The Saracen: Land of the Infidel by Robert Shea
XII
_A letter from Emir Daoud ibn Abdallah to El Malik Baibarsal-Bunduqdari, from Orvieto, 21st day of Rajab, 662 A.H.:_
Although the central part of Italy, the Papal States, is said to be under the control of the pope, I have learned that his army is barely large enough to protect his person and nowhere near enough to enforce his authority. Manfred could attack the pope whenever he wished, but he does not do so because he fears that the other princes of Europe would then attack him.
The northern part of Italy is divided among a number of cities, each of which is a small independent nation. These cities are often at war with one another. The most important are Venice, Genoa, Florence, Milan, Siena, Pisa, and Lucca.
Within each city there is also constant warfare among various factions. The palaces of the great families are all heavily fortified.
Italy is also divided between two parties, the Ghibellini and the Guelfi. These parties are to be found everywhere, constantly at each other's throats. They arose long ago in the northern part of the Holy Roman Empire, where the German language is spoken. The Hohenstaufen emperors came from the town of Waiblingen. And in the early days of the Hohenstaufens their enemies were a family named Welf. In Italy Welfs and Waiblings have become Guelfi and Ghibellini.
Each day I come to realize more and more how complicated the history of Europe is. It seems that most of Italy has been claimed by the Holy Roman Empire--but Rome itself is not part of that empire. Members of the Hohenstaufen family have been Holy Roman Emperors for over two hundred years, and they have always been at war with the popes. Why the emperor should be called "holy" when he is traditionally the enemy of the pope I do not understand.
Furthermore, at this time there is no Holy Roman Emperor. The last one was Conrad, son of Frederic and half brother of Manfred. He died ten years ago, and then Manfred proclaimed himself king of southern Italy and Sicily. The German part of the Holy Roman Empire is in a more chaotic state than Italy, if my lord can imagine such a thing.
Here in Orvieto, where the pope has settled for his safety, there are no Ghibellini. The townsmen have managed to find other reasons to fight among themselves. The chief rivalry is between two great families, the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi. Since the Tartar emissaries are guests of the Monaldeschi, I hope to make friends with the Filippeschi.
* * * * *
Seated at a table in his little room at Cardinal Ugolini's, Daoud madetwo copies of his letter to Baibars on small sheets of parchment scrapedso thin as to be almost transparent. He had written the letters in acode using the Arabian system of numbers. Even if the message sufferedthe unlikely fate of being intercepted and finding its way to one of thefew Arabic-reading Christians, it would remain an enigma.
Daoud rolled up the two letters tightly and put them in the leatherscrip at his belt. He stepped out of his room into a narrow corridor.Doors on his right opened into rooms for Ugolini's guests andhigh-ranking members of his staff. On his left, oiled-parchment windowslet light into the corridor from the atrium of the mansion.
Ugolini's cabinet, his private workroom, was at the end of the corridor,where it turned a corner. Daoud walked up to the heavy oaken door andraised his fist to knock.
He felt light-headed, as he did when going into combat. This was combatof a kind. He had been a guest in Ugolini's mansion for over two weeksnow, and he had already, he thought, hurt the Tartars' prospects for analliance with the Christians. But he needed to do much more, with helpfrom Ugolini. The cardinal, Daoud knew, would be absolutely terrified atthe thought of his Muslim guest appearing before the pope.
And to appear before the pope, with the cardinal presenting him, wasprecisely what Daoud wanted to do.
He knocked on the cabinet door.
To the muffled query from within he answered, "It is David."
He heard a bolt slide back, and he entered the cabinet. Cardinal Ugolinireturned to the high-backed chair at his worktable, which was strewnwith leather-bound books and parchment scrolls. In the middle of thetable lay a large, circular brass instrument Daoud recognized as anastrolabe. On shelves behind the cardinal, besides many more books andpapers, were a stuffed falcon, a stuffed owl, and a human skull with astrange diagram painted on the cranium. Windows of translucent whiteglass in two walls let in an abundance of light. A good place to work,thought Daoud.
"I hope I do not disturb you, Your Eminence," said Daoud.
"Not at all, David," said the cardinal. "It is very necessary that wetalk."
Cardinal Adelberto Ugolini was a short, stout man with long graywhiskers that swept out like wings from his full cheeks. His recedingchin was as bare as the bald top of his head, partly covered now by ared skullcap. He wore a plain black robe, like a priest's, but from achain around his neck hung a gold cross set with five matching bluejewels. Daoud wondered if the cross concealed a poisoned stiletto likeTilia's. Besides books and scrolls, Daoud noticed, there were rows ofporcelain jars on the shelves against the wall. Each had a Latin wordpainted on it. Ugolini might well dabble in poison.
