The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 5

"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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s 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 s.p.a.ced 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 s.p.a.ce 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 Circa.s.sia?"

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!_

"G.o.d 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.