The Saracen: The Holy War Part 86

"What is that?" Tilia asked.

"A keepsake Daoud gave me." She closed the hammered silver case and slid it back inside the top of her gown.

"We cannot just sit here," Tilia said. "We are like mice waiting for the cat to come and eat us."

"I don't like depending on someone else to save me any more than you, Tilia," Sophia said, "but all we can do is wait. Someone will come for us. Daoud or Lorenzo. Someone."

"We should have left long ago, when the men-at-arms ran away," said Ugolini. "Then we would have had horses." He looked reproachfully at Sophia. Sophia felt he had a right to. She had persuaded them to stay here. How could she have been so sure that the news that the battle was lost, which had thrown the men-at-arms into a panic, was merely a baseless rumor? It was her faith in Daoud, she thought, her certainty that no matter what happened on the battlefield he would come for her and take her to safety.

"Adelberto, you cannot ride very well," said Tilia. "And I cannot ride a horse at all. You may be sure those poltroons would not have carried us on litters. We could not have left then."

"You could ride if your life depended on it," said Sophia. "You may still have to."

"My life depends on _never_ getting on a horse," said Tilia. "I would surely break my neck."

There were more anguished shrieks from somewhere nearby, and they looked at each other and the pool of terror rose higher.

Sophia heard hoofbeats and men's voices, loud, in the street outside.

She went to the door that led out to the balcony and pushed it open a crack. With a clattering of hooves on cobblestones, three mounted men rode down the street, looking up at buildings. They carried no torches, but their drawn swords gave off pale glints. There was no way she could tell who they were or which side they were on.

The man in the lead pointed with his sword at the house where Sophia was. She leaned farther out, her heart pounding at her ribs, to see the trio dismount and tie their horses.

She turned away from the doorway to the balcony and pointed silently downward. Ugolini closed his book with shaking hands. Tilia fingered her pectoral cross that Daoud had long ago told Sophia contained a poisoned blade. And Sophia loosened the mouth of the leather bag tied to her belt that held the tiny crossbow Daoud had given her.

Would she be able to use it? She had shot a longbow for sport a few times in her life, with indifferent accuracy. But she had never fired even a normal-size crossbow. Still, if the darts were poisoned, she need not hit a man in a vital spot to stop him.

Sophia heard Scipio barking in the room below, Tilia and Ugolini's room, where they had tied him. There was, she knew, no one in the house except the three of them. The house belonged to a Guelfo merchant who had fled town when Manfred's army arrived. But she did not hear anyone moving about downstairs, as they would if they were looting the place. Instead, heavy footsteps came up the stairs and a voice called, "Madonna Sophia!

Madonna Sophia, are you up there?"

Her heart leapt with relief. It was not yet Daoud, but it must be someone he had sent. They were rescued.

She was about to explain the good news to the others when the door to the room swung open. There, grinning triumphantly at her, sword in hand, stood Sordello.

He strode across the room, the floorboards squeaking under his boots, and stood facing her. The hound's barking boomed up from below. Her heart sank. She had never trusted this man. Her flesh crawled whenever he looked at her.

"Thank G.o.d I have found you, Madonna."

Two men followed him in, dressed in the padded body armor and bowl-shaped helmets of crossbowmen. As he did, they carried shortswords.

"How _did_ you find me, Sordello, and for whom are you fighting?"

His back was to the two men who had followed him. He frowned at her and shook his head slightly, as if trying to tell her not to say too much.

But the little signal did not allay her suspicion of him, and her fear.

"Why, I am here in the service of Charles d'Anjou, rightful King of Sicily by decree of the pope," Sordello trumpeted. "And I serve His Signory, Count Simon de Gobignon." Gloved fists on his hips, he turned slowly to gaze around the room.

At his words, the pool of fear became a flood of terror that threatened to sweep her from her feet. She swayed dizzily. This meant the battle was surely lost.

_Dear G.o.d, what has happened to Daoud?_

With a life of their own, her trembling hands pressed against her stomach.

"And look who we have here," Sordello said. "His magical Eminence, the vanishing Cardinal Ugolini. And Tilia Caballo, Orvieto's most distinguished brothel keeper, of whose establishment I have such happy memories. Are you two now reduced to being Manfred's camp followers?"

Tilia stared with wide-eyed hatred at Sordello. Ugolini's face was as blank as if he had been clubbed. What Tilia had said earlier about cat and mouse was apt, thought Sophia. Sordello was tormenting his prey.

_But he could have learned where I am only from Daoud._

If Daoud had told him where to find her, it must be that Sordello was still secretly Daoud's man, as he had been in Orvieto. That must be what the frown and the headshake meant.

"You need not glare at me like that, Madama Tilia," Sordello said. "You are very lucky to be under my protection tonight."

"What will your protection cost us?" Tilia's voice was heavy with scorn.

Sordello spread his hands. "Why, whatever your lives are worth to you.

You have had much practice putting a price on that which is precious."

"The battle--King Manfred?" Sophia pressed him.

Sordello's grin broadened, showing more stumpy, crooked teeth.

"We--Anjou's men--are here in Benevento, are we not? Manfred von Hohenstaufen is dead. With my own eyes I saw him fall."

Sophia felt sick to her stomach. Blindly, she staggered to the bed and sat down heavily.

A long, high-pitched wail came from Ugolini. He threw his book to the floor and rocked back and forth with his face in his hands. Tilia rushed to him and held him.

_Manfred, dead._

Sophia's cry of grief was as heart-tearing as Ugolini's, but she kept it inside herself. She had loved Manfred once, and even after that was over, she had delighted in attending his court and had marveled at the felicity of his kingdom.

_Gone in a day! What a loss, what a waste!_

"Manfred died in a most chivalrous manner," said Sordello, showing no sympathy for the anguish he was causing. "He fought to the end, a few faithful followers beside him, surrounded by enemies. Cardinal de Verceuil killed him. I think I will write a poem about it."

"De Verceuil!" Ugolini cried. "That pestilence in red robes! If only I had had him poisoned."

Had Daoud been one of the faithful who fought beside Manfred?

Sophia's throat almost closed with fear as she asked the question. "What of--David of Trebizond?"

Again that little frown and shake of the head, aimed at her alone. "More of him later." There must be things he did not want to say in front of the two Venetians.

But she persisted. "Is he alive? Is he unhurt?"

Sordello nodded gravely, his yellowish eyes holding hers. "He was alive when I last saw him, Madonna."

She let out a long breath. The ache of fear in her stomach eased. Even if the battle were lost, Daoud would manage to live through it and get back to her. Perhaps Sordello was his messenger.

She felt safer on her feet. She pushed herself up and moved slowly toward the door leading to the balcony outside. Downstairs, Scipio started barking again.