"The man they seized in the cathedral is to be publicly torn to pieces,"Ugolini said. "They have been torturing him in the Palazzo del Podestafor three days and two nights, but they have learned nothing from him,except that he is a member of the Apostolic Brethren, a follower of theheretic Joachim of Floris."
_If I am to go before the pope, I must learn about the disputes amongChristians. It would not do to offend the Christian leaders byaccidentally uttering heresy._
"What does this Joachim teach?"
Ugolini waved his hands dismissively. "Joachim died long ago, but hisrubbish and madness still stir up the simple folk. The Church is toowealthy. The clergy are corrupt. The Age of the Holy Spirit is coming,in which there will be peace, justice, and freedom and all property willbe owned in common."
The doctrines of the Apostolic Brethren sounded to Daoud like theteachings of the Hashishiyya, as told to him by Imam Fayum al-Burz.
Ugolini shook himself like a wet dog. "It is dangerous for you toinvolve yourself with such people as the Brethren."
_It is dangerous for me to be here at all_, Daoud thought, irritated atUgolini's timidity.
"This heretic does not know me, so there is nothing he can tell themthat will point to us. You need not fear."
"I feel no fear," Ugolini said grandly. "How did you get that man todraw a dagger in the cathedral?" Ugolini asked. "And the crowd, how didyou stir them up?"
Daoud saw the tiny quiverings of Ugolini's pupils, the tightness of hislips, the clenching of his jaws, the signs of a man in a permanent stateof terror.
Daoud shrugged and smiled. "Celino found the madman preaching againstthe Tartars at a crossroads and had men in his pay bring him to Orvieto.We did not tell him what to do. He did what he was moved to do. As forthe crowd, all that was needed was for Celino to drop a word here and acoin there. Many people believe the Tartars are demons from hell.Perhaps they are. Anyway, I think we have turned the people of Orvietoagainst the Tartars."
"You are like a child playing with flint and tinder in a barn full ofstraw," said Ugolini, blinking his eyes rapidly.
_He must be prodded into action_, Daoud thought. _Tilia said the idea ofmy appearing before the pope would terrify him. We must settle thattoday._
Daoud walked to one of the four mullioned windows. The casements swunginward for air. Looking down through the iron bars on the outside of thewindow, Daoud regarded the street where the Tartars had passed. Thepottery maker across the road had washed away the bloodstains and wassitting in front of his shop displaying his brightly colored wares.
What would move this man Ugolini--money, threats, the promise ofpersonal power?
He turned back and made himself smile.
"You do not want me here, Your Eminence."
Ugolini looked at him for a long moment,
Daoud bowed his head. "The sooner I complete my work, the sooner I amgone."
While he let that sink in, he decided that with his next words he wouldpit his boldness against Ugolini's timidity.
"So, you must present me to the pope as soon as possible."
Ugolini's eyes grew wide and his mouth trembled. His stare, with hissharp nose, tiny chin, and trembling whiskers, gave him the look of ajerboa, one of those desert rats that Daoud had hunted with hawks inPalestine.
"Tilia told me you had some such mad notion," said the cardinal. "If youspeak to the pope and his court, every important man in Orvieto willsee you. If you make the slightest slip that could reveal what youreally are, they will be on you like hounds on a fox." He laughednervously. "No, no, no, no. I might as well take you to de Verceuil andsay, 'Here is the enemy you are looking for. Behold, a Muslim, even aMameluke! And, by the way, it was _I_ who brought him into Orvieto.'"
Ugolini covered his eyes with his hand. He did look as if he had beenlosing sleep, Daoud thought, remembering what Tilia had told him.
Daoud felt his teeth grinding together in frustration. It would beeasier to fight a band of Tartars than to try to put courage into thisone little man. And he needed more from the cardinal than compliance.
_I must make him want, not just to help me, but to lead the oppositionto the Tartars. Otherwise this will be like trying to move the arms andlegs of a dead man._
"The cardinals speak Latin to one another, do they not?" Daoud asked. "Iwill say my piece in Greek and you will translate it into Latin for me.So you will have a chance to cover any errors I make."
"Why must you go before the pope?" Ugolini demanded. "It is foolishbravado. Remain in seclusion and tell me what you want done and I willhave it done for you."
The thought of keeping himself in hiding while trying to act throughothers made Daoud's flesh crawl. But there was a bit of hope here. Atleast Ugolini was offering to do _something_.
