Daoud's hands were cold and his heart was racing. He had been waiting
all morning for Ugolini to come back from the Dominican convent.
He sat at Ugolini's worktable, trying to read. He had found an old book
in Arabic in Ugolini's library, the _Aphorisms_ of ibn Zaina, a book
Saadi had often praised. At another time he would have devoured it, but
his mind refused to follow the words. Sending Ugolini to Fra Tomasso was
his final effort to learn what had gone wrong and to see what might be
saved.
What would Fra Tomasso say to Ugolini? At least Ugolini could be trusted
not to make things worse, as de Verceuil had for their opponents.
This was the Christian month of February, and the chill that pervaded
Daoud's body came from the air around him as well as from his troubled
spirit. The small wood fire that burned on the hearth beside the table
did little to dispel the cold in the room.
In the two months that followed the coming of the bloodstained altar
cloth to Orvieto, Tomasso d'Aquino had gradually, but completely,
reversed himself. According to a Dominican in Ugolini's pay, the
philosopher had sent new letters to the European kings confessing that
his opposition to an alliance between Christians and Tartars had been an
error. At least three Italian cardinals had told Ugolini that Fra
Tomasso had come to them personally with the same message. Cardinal
Gratiano Marchetti whispered that Pope Urban, who did not expect to live
through the winter, had promised the stout friar a voice in the election
of the next pope. Where Urban had been neutral toward the alliance,
perhaps even opposed, something now caused him to favor it. Just as the
tumbling of a single grain of sand could bring a whole dune crashing
down to bury a caravan, so those drops of blood at Bolsena had been the
start of an avalanche of reversals.
Daoud awaited Ugolini's coming, and the message he bore, as a man
accused of a capital crime awaits the verdict of his judge.
And if it was true that Fra Tomasso had irrevocably turned against them?
Daoud must begin all over again with a new plan to stop the alliance.
The fire gave off the sour odor of strange substances Ugolini had
previously burned on the hearth. Daoud pushed himself out of the
cardinal's chair and went to get a breath of fresh air. He opened the
casement window and saw Ugolini's sedan chair, borne by four servants,
turning in toward the door of the mansion.
The cardinal's chair passed the shop across the street, where rows of
large and small pots, brightly painted with floral designs, were laid
out on a large blanket. The potter and his wife, bundled up in heavy
cloaks, were calling out for the cardinal's blessing. Daoud saw a tiny
hand emerge from the curtains of the sedan chair, closed against the
February cold. The hand shaped the sign of the cross in the air as the
shopkeepers fell to their knees.
Daoud wondered whether the potter and his wife felt they had an unlucky
spot to offer their wares. That was where, last August, de Verceuil's
archers had shot down two men in the crowd when the Tartars were
entering the city. And it was in front of that shop, shuttered then for
the night, that Alain de Pirenne's body had been found. Had the
shopkeeper or his wife seen anything, and were they keeping silent only
out of fear? Months had gone by, but the podesta, d'Ucello, was still
investigating the killing, questioning and requestioning everyone who
might know something about it.
Daoud paced the room anxiously until Ugolini came in, throwing his
fur-trimmed cape and his wide-brimmed red hat to a servant. He sat down
in the chair Daoud had been using. Daoud closed the door.
As a man dying of thirst begs for water, Daoud prayed for good news.
But Ugolini's pale face, haggard eyes, and downturned mouth told a
different tale. Daoud's heart plunged into despair.
"Has he turned against us?" He hated the note of pleading he heard in
his voice.
Ugolini went to his worktable, sighed, and sat down heavily. His eyes
seemed to be crossed, staring down his pointed nose at the painted skull
that grinned back at him. His restless fingers found the dioptra lying
on the table, and he started to roll the brass tube in his hand.
"I used every argument I could think of," he said. "I even repeated back
to him the arguments he used in the letters and sermons he wrote against
the Tartars."
"Arguing with Fra Tomasso is like trying wrestle a djinn," Daoud said.
"I admire your courage in even trying."
Ugolini raised a finger. "I thought I was getting somewhere with him. He
kept trying to change the subject. He kept asking me, if the earth moves
while the sun stands still--he seems to be convinced that is what
happens--then what path does the earth follow? I told him that the
Greeks"--he stopped and stared at Daoud--"Oh, never mind the Greeks. The
point is, he was mocking me."
"Mocking you?"
"Yes, talking about the heavenly bodies. He was referring to that scroll
you gave me to present to him, that work of Aristotle. What a waste,
giving that to him. What would I not give to have it myself."
"Why did he keep changing the subject? Did he never tell you where he
stands on the alliance?"
Ugolini closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, finally. He said he made a
grave mistake opposing the alliance. He said that if Christians do not
seize this chance, the Tartars may be converted to the religion of
Mohammed, as those in Russia already have been, which would be the worst
of all possible disasters." He opened his eyes and looked at Daoud. "We
have lost him."
"Is there nothing we can do to change his mind?"
"I truly believe it is hopeless."
Hearing those words, Daoud felt drained. He sagged against the wall of
Ugolini's cabinet, wanting to sit on the floor but unable to do so
because then he could not see the cardinal.
"It is Urban who has done this to us," said Ugolini. "He must have
decided that supporting the alliance is the only way he can get French
help against King Manfred. He tempted Fra Tomasso with something far
more valuable to him than an old scroll. He offered him greater glory
and power in the Church."
The Angel of Death, thought Daoud, had done it. Feeling himself mortally
ill, the pope had realized he could no longer bargain with the King of
France on an equal basis. He would have to offer Louis what he wanted,
permission to ally himself with the Tartars.
"Will the pope now support the alliance openly?" If Daoud chose to
fight, he thought, he would have to strike hard and fast. He would have
to strike at the Tartars.
Despite the downward turn of his fortunes, Daoud felt a strange
lightness of heart as he considered the prospect. He had tried every
other way of preventing Tartars and Christians from forming an
alliance--persuasion, bribery, the spreading of lies.
Now he could turn to the way he was best at. War.
"Urban will not come out for the alliance at once," said Ugolini.
"Before Bolsena, Fra Tomasso and my Italian colleagues in the Sacred
College stirred up so much feeling against the Tartars that Urban would
lose support all over Europe if he were to call now for a pact between
Christians and Tartars. So he must move slowly, with Fra Tomasso now
working with him, winning approval for the alliance."
"What if the French sent an army to him now?" Daoud asked.
Ugolini laughed. "Do you think King Louis of France can sow dragon's
teeth and have an army spring up in his fields overnight? He would have
to summon the great barons of France. They would have to decide whether
they support his cause, then assemble the lesser barons and knights.
Supplies must be gathered, money found to pay the knights and
men-at-arms. It can take years to raise an army big enough to wage a
war."
_The Mamelukes would be ready to ride in a day._
_How had the crusaders managed to make any inroads at all in the Dar
al-Islam?_
"If the pope is not ready to declare for the alliance, there is time,"
said Daoud. "Nothing is settled yet."
"Time for what? What will you do now?"
He pushed himself away from the wall, went to a mullioned window, and
pulled open one of the casements. To the northwest a tower of orange
brick with square battlements looked arrogantly down upon the huddled
masses of peaked red roofs. From the tower fluttered the orange and
green banner of the Monaldeschi. There the Tartars were.
He turned from the window and moved slowly toward Ugolini's table.
"I am sorry," he said as gently as he could. "This is not ended."
Ugolini had been playing with the dioptra. He dropped it with a clank.
"What do you mean?" Fear made his voice shrill and quavering.
"I mean, I must attack the Palazzo Monaldeschi."
"Attack the Monaldeschi!" It was almost a scream.