Each woman at Tilia's had her special room, Daoud knew. The hangings in
Rachel's room were cream-colored, the tables and chairs and the bedposts
painted ivory, and the canopy over the bed was cloth-of-gold. She sat in
one corner of the bed, with her legs curled under her.
_It must have been on this bed that the Tartar had her._
"I am so pleased to see you, Messer David," she said in a low voice.
"How can I serve you?" She smiled at him, but his trained eye saw that
it was a false smile. And the hint of defiance he had noticed on first
meeting her in Rome was gone.
"Rachel, I only wanted to see with my own eyes that you are content here
and well treated."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she shrugged. "I have never till now
known such comfort, Messer David."
Daoud realized that he should ask her about the Tartar. Tilia herself
had given him an account of Rachel's first night with John Chagan. The
pain Daoud felt at hearing what he had delivered Rachel to was relieved
only slightly by knowing that the Tartar had been surprisingly gentle
with her. At first, though, he had hated Tilia for being willing to risk
Rachel, and, impulsively, he had resolved to kill John. That made him
feel a little better, until, a moment later, he remembered that hating
Tilia and killing the Tartar would be no help whatever to Rachel. And
he, as much as anyone, was guilty of what had happened to her.
Since John Chagan's first visit, Daoud knew, he had been back twice
more, paying a thousand florins each time to spend part of the night
with Rachel. He seemed much taken with her, and continued to be careful
and kindly in his use of her body, Tilia reported. Watching them, Tilia
had learned nothing that Daoud could use. But there were things Rachel
might have noticed, useful things Tilia could not have observed through
a spy hole.
_Not tonight. I will ask her for information another time._
One thing he must know, though, was whether Tilia had been telling him
the truth. "Have you been hurt in any way?"
Rachel looked at him, looked away and sighed. How enormous her dark eyes
were, Daoud thought, how soulful. Her stare made him uncomfortable, and
he was thankful that she soon looked away. She kept on toying with the
hem of her gown.
"Everyone has been very kind. You need not worry about people hurting
me. After all, Messer David, you are a merchant, as my Angelo was, and
you understand that goods must be kept in the best possible condition to
obtain the best price. Everyone here understands that, too."
There was no mistaking the bitterness and despair in her voice. Had he
felt any differently after the Turks captured him, raped him, beat him,
and sold him in the slave market?
"You are being given the money you have earned?"
She nodded, not looking up. "My share is five hundred florins for each
of his visits. And he gave me a purse of three hundred the first time. A
bonus, because I was a virgin. Madama Tilia keeps it for me, but I am
allowed to look at it and count it." She looked up suddenly and said
earnestly, "I could not have fallen into better hands than Madama
Tilia's." But there was a deadness in her eyes that belied what she
said.
"We did not force you to give yourself to the Tartar," he burst out.
A light came into her eyes then, the fire of anger. "Thank you for
reminding me that I became a whore of my own free will. Is that why you
came to see me, Messer David? To tell me that this is all my own fault?"
Her lips stretched in a ferocious grin. "Pay me enough and I will say
anything you want to hear."
Rachel's eyes were fixed on his, and his on hers, and they stayed that
way, frozen, until Daoud shut his eyes and slowly turned away.
He could not even think of a word to say in farewell. As he closed the
door to her room behind him, his eyes burned and there was an aching
heaviness in his chest. Remorse. He felt as if he had killed a
child--two children. Not just Rachel, but the boy David who had always
lived inside him. The pain was unbearable. He longed to escape it.