"This is a thing only I can do," Daoud said. "Only I have seen theTartars, met them in battle. Only I have seen what they do to aconquered city." The sight and smell of those heaps of rotting corpsesarose in his mind, and he shut his eyes momentarily. "What I can say istoo important a weapon to be left unwielded. I know the Tartars betterthan any man in Orvieto, except for that priest in the brown robe whocame with them. And he is on the other side."
"How will you tell what you know without admitting that you are a Muslimwarrior?"
"Many Christian traders now visit the lands occupied by the Tartars.David of Trebizond has been one of them." He spread his arms. "As yousee, I now dress like a wealthy merchant."
Celino had gone out with a bag of florins from Ugolini's first sale ofjewels, and he had come back with a chest full of new clothes for Daoud.Today Daoud wore a silk cape as red as a cardinal's robe. It was lightin weight and came down to his knees, more for display than forcovering. Under the cloak he wore a tunic of deep purple embroideredwith gold thread.
Ugolini shook his head. "Clothing will not deceive the pope and thosearound him. You are asking too much of me."
Daoud wished he could give this up. Ugolini was nothing but a soddenlump of fear. But he had no choice but to keep trying. The cardinal washis gateway to the papal court.
"Think of the reward," Daoud urged. "Part of the wealth I have broughtwith me is already yours. If the pope sends the Tartars away without anagreement, my sultan will give to you with both hands."
Ugolini looked tormented. "But the peril--"
Daoud had been certain that money would not be enough to enlistUgolini's cooperation. Baibars already had been generous with him.
_Bribes alone will not move this man._
As he searched his brain for another approach, his eyes explored theroom. The skull, the powders, the brass instruments. Ugolini was astudent of many strange things, things verging on magic. Were these notodd interests for a Christian prelate? He knew Greek, which was rare fora Latin Christian. He had spoken of heresy before. Was he not, in hiswillingness to correspond with Baibars, a heretic of a kind? And perhapsin these studies of his as well.
_I must remind him that he sympathizes with us._
"My master sent me to you because he knows you are a friend to Islam."
Ugolini raised a cautioning hand. "Mind you, I am a Christian."
"I do not doubt it," said Daoud.
"Not a very good Christian," Ugolini went on, sighing and looking offinto space. "God grant that I make a good confession before I breathe mylast. But I am also of the south of Italy, and in my youth I lived sideby side with Muslims. I had Muslim teachers, wise men. From them Ilearned about philosophy, medicine, astrology, alchemy. I learned howmuch there is to know that I may never know."
Daoud felt his eager heart beat more rapidly. Ugolini was speaking justas he wanted.
"God help me, I yearn so for more worldly knowledge," Ugolini went on."That was why I studied for the priesthood, so I could go to theUniversity of Napoli. But what one can learn at a Christian universityis not enough. I want to know what you Saracens know. And so I long forpeace between Christendom and Islam."
Daoud felt excitement surge through his arms and legs. He wasexhilarated, as when in battle he sensed his opponent was weakening.
He pressed his point. "You will never possess the knowledge you long forif the Tartars destroy it. Think what was lost when they leveledBaghdad. Think what will be lost if they destroy Cairo, Thebes,Alexandria."
"Oh, God!" Ugolini cried, waving hands bent like claws. "There is somuch I could learn in Egypt. If only this stupid enmity between Muslimand Christian did not hold me back. I am tortured like Tantalus."
"As cardinal camerlengo, the pope's chamberlain, you could bring beforethe pope a traveler from far away whose testimony might influence hisdecisions about the Tartars. Because of you, all that would be lostmight be saved."
Daoud held his breath, waiting for Ugolini's reply.
Ugolini smiled resignedly. "To work for what I believe in, to help myfriends. And to be rewarded with riches. How can I refuse?" Hisexpression changed again as he looked earnestly at Daoud. "I do not knowas much as your great Islamic astronomers, but I have plotted thecourses of some stars, and I know how they rule our destinies. And myrecent readings have told me that I will take a risk that will yield merewards beyond my hopes."
"Then you will present me to the pope as a witness?"
Ugolini first shook his head, but then sighed and nodded. "I can proposea meeting. And may the stars watch over us," he added as his right handtraced the Christian sign of the cross on his forehead, shoulders, andbreast.
_The stars, your Messiah, and the One God I worship_, thought Daoud. Heallowed himself momentarily to feel the thrill of triumph. Ugolini hadbegun to move as he wanted him to. But now he must prepare himself for amuch greater trial, his meeting with the pope.
