Daoud turned, dragging Celino. A blond man stood, hands on hips, eyeing
him with a faint smile. One of the big doors leading into the royal
audience chamber was slightly ajar. Daoud was angry at himself for
letting someone slip up behind him unnoticed.
"Sire, get back!" Lorenzo shouted.
_Sire._ Daoud knew at once who this was. The same height as Lorenzo, as
Daoud now saw, the man had the very broad shoulders Christian knights
developed from wielding their huge two-handed swords. Daoud guessed his
age at a little over thirty. His hair, so blond it was almost silver,
hung in soft waves below his ears, curling at the ends. His silver-blond
mustache was carefully trimmed. His eyelids crinkled with amusement. He
wore a tunic of lime-colored silk under a short forest-green cloak
trimmed with white fur. His hose and boots were also shades of green.
From a chain around his neck hung a five-pointed silver star with a
spherical ruby in its center. In every point he fit the description
Daoud had been given.
The despair Daoud had been feeling a moment before gave way to a
profound relief. It had seemed that everything stood in the way of his
meeting this man, and now at last they were face-to-face.
"Sire," Daoud said in Italian, "I know who you are, and you must know
who I am."
"I do indeed," said Manfred von Hohenstaufen, still smiling. "Please
release Messer Lorenzo."
Daoud hesitated only a moment. But if Manfred allowed Lorenzo to hurt
him now, the mission was a failure anyway. Tensed for attack, he let go
of Lorenzo, who sprang away.
In an instant the Sicilian had taken a curving Islamic sword from a
soldier.
"Sire, at least move back from him," Lorenzo said. "You know what we are
dealing with here."
"Quiet, Lorenzo," snapped Manfred. "What we are dealing with is a
peddler from some misty land beyond the Black Sea who happens to be
infernally nimble. That is all."
Daoud was pleased to hear Manfred go along with his disguise. He relaxed
a bit and eyed the king of southern Italy and Sicily. A splendid-looking
man with a charm that Daoud felt after only a moment's acquaintance.
"Will the peddler be so kind as to return my dagger?" Lorenzo asked with
heavy irony. "This side of the Black Sea it is considered discourteous
to stand in the king's presence holding a naked weapon."
"Of course," said Daoud, holding the dagger by its guard and handing it
hilt-first to Lorenzo, who in turn gave the Saracen soldier back his
sword.
Daoud was glad he had not had to kill Lorenzo. The Sicilian, like his
master, Manfred, was clearly a man above the common run. His behavior
toward Daoud so far had been a series of clever pretenses. Indeed, Daoud
was sure he had not gotten to the bottom of Lorenzo yet.
"I thank you for entertaining us with this display of your fighting
skills, Messer David," said King Manfred. "Now let us talk of the silk
trade. Join us, Lorenzo."
Manfred led the way into the audience chamber beyond the Hall of Mars.
Walking beside Daoud, Celino snapped his fingers at Scipio. The big gray
hound rose and followed, casting a hostile look at Daoud.
_Why did they try to kill me?_
In the audience hall, marble pillars supported a vaulted ceiling pierced
by circular glazed windows. A dozen or more men and women stood around,
staring at Daoud. His glance quickly took in the feathered caps of the
men, the pale rose and violet gowns of the women, and the gilded nets
that held their hair.
He tried not to stare at the women, whose faces were bare in the manner
of unbelievers. But they were all, he noted, beautiful in varying
degrees. Several had striking blond hair and blue eyes. Though it was
his own coloring, he was not used to seeing fair women, and his
heartbeat quickened.
But the gaze of a darker woman met his. Her amber-colored eyes seemed to
burn. Her nose was small, the nostrils flaring, her lips full and dark
red. The face was carefully without expression, revealing as little as
if it were indeed covered with a veil.
The dark woman's black hair was coiled on top of her head in braids
intertwined with ropes of pearls. Her scarlet gown was decorated with
long strips of satin embroidered in floral designs. Over her narrow
shoulders she wore a shawl of flame-colored silk. Having been to
Constantinople, Daoud recognized her style of dress as Byzantine. She
made the other women of Manfred's court look like barbarians.
She held his gaze steadily. He bowed his head courteously, and she
responded with a faint nod. Then he was past her.
Standing on a dais at the end of the hall was a large chair of black
wood with painted panels; to the left of the dais sat a small group of
purple-robed men holding string and wind instruments. On the right was a
small doorway. A servant leapt to fling open the door for Manfred, who
strode briskly toward it, tossing pleasantries to his courtiers.
The door led through a series of rooms where clerks wrote busily, and
Daoud noticed with surprise that they went right on scribbling as their
king walked through. Obviously Manfred preferred their work to their
homage.
