The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 77

"Is it possible?" he said to Ugolini. "You have found kaviyeh?"

Ugolini, sitting in the big chair behind his work table, just his head and shoulders showing, smiled benignly. "You may hate the Tartars for invading the Islamic lands, my friend, but it means that we Christians can now trade with that part of the world. The Venetians have been importing the beans from the uplands of Persia in small--and very expensive--quant.i.ties. I was saving this for a special occasion. This morning, after your triumph over the Tartars and your narrow escape from death, seemed appropriate."

Daoud found the strength to stand up and pour the steaming black liquid from the pitcher into a cup. He held the cup to his face with both hands and sniffed deeply. He felt happier than he had in a long time.

Sophia, sitting on a padded bench against the wall opposite Ugolini's table, said, "What is that?" Daoud heard shrill alarm in her voice.

She must suspect it was some sort of drug, thought Daoud with amus.e.m.e.nt.

The cardinal chuckled amiably. "Only a beverage, my dear. Long used in the Orient by sages and poets. It produces a heightened state of alertness and vigor."

Daoud sipped the hot liquid. The taste was wondrously bracing after months of deprivation, but it was not quite strong enough.

"This is very good, and I am your grateful slave forever," he said. "But you should tell your servants to boil it longer."

Having sensed that Sophia feared his pleasure, he wanted to share it with her that she might see how harmless it was. He went to her and held out his cup.

"Try this. Be careful, the cup is hot."

She took the cup from him, her fingers brushing his. He felt a tingle in his arm. She raised the cup, sniffed suspiciously and grimaced, but took a small sip.

He was disappointed to see her mouth pucker. She did not like it. Well, he could not expect her to take to it at once. He had been drinking it ever since he was a child. Even his crusader family had drunk kaviyeh.

"A very interesting taste," she said, handing back the cup. A Byzantine comment, he thought. He heard Lorenzo chuckle.

A pang of jealousy shot through him. He could not expect her to like kaviyeh any more than he could expect her to love him. Especially not after she had been alone in the Monaldeschi atrium with that d.a.m.ned French count.

His longing for Sophia made his heart ache. If only he could have her for himself, and not be forced to throw her at Simon de Gobignon. But she was no more his than that emerald Baibars had entrusted to him.

Resignedly he told himself he must find out what she had accomplished.

"How did you deal with the Frankish count?"

"As you wished me to."

He walked back to the cardinal's table and turned to face her. Her amber eyes were fixed on him. She must have been watching him cross the room.

"Does he want to see you again?" David demanded.

She shrugged. "He did when I left him. But by now he and Cardinal de Verceuil will have talked together and may well realize my part in what we did to them."

"Well," said Ugolini, rubbing his hands together. "There will be no more need for you to pursue Count Simon, my dear, or for Messer Lorenzo to play backgammon with the French cardinal. And no need for our ill.u.s.trious David to risk further verbal jousting with the Tartars."

Daoud felt a stab of exasperation. Just as he had feared, Ugolini wanted to believe that with last night's triumph over the Tartars, their work was done. Would he be able to persuade the cardinal to realize this was only the beginning of a long struggle--one in which he, Ugolini, must play the chief part?

"De Verceuil is a clever but sloppy player," Lorenzo interjected. "He kept leaving blots less than six points away from me. But I managed to lose eighty florins to him. That kept him interested. Once he decided I was not a skillful player, he kept doubling the stakes and pressing me to do the same when the choice was mine." He went over to Ugolini's work table and poured himself a cup of kaviyeh.

Ugolini laughed. "He must now think his winnings eighty costly florins indeed." He filled a cup from another pitcher, sprang up, and carried the cup across the room to Sophia.

"You will enjoy this spiced milk more than the Muslim kaviyeh. It is my favorite morning drink."

"You think it is all over, then, Cardinal?" Daoud growled. "I can go away and leave you in peace--and richer?"

From the suddenly outraged face Ugolini turned toward him, Daoud thought the cardinal might well be wishing the Filippeschi had finished him off.

"Was last night not a victory?" the cardinal asked in a choked voice.

"Do you know the difference between winning a battle and winning a war?"

"What more can the French do?" said Ugolini.

"We must talk about that," said Daoud. "Even though, in spite of this good kaviyeh, my body screams for rest." He drained the cup, put it down, and stretched his arms. With difficulty he brought his anger under control. He must win Ugolini, not turn him into an enemy.

Ugolini had sat down in the high-backed chair behind his work table. His slender fingers restlessly polished the dome of the skull with the diagram painted on its cranium that lay before him. He looked as gloomy as if he were contemplating the day when he himself would be reduced to bones. Lorenzo quietly got up and poured himself another cup of kaviyeh.

Daoud turned to Sophia. "How do you think de Gobignon feels toward you?" He hated to ask the question. He watched her face closely. What he really wanted to know was how _she_ felt about de Gobignon.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded. Even with Hashishiyya-trained senses, he could not guess what was behind that d.a.m.nably unrevealing mask.

"I think I persuaded him that the cardinal's niece neither knows nor cares anything about alliances and crusades. I--believe he could come to love me."

Rage throbbed in his temples. What, in his sheltered existence, could the young count have learned of love?

"Love you? Unlikely," Daoud challenged her.

He saw with quick regret that he had hurt her feelings. She recoiled as if struck.

"Do you not think me worthy of a n.o.bleman's love?"

Daoud crossed the room in three quick steps and stood over her. "Such pampered creatures as he are not capable of love."

The mask was back. She shrugged.

"Love or l.u.s.t, he is drawn to me. Do you mean to make some use of it?"

"Send him a note by one of the cardinal's servants asking him to meet with you in a few days' time." Daoud turned and walked to the celestial globe beside Ugolini's table and spun it absently as he studied Sophia.

"Let him pick the place, so he feels secure."

Again he had a glimpse through the mask. Her eyes widened in fear. She thought he meant to kill de Gobignon. That angered him. Did she care so much for the Frenchman, then, that his possible death made her lose her composure?

To Daoud's surprise, Ugolini jumped from his chair and advanced on him, shaking his finger and crying, "All of France will be down on us like an avalanche if you harm that boy."

Daoud checked an impulse to laugh. Ugolini was such a comical figure in the flapping white robe he had donned on returning to his mansion.

To Daoud, who had lived most of his life among men for whom death was as common as fear was rare, the little man's tendency to panic seemed contemptible. But, anew, he reminded himself that he needed Ugolini and must treat him with respect.

"Please, Your Eminence," he said. "If I meant to have de Gobignon killed, I would not involve Sophia. I want her to tell him what we are supposedly doing. I hope to create conflict among the supporters of the alliance."