* * * * *
A little while later, walking through a ground-floor doorway into thesunlit atrium of Ugolini's mansion, Daoud saw Sophia and Rachel standingby the fish pond, under orange and lemon trees. The polished dark-greenleaves reflected the mid-morning sun upward and cast shade downward onthe stone paths and the pool. Reflected sunlight rippled over Sophia'speach-colored gown. A narrow gold bracelet on her wrist flashed as sheraised her hand to make a point. The answering smile that lit Rachel'sface foretold that she would be a beautiful woman in a few years. Shewas dressed better than she had been when they first met her, Daoudnoticed. That ankle-length blue silk gow
"The cardinal has just had an immense turbot delivered all the way fromLivorno, Messer David," said Rachel, her black eyes bright with wonder."Alive, in a barrel of water. Look, you can see it down there at thebottom."
Daoud looked down into the clear water, saw a tapering dark shape movinggently just above the yellow pebbles lining the bottom of the pool.Smaller brown carp darted this way and that above it.
"The cardinal's gold makes great things possible," he said. "Will youleave us for a while, Rachel?"
Sophia handed a small leather-bound book to Rachel. "You may read thesepoems of Ovid if you like."
Rachel clasped the book to her narrow chest. "I do not read Latin,Signora, but I will look at the pictures."
"Have a care," said Sophia with a light laugh. "Some of them may shockyou."
"Then I will try to enjoy being shocked." Rachel bowed and hurried away.
Daoud listened to the banter between the woman and the girl with mixedfeelings. He liked both of them, and he enjoyed hearing them joke witheach other. He imagined women must talk that way among themselves backin El Kahira, but if they did, men never had a chance to hear.
He also felt deeply uneasy at the growing closeness between Rachel andSophia. The two of them shared a room on the top floor of Ugolini'smansion, next to Daoud's and Lorenzo's. His stomach tightened as hethought of the long talks they might have. What if Rachel learned thatSophia was actually a Byzantine woman, when she was supposed to be thecardinal's niece from Sicily? And what if Rachel then let that slip to aservant? Byzantines, Greek Catholics, were hated almost as much asMuslims here in the lands of the Latin Church. One small, seeminglyharmless revelation like that could destroy them utterly.
_I must get them separated._
Turning to Sophia, Daoud was struck once again that so much beautyshould openly display itself outside a harem. A narrow cloth-of-goldribbon wound around her neck, crossed between her breasts and tied herpale peach gown tightly at the waist. Her lustrous black hair was boundin a net of gold thread.
She looked at him quizzically. Daoud studied her face. Her long,straight nose, dark red lips and delicate chin made him glad thatChristian women went unveiled. He could well believe this woman hadenjoyed the attentions of an emperor and a king. He himself could notlook at her without wishing he might take her in his arms.
"Well, my Frankish-Turkish master-slave, what has your busy mind foundfor me to do? Do you wish me to get myself shot in the street byVenetians? Or create a disturbance in church and be tortured to death?"
Her thrusts caught Daoud off balance. Feeling a surge of anger, he wassilent for a moment.
Then he jabbed a finger at her. "Do you understand what is at stakehere?"
Her full lower lip pushed out. "I do not understand why you had to senda pious simpleton to a horrible death."
Guilt twisted in Daoud's guts like a Hashishiyya dagger. Yet he couldnot admit to Sophia that he regretted what happened to the heretic. Shemight approve his feeling, but she would also lose confidence in him.
"I will use any weapon I can find," he said. "Even if it breaks in myhand."
Sophia sat down on the marble lip of the fish pond. After a moment'shesitation Daoud sat beside her, smoothing his red cloak under him.
"Where is Lorenzo?" she asked. "I have not seen him since the day theTartars arrived."
"He visits Spoleto, to find a few bold men for me." Lorenzo would bringback two or three men from Spoleto. Later he would gather more men inViterbo, Chiusi, and other nearby cities. Imperceptibly over the comingmonths, bands of armed men--the Italians called them "bravos"--wouldgather in Orvieto to do Daoud's bidding.
Acting as a go-between for Daoud and the bravos was a mission at whichLorenzo should do well.
"The men Lorenzo brings here will not know my name or my face," he wenton. "In a few days Cardinal Ugolini will take me before the pope, and Iwill warn him against the Tartars from my own true experience of them.I must not be connected with other things done against the Tartars,disturbances among the people, armed attacks. That is why Rachel is sucha danger."
She had been looking thoughtfully at the pebbled path. When he spokeRachel's name, she lifted her head to stare at him.
"Are you going to make me give up Rachel?"
That annoyed him. "You agreed. Have you forgotten?"
"No, but I thought now that she has been with us awhile and there hasbeen no trouble, you might change your mind."
"I do not change my mind so easily." By God, working with this woman wasan ordeal. She argued and complained far too much. He wondered whethershowing their faces in public made Christian women overbold.