Daoud sensed that their path was taking them on a circuit of the great
eight-sided structure. They passed through a small kitchen where bakers
were preparing fruit pastries. Manfred plucked a freshly baked cherry
tart from a tray, bit into it, and nodded to the bowing cook.
To his surprise, Daoud noticed a small figure in one corner, the little
bent man who had earlier looked on him with pity. The dwarf lay curled
up on his side with closed eyes on his empty firewood cart. Not a bad
occupation, Daoud thought, supplying firewood to the king's pastry
kitchen.
Beyond the kitchen the three men entered another great hall, so brightly
lit that Daoud's eyes hurt for a moment. The afternoon sun streamed
through arched windows of white glass set, as in the Hall of Mars, high
in the walls. The walls were lined with shelves loaded with books and
compartments filled with scrolls. Walkways at three levels ran around
the walls, and ladders were spaced along them. Men in long gray tunics
browsed at the shelves or sat at tables in the center of the room
reading books and scrolls and making notes on parchment.
A servant opened a wrought-iron grill in the shortest wall of the
library, and the three men stepped out under the sky into an octagonal
space filled with trees and plants, enclosed on all sides by a
colonnaded gallery. In the center of the garden a small fountain played,
topped by a small bronze statue of a naked woman straddling a dolphin,
the water spurting from the dolphin's mouth. Daoud was momentarily
shocked. The most powerful and corrupt emir in Egypt would not dare to
have such a statue where strangers might see it.
Manfred beckoned, and Daoud followed him down a pebble path to the basin
of the fountain. Small dark green fish flickered through the water. The
king seated himself on a marble bench, and the two men stood before him.
At a gesture from Lorenzo, Scipio lay down in the sun beside a bush
bearing dozens of dark-red roses.
The sun gleamed on Manfred's pale hair. "What does your sultan want of
me?" he asked.
"I am ordered to speak openly only to you and your secretary Aziz," said
Daoud, his glance shifting to Lorenzo.
"Ah, you did not know, then, that Aziz is the name Lorenzo Celino uses
when he writes to the Sultan of Cairo for me?"
Lorenzo Celino--Aziz? Daoud turned to Celino and laughed with delighted
surprise.
"You write excellent Arabic. I would never have guessed that you were
not one of us."
Lorenzo accepted Daoud's compliment with a small bow.
"One of _us_?" said Manfred. "And what are you, then, Messere? I see
before me a strapping man, blond enough to be one of my Swabian knights,
yet who claims to come from the Sultan of Cairo. You are no Arab or
Turk."
"Indeed not, Sire," said Daoud. "I am a Mameluke."
"A blond Mameluke." Manfred nodded. "Where are you from, then, Russia or
Circassia?"
Without emotion Daoud told the king of his descent from crusaders and
his capture by the Muslims.
"What a strange world this is," said Manfred. "And when did this happen
to you?"
"Twenty years ago, Sire. For most of those years I have served my lord
Baibars al-Bunduqdari, who is now Sultan of Cairo."
"And you are a Muslim?"
"Of course, Sire."
Manfred stood up and came close to him. "Of course? You say that so
firmly. Do you not remember the Christian teachings of your childhood?"
The question made Daoud angry. _My soul is undivided. King or not, how
dare this infidel question that!_
"God willed that I find the truth, Sire," he said simply.
Manfred shrugged. "It is all the same to me. I have lived among Muslims
all my life."
"May I know, Sire, why your secretary, to whom my master sent me in good
faith, tried to kill me?" Daoud asked.
Manfred turned his back on Daoud and strolled a short distance down the
pebble path. "Lorenzo is neither my secretary nor does he normally
command my gate guards. He performs for me _unusual_ tasks that require
a man of uncommon courage, loyalty, and wit. Such as testing you--first,
by taking you prisoner, then by giving you pork and wine and speaking to
you in Arabic, finally by trying to kill you."
"But I might have killed him."
"I did not realize how much of a risk I was taking," said Lorenzo.
"We did not think Baibars could find anywhere in his empire a man who
could go to the papal court undetected. We hoped to show him his error
and send you back. But you are quite a remarkable man, David."
_Show Baibars his error!_ Manfred might be a brilliant man, but he
evidently underestimated Baibars. Daoud sensed himself feeling a bit
superior and warned himself not to make the same mistake and
underestimate Manfred.
"Perhaps now that you have tested my ability, Sire, you might be more
inclined to help me."
"Help you to do what?" There was a note of irritation in Manfred's
voice. "Your Sultan Baibars has asked me only to help you carry out a
mission in the Papal States. What is your mission?"
Daoud said, "Sire, my master chose not to entrust his plan to writing,
but sent me to tell it to you instead. I am here for one purpose, to
prevent the forming of an alliance between Christians and Tartars."
Manfred looked surprised, and stared intently at Daoud. "Tartars? Those
barbarians who invaded Europe--how long ago, Lorenzo?"