The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 109

Lorenzo chuckled. "What must we do first?"

Daoud said, "Arrange for me to meet secretly with Marco di Filippeschi.

And send word to King Manfred that the pope and the French are about to reach agreement on the Tartar alliance, and when they do the French will come pouring into Italy. Tell him now is the time for his Ghibellino allies in the north to march on Orvieto."

Lorenzo nodded. "I will send one of my men to Lucera." He shook his head. "My G.o.d, how I wish I could go myself!"

"Once the Tartars are dead," Daoud said, "we will all go home. Now, find Sordello and send him to my room."

As Daoud left Ugolini's cabinet, he glanced back to see the little cardinal slumped over the table, knotting his fingers in his fuzzy white hair. He would have to spend more time with him, to build up his courage.

Sophia was standing in the hallway when Daoud emerged from his room that night, on his way to meet with the Filippeschi chieftain. He was not surprised to see her. Someone, Ugolini or Lorenzo, would have told her about his new plan. He beckoned her into his room and closed the door.

Each time the thought of defeat arose in his mind, he had felt the greatest anguish over what it would mean for Sophia. That forced him to admit to himself how much he cared for her. Now that he looked into her amber eyes and told her what he intended to do, the pain he felt was sharper than ever. He wanted to persuade her that she had nothing to fear. But he knew that would be a lie.

He tried to keep what he said simple, practical. "You, like Sordello, will bear witness that Lorenzo and I had gone to Perugia while the Monaldeschi palazzo was under siege. Lorenzo has allies in Perugia who will confirm that."

Sophia stared at him with wide, solemn eyes. "You are risking everything." She reached out and seized his hand, gripping it urgently.

"If they find out who you are while you are in the Monaldeschi palace, it will be the end for all of us."

He felt the strength in her fingers, the softness of her palm, and wanted to take her in his arms, but he held himself in check. There could be nothing between them as long as de Gobignon was alive.

"I know a hundred ways to get into a castle and out again," he said, wishing there had been time to share with her more of his life. "Once I am inside, I will search out and kill the two Tartars while all the armed men are occupied with the fighting outside. And then I will leave." He spread his hands to show how easy it would be.

Inwardly he was ashamed. He was preparing to sacrifice this woman's life, knowing that she might die a terrible death--rape, torture, mutilation, public execution. How could he face her at all? That he had made his decision in order to save hundreds of thousands of his people from slaughter, his faith from destruction, was no comfort at this moment alone with Sophia.

"Will you fight Simon?"

He felt his blood go hot. That she should think at all of de Gobignon at this moment rather than of herself--or of him--made him so angry he forgot for a moment his own guilt and fear for her life.

"The young count will probably be leading the fight on the battlements."

Daoud tasted the venom in what he was about to say, but he could not help himself. "It will be quite a shock when he finds the Tartars dead and realizes how he has failed."

Sophia stood breathing hard, her eyes glistening with tears. "If only you were not--"

Daoud was already wishing he had not spoken so to her. "Not what?"

"Not blind!" she cried.

She turned swiftly and reached for the door handle. But Daoud could not let her go. He was there before her, and he faced her and seized her hand.

"I am not blind," he rasped. "I see that pretending to be what you are not is tearing you apart. I wish we could be our true selves with each other--"

"We cannot," she said bitterly. "And to speak of it only makes it hurt more. Let me go."

He relaxed his grip on her hand, and she was gone.

_Some day_, he thought. _Some day, Sophia._

Looking at the closed door, Daoud felt an almost unbearable inner pain.

He had thrust her at Simon. He had lashed out at her, hurt her unjustly.

Having done that to her, he was about to put her in far worse danger.

How could he claim, even in the secrecy of his own heart, that he loved her?

Daoud could barely see Marco di Filippeschi in the darkness. Moonlight touched the gold medallion that hung from Marco's neck and on the silver badge in his cap. For the rest he was a figure carved out of shadow.

Despite the full moon, this narrow alleyway between a stone house and the city wall was almost as black as the bottom of a well.

Daoud's Hashishiyya-trained senses needed no light to see by. He had learned to see with his ears as well as with his sense of smell. He could sense what weapons Marco di Filippeschi was wearing--a shortsword and two daggers at his belt, and, from the difference in footfalls, a third dagger in a sheath in his right boot. He knew the position of Marco's hands, and he knew that Marco had told the truth when he said he had come to this rendezvous alone.

Lorenzo had a.s.sured him that Marco would leap like a hungry wolf at any chance to avenge himself on the Monaldeschi. But Daoud wondered, would the volatile young clan chieftain really be willing to undertake an attack on the Monaldeschi that had more chance of failing than succeeding?

"I can offer you over two hundred l.u.s.ty bravos collected by one who is known to you," Daoud said. Hoping to make Marco a little less certain about who his ultimate benefactor was, he avoided naming Giancarlo.

Marco could destroy Daoud and all his comrades by revealing the ident.i.ty of the man who had incited his attack on the Monaldeschi. If he were captured and tortured, strong and fierce though he might be, it was likely he would tell everything.

Daoud reached into the purse at his belt, where he had earlier put two emeralds. He held them out in his open palm so that the moonlight glistened on their polished surfaces.

"Please accept these as a gift," he said. "If you decide to a.s.sault the Palazzo Monaldeschi, your preparations will be costly."

The jewels must be called a gift. The capo della famiglia Filippeschi was not a man you paid to do your work for you.

Marco's hand closed around the emeralds, and his other hand seized Daoud's forearm.

"I shall spend this on weapons," he said. "Crossbows to kill more Monaldeschi. Stone guns to batter down their walls. I care not what price I must pay."

_That is good_, thought Daoud, _because the price may be very high_.

"I will need until spring," Marco continued. "It will take that long to buy the weapons. I must work slowly and quietly so the old vulture does not get wind of what I am doing."

"The Monaldeschi are collaborating with this French pope and his French cardinals," Daoud said to spur Marco on. "And the French party is about to invite an army under Charles of Anjou into Italy."

"d.a.m.n the French!" said Marco. "And d.a.m.n that putana and her family for working with them."

"Also, as everyone knows," Daoud said, "the pope has not long to live.

Strike a blow now for Italy, and you will frighten the cardinals at a time when they will soon be choosing the next pope. So your attack had better come no later than spring."

"We Filippeschi are as loyal to the papacy as the Monaldeschi. Perhaps more."

"My master, whom I prefer not to name," said Daoud, knowing that Marco would think he meant King Manfred, "does not wish to see the pope in league with the French."

"This war of Guelfi and Ghibellini leaves us prey to every French and German ladrone who wants to come down and loot our country," said Marco.

Obviously he had no great love for the Hohenstaufens, either.

"How will you start the fighting?" Daoud asked him.