"But where can she go? You would not really cast her out to starve."
"Tilia Caballo will take her in."
"You will force her into that horrible fat woman's brothel? And she onlya child?"
"She is nearly thirteen. Many women are married by then."
"She has not even started bleeding yet."
"How do you know that?" Daoud felt somewhat embarrassed.
"She told me, of course."
"She need only be a serving girl at Tilia's."
"No doubt Tilia would find her too precious a commodity _not_ to besold. There are old men who would give that woman her own weight in goldto get their hands on an intact virgin child. And these high churchmencan afford it."
Daoud remembered the rough hands of the first Turks who captured him andshuddered inside himself. "She does not have to lie with men unless shechooses that life."
"Do you really think you and Tilia would be giving her a choice?" saidSophia angrily.
Again Daoud's feelings struggled against each other. He liked the wayshe spoke up fiercely for the child. Yet it angered him that she wasmaking it harder for him to deal with the painful problem of Rachel.
"How much choice is anyone in this world given?" he demanded.
"Are you not here by choice, David?"
"I am the slave of my sultan," he said. "That is what the word_Mameluke_ means--slave. He sent me here. But I am also here by choice."
"To save Islam from the Tartars." She reached her fingertips into thewater and dabbed the droplets on her forehead.
He caught the note of skepticism in her voice. "Yes. Do you not believethat?"
"Can you see yourself through my eyes?" There was an earnestness in herface, as if she badly wanted not to doubt him.
"No, how do you see me?" he asked gently.
"I see a Frankish warrior, fair of hair and face." She turned and lookeddirectly at him, then quickly cast her eyes down. "Good looking enough,for a Frank." She gestured toward his knee, encased in scarlet silk."You show a handsome leg in your new hose."
_Why, she cares for me!_ He felt a little leap of delight, and remindedhimself that he must not let himself be drawn to Sophia.
"You and the Turks call all men from western Europe Franks," he said."But my parents were not from France, but of English descent."
"You could go back to France or England with your jewels and buy acastle and lands and an army of retainers and live like a little king.And forget all about Islam and the Tartars."
He did not want to argue with her. He wanted to reach out and touch herlips with his fingertips.
"I consider myself blessed by God to have been raised amid the gloriesof Egypt rather than in ignorance and dirt among those you call Franks."
She nodded. "We Greeks think the people of Arabia and Egypt are the onlyother civilized people in the world. Almost as civilized as we Greeks."She said the last with a smile, and he noticed that her cheeks dimpled.
He laughed. "What makes you so civilized?"
She clasped her hands between her knees and cast her eyes upward as ifin deep thought. "Ah, well, our churches are huge and magnificent."
"So are our mosques."
"Our paintings and mosaics and statues of saints and angels and emperorsare the most beautiful in the world."
"Idols,
"And therefore the art of painting languishes among you," she said,poking her forefinger into his shoulder. "Someday I will show you mypaintings if you promise not to destroy them."
His shoulder tingled where she had touched him. She must have beencarried away by her feelings about the arts of her homeland to make sucha gesture. Surely it could not have been deliberate. His hand restedbetween them on the edge of the fountain. He moved a bit closer to herso that the edge of his hand nearly touched her thigh.
He nodded. "I will teach you the art of calligraphy as my Sufi masterpracticed it, and save your soul."
_I would really like to do that. Ah, but I cannot teach her to writeArabic. What if someone were to see her practice work?_
He sighed inwardly.
"Hm," she grunted. "I doubt that _you_ can save _my_ soul. But as forwriting, we are familiar with dramatists like Sophocles, philosopherslike Aristotle. We read Latin poets like Ovid, whose book I just gave toRachel. Here in his native Italy his work is thought licentious."
"I have read Aristotle and Plato in Arabic," he said. "And I have nodoubt our Persian poets sing as gloriously as your Greeks and Latins.And for licentious tales, those told in our bazaars would turn yourcheeks bright red."
Those cheeks were a smooth cream color, he observed. He looked abouthim. There was no one but himself and Sophia in the atrium. Amultistoried gallery lined with columns and arches ran around all foursides of the central courtyard. There might be servants, spies for thecardinal, watching them, but he could see no one on any of the levels.
_To the devil with them all._
For weeks he had been wanting to reach out and touch that unveiledbeauty, that ivory skin. Now he did it. Very lightly his fingerstraveled from her cheekbone to her jaw.
She reached up and took his hand--not to remove it, as he hadmomentarily thought she might, but to hold it briefly against her cheek,then let it go.
They sat silently looking at each other. She was so still that sheseemed not even to breathe, while he discovered that his heart wasbeating fast and hard. He wanted to kiss her, but not here, where hiddeneyes might be watching.
