memorizing building
plans and talking at length with agents of the sultan who had been
there.
A strange, almost dizzying sensation came over Daoud. He recognized the
feeling, having had it several times before when, in disguise, he
entered Christian fortresses. As he gazed around the shadowy stone hall,
its gloom relieved by shafts of light streaming in through high, narrow
windows, he seemed to be seeing everything through two pairs of eyes.
One pair belonged to a Mameluke warrior, Daoud ibn Abdallah, scouting an
enemy stronghold. The other eyes were those of a boy named David
Langmuir, to whom a Christian castle had been home. And, as always on
sensing that inner division, Daoud felt a crushing sadness.
Ahmad took Daoud through a series of small, low-ceilinged rooms in the
base of the castle. He spoke briefly to an officer seated at a table,
dressed like himself in red turban and green tunic. He gestured to a
heavy-looking door reinforced with strips of iron.
"In there, Messer David."
Every muscle in Daoud's body screamed out in protest. As part of his
initiation into the Hashishiyya, he had been locked in a tiny black
chamber in the Great Pyramid for days, and, except for the deaths of his
mother and father, it was the worst memory of his life. Now he ached to
strike down Ahmad and the other Muslim soldier and flee.