But kissing her at all would be a mistake.
The thought shook him--the realization that he must not get any closerto her. He felt as if a rope were tied around his neck and a cruel slavemaster had jerked on it.
_She is not for me. She is for my mission._
He turned away from her.
"It is better if we do not grow too close," he said, fixing his eyes ona nearby orange tree. "I must use you. I will send you as my sultan hassent me, and you will lie with the man I choose as my quarry."
He looked back and saw that she was smiling sadly, her eyes clouded withdisappointment. It pleased him in a bittersweet way to see that sheshared his unhappiness.
"I am _your_ slave, then?"
He shook his head. "I do not know whose you are--King Manfred's, Isuppose. Or perhaps Emperor Michael's? You have been given to me intrust, like that emerald I brought here from El Kahira--from Cairo. Whatyou will have to do here will be no worse, I am sure, than what you musthave had to do before this."
"I am sure." There was a dark note in her voice now. He wished he couldtake back what he said and ease her bitterness, but he had spoken truly,and it was needful that she realize it.
"If you serve me well, I will reward you," he promised. "You will beable to do anything in the world you want."
"Of that I cannot be sure," she said.
This time it was he who took her hand and held it tightly for a moment.Her hand felt cool and lifeless in his grasp.
"We may not be lovers," he said, "but perhaps we can be friends."
"Perhaps," she said distantly.
Nettled, he rose and left her. If she would not accept him on thoseterms, could he trust her? He turned his back on her and left thegarden.
He longed to know her thoughts. Could she love him? He knew he shouldnot hope for that, because it would have to come to nothing, but hehoped she loved him at least a little.
It was not until he was back in his apartment, about to begin his noonprayer, facing the charcoal mark he had made on the wall to point outthe direction of Mecca, that he realized what she had done to him.
_Rachel! We settled nothing about Rachel._
He struck his fist on the wall. He would have to be more careful withSophia. She could be very difficult. Even dangerous.
_It is time I had a woman._
When a man went without the delights of the bedchamber for too long, hebecame too susceptible to the cleverness of beautiful women.
It had been four months since that last night in El Kahira when hiswife, Baibars's favorite daughter, Blossoming Reed, had kept him awakeall night with her devouring love, not caring that he must begin a greatjourney the following day--yes, _because_ he was leaving her.
He remembered the words she had said to him when she gave him the locketjust before the battle of the Well of Goliath. _Take for your pleasureas many women as you like. But love always and only me. For if you dolove another, I promise you that your love will destroy both her andyou._
It would be best if he went to Tilia Caballo's brothel and enjoyed awoman he was not so likely to fall in love with.
* * * * *
Daoud strode through the crowded streets at dusk, enjoying the goldenlight that fell on the upper stories of the yellow houses of Orvieto.His scarlet cape blew out behind him, and out of the corner of his eyehe saw heads turn to follow his passage. He walked close to the houseson his right, keeping away from the ruts and the rivulets of sewage inthe center of the street. Men stepped into the filth, making way forhim. He was bigger and better dressed than anyone he met, and a newsword with a jeweled hilt swung at his belt. The glances he caught fromthe short, dark men of Orvieto were not friendly.
_They think I am a Frank, and like Sophia they hate Franks._
Pigs rooted in garbage in the quintane, the narrow spaces between thehouses. Small dogs ran under his feet. What backward, unsanitary peoplethese Europeans were! The sights and smells of Orvieto made him wish forthe paved streets of El Kahira, where every day an army of slaves sweptand cleared away refuse.
The cardinal had drawn a map of Orvieto for him, showing the principalstreets and the way to Tilia's house. Daoud had committed the map tomemory, using the concentration technique Saadi had taught him. Most ofthe streets had no names. He would have to find his way by landmarks. Inthe days to come, he planned, he would explore and add to the map in hismind until he knew every street in Orvieto.
The house of Tilia Caballo stood on a street that was wider than mostat the east end of town. Even though Ugolini had described it asordinary-looking, Daoud was surprised to see how much it resembled theshabby buildings on either side of it. He had expected some sign ofluxury, some flamboyance. He had thought to hear music as he approached,as he would have outside one of the brothels of El Kahira--beforeBaibars closed them. The house was quiet, unadorned save for athird-floor balcony above the entryway. It gave no sign of who itsoccupants were. He knew it only by counting--fifth house from thecorner, Ugolini had said. Unlike the roof of the cardinal's palace,which was flat, the roof of Tilia's house was sharply peaked.
It looked like anything but a brothel. And though there were enoughsmall houses near it to hold two or three hundred people, the street wasnot crowded, as were streets everywhere else in Orvieto. He saw a fewmen lounging in doorways, a pair of men walking arm in arm past Tilia'sfront door, but that was all. Distinguished churchmen and men of wealthand good family could come here without attracting notice.
_Even so, I seem to be the only visitor who comes before dusk. Well, ifpeople see me and think I am a well-to-do merchant who frequentsOrvieto's finest brothel, that is exactly what I want them to think._
He felt the heaviness in his groin and the lightness in his stomach
He knocked at the plain dark-brown door, and it swung open immediately,as if the one behind it had watched him approach. There stood one ofTilia's black men, wearing a turban, robes, and pantaloons that for allthe world made him look like a harem guard in El Kahira. The costumemade Daoud uneasy. The slave bowed in silence, and with a sweep of hisarm bade Daoud enter.
The entrance hall was a surprise. It seemed much too large for thebuilding he had just entered. He stood on a Persian carpet in a wide,high-ceilinged room filled with light. Candles burned in sconces aroundthe walls and in two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Two tall,thick candles stood in twisting brass stands the height of a man oneither side of a marble staircase. A pungent fragrance filled the air,and Daoud realized that the candles were scented. If Tilia could affordto burn this many candles every night, her trade must be profitableindeed.
He understood now why the interior of Tilia's establishment was sodifferent from the exterior. She must have acquired all the buildingsside by side along this street and then hollowed them out. He noticedthat where the walls of the building through which he had entered shouldhave been, there stood marble Roman columns two stories high. Countingthe rows of columns stretching right and left, he estimated that thisgreat hall must be as wide as five of the original houses that had beenabsorbed into Tilia's mansion.
The black man struck a large gong beside the door, giving off a low,mellow note. Almost immediately Tilia appeared at the top of thestaircase. Smiling broadly, she flounced down the steps, the gold andjewels scattered over her person throwing off sparks in every direction.
"I knew you would be coming soon, David," she said in a low voice. "I amglad you came early in the evening. We can talk freely now. If more ofmy clients were here, we would have to seclude ourselves."
Daoud jerked his head at the black servant. "Why in God's name do youdress your men as Muslims here, where there is so much fear and hatredof 'Saracens,' as they call us?"
Tilia laughed, the pillow of flesh under her chin quivering. "Do you notknow that it has long been fashionable among Christians to borrow fromthe world of Islam? They copy everything from ways of dressing to wordsand ideas. Most people think the Hohenstaufens have gone too far withtheir Saracen army, but among the great houses of Italy each must haveits Moorish servants with great turbans and sashes and pantaloons. Andhere in Orvieto, the pope's city, it makes my clients feel especiallywicked to enter a house staffed with slaves so dressed."
"I would not enjoy going into a brothel where the servants were dressedlike Christian monks," Daoud said scornfully.
Tilia sighed. "I will tell you what seeing these men in Saracen garbdoes for me. It reminds me of when I was a young woman in Cairo." Shelooked around at her hall and sighed again. "Young and beautiful andunhappy. Now I am rich and content, but I tell you in all honesty Iwould give all this up to be young and beautiful."
Daoud was surprised. He had not known that Tilia had once lived in ElKahira. Was that, he wondered, how Baibars came to know her? Was thatwhy, even though Daoud did not fully trust her, he felt oddlycomfortable with her?
"And where are the young and beautiful and unhappy women in this house,then?"
She smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "Are you here to avail yourself?"
"First, I want to send a message to my master. Then that."
"Of course. Come with me."
He followed her up the marble steps, idly wondering if her rump lookedas huge with her gown off, and whether Cardinal Ugolini actually did goto bed with her, and if so how he could be aroused by such a grossly fatwoman. Not that Ugolini, with his rodent's face, was any more attractivethan his mistress.
The stairs to the third floor were narrower and darker and more winding,and after that there was a maze of corridors to negotiate. Even with thehelp of the Sufi mental training for warriors, Daoud knew he would neverbe able to find his way here again.
Tilia gestured to a trapdoor. "Push that back for me."
Daoud climbed a ladder, raised the heavy door, and found himself on awalkway built over the centerline of a roof. It was wide enough for twomen to stand side by side, but there was no railing, and on either sidethe red-tiled roof sloped down sharply. The walkway led to a smallstructure made of wooden slats, from which Daoud heard fluttering andcooing. The sight of the dovecote and the sound of the warbling pigeonsreminded Daoud of the rooftops of El Kahira, and for a moment he yearnedfor a sight of the Bhar al-Nil flowing swiftly past the city or thesound of the muezzin's call to prayer.
He stopped to look around. This was an excellent vantage point. Fromhere he could see that Tilia's mansion was actually shaped likeUgolini's, a hollow square around an atrium. The difference was that herestablishment was made from the joining of many houses that had oncebeen separate. From here he could also see most of Orvieto. Rows androws of peaked roofs glowed warm red and orange in the sunset. Off inthe northwest corner of the city bulked the great roof of the cathedral,like a galley among rowboats. To the south, the six square turrets ofthe pope's palace. And on all sides of the city, the rounded green hillsof this part of Italy called Umbria.
"The piccioni fly to Napoli," said Tilia breathlessly behind him. Daoudwas amazed at how she had managed to climb so many steps and finally aladder. There must be muscle under all that fat.
He pulled open the whitewashed wooden door of the dovecote. His entryset off a furious flapping of wings, unleashing a storm of feathers inthe dark enclosure. The smell of pigeon droppings was heavy in the warmair. He began breathing through his mouth to keep the odor out of hisnose. Tilia pushed past him, whistling and clucking to the pigeons andcalming them down.
"Who gets the messages in Napoli?" he asked.
She turned to him with a smile. "Another brothel keeper. A man. I willnot tell you his name. The wives of my piccioni live in his dovecote.When I release a piccione here, he flies to Napoli and visits with hiswife until one of my servants rides there and brings him back. Piccioniare much more faithful to their mates than men and women."
Daoud laughed. He enjoyed Tilia's cynicism. The strong light of thesetting sun fell in bars through the slats across her face and body.
"How long does it take for the messages to reach El Kahira?"
She looked at him as if he were a simpleton. "Who can say? From Napolisomeone must take the message capsules aboard a ship to a port inOutremer. So, how long it takes depends on whether the sea is angry orcalm. Once in Outremer they might go on by piccioni again or by camelcaravan. Once I had a reply within two months. The longest I had to waitwas a year and three months." She had, Daoud noted, the brothel keeper'sgood memory for numbers.
"May this arrive sooner than that." Daoud reached into a leather scripat his belt and drew out the two rolled slips of parchment, each crowdedwith tiny Arabic characters.
"Two letters? Where is the other one going?"
"Both to Baibars. They are duplicates. We do that in the field wheneverpossible. Twice as much chance that the message will get through."
"I will send one tonight and the other tomorrow morning. What are youtelling him?"
Daoud was not sure Tilia should be asking him that. But as "Morgiana"she had sent Baibars dozens of long letters from Orvieto. Surely no onehad a better right to know about this correspondence.
Daoud shrugged. "That I have arrived here safely with two companionssent with me by King Manfred, and that we have been welcomed by the onewho was awaiting me. Even though this is written in a cipher, your nameand the cardinal's name are not mentioned. I go on to say that we havestirred up the people of Orvieto against the Tartars and that I willsoon speak against them before the pope. And I tell him something ofwhat I have learned
"The cardinal has agreed to present you to Pope Urban, then?" Hereyebrows twitched and her mouth tightened.
Her look of displeasure irritated him. For all he knew, it was herinfluence that made Ugolini so difficult. But, he thought with grudgingadmiration, she herself seemed more resolute than the cardinal.
"He came to see that it was the only course open to us."
"You are persuasive. I see better why your master sent you." She tookthe parchments from him, rolled them even tighter, and tied each oneinto a tiny leather capsule. One capsule disappeared into a jeweledpurse that hung on her hip. The other she put aside while she reachedinto a cage, whistling and twittering. Her hand came out again graspinga pigeon.
"This is Tonio. He is ten years old. He always gets through." Daoud wasamazed at how calmly the pigeon reposed in Tilia's hand. He was evenmore surprised when she handed the bird to him, but he quickly took him,holding him around the back with thumb and forefinger behind his head,leaving his chest free so he could breathe easily.
"You've handled birds before," she said, deftly fastening a capsuleunder Tonio's wing. She took the bird back from Daoud. Outside the coop,she opened her hands and the bird took off with a fanning of wings.
"There now," said Tilia. "With that out of the way, perhaps you wouldlike a piccione of another sort for your pleasure."
"I would indeed," said Daoud, feeling a warmth spread through his body.
"I have just the one for you," Tilia said, patting him on the arm asthey returned to the trap door. "Her name is Francesca. She isbeautiful, warm-hearted, and very discreet. She will serve you supper,and if you like her, you may spend the night with her. And you need payme nothing."
"You are too generous, Madama," said Daoud, recovering from a smallsurprise. He had assumed that Tilia would give him access to her womenout of simple hospitality, and it had never occurred to him that hewould have to pay.