by Robert Shea
XXI
"Bonsoir, Messire. I have not seen you since the day the heretic wasburned. I trust the spectacle did not disturb you?"
Simon had deliberately addressed David of Trebizond in French, to findout whether the trader spoke that language in addition to Greek andItalian. He might be from the other side of the earth, but there wassomething very French-looking about him.
They stood facing each other a little apart from the crowd gathered inthe sala maggiore, the great hall of the Palazzo Monaldeschi. The largeroom was lit by hundreds of candles. Four musicians in a distant cornersawed away energetically at vielles of different sizes held betweentheir knees, while two others blew on hautboys. Tables were piled highwith meat and pastry along the sides of the hall. Servants circulated,refilling goblets from pitchers of wine. Neither Simon nor David washolding a goblet.
The big blond man, who had not been looking at Simon, turned and staredat him. Simon detected a pallor under his tan. David did not react tothe sound of French like a man who had heard an unfamiliar language. Helooked more as if he had heard the voice of a ghost.
David bowed. "Pardonnez-moi, Monseigneur. I had not expected to beaddressed in French."
Simon was surprised to hear in David's northern French the harsh accentsof the English Channel coast.
"Where did you learn my tongue, Messire?" Simon asked.
David shrugged. "Since the Crusades began, many of your countrymen havepassed through Trebizond."
Many Crusaders had been Normans, Simon thought. It made sense. But itwas odd that this man David, who claimed to be a Greek, not only spokelike a Norman, but looked like nothing so much as a big, blond Normanknight. Simon had seen just such faces--square, with long, straightnoses and cold gray-blue eyes--everywhere in Normandy and in Englandwhen he had accompanied King Louis on a state visit to the realm of hisvassal, King Henry of England.
But David did not dress like a Norman, Simon noted. His apparel wasgaudy in the extreme. He wore a white cap with a blood-red feather, ashort cloth-of-gold cape, particolored hose--light green and peach--andforest-green boots.
Simon, who, in emulation of King Louis preferred somber colors, hadchosen for tonight a brown velvet singlet and maroon hose. The brightestthing about him was the jeweled handle of his prized scimitar.
"I hope that you were not upset by the bloody execution of that hereticlast week," Simon said once again.
"Oh, no." David smiled. "But I saw you there, and you seemed to be."
_God's wounds, how true that is!_ was Simon's first thought. He had heldhimself rigid throughout the heretic's horrible death, afraid that hewould throw up.
But how disturbing to discover that this Greek merchant, apparently anenemy, had seen right through Simon's effort to appear imperturbable. Ofall the people in Orvieto, this man was the last Simon would want toreveal himself to. He cursed himself for giving David such a perfectopening.
_How could I be such a fool? And I thought I was so clever, addressinghim in French._
Simon had been anticipating his next encounter with David with a mixtureof eagerness, fear, and anger, almost as if it were to be a battle. Nowhe wished he had stayed away from the man.
"I felt sorry for the poor devil, as I believe a Christian should,"Simon said. "Did you not?"
There was a baleful look in David's eyes, as if he hated Simon for hisanswer.
But the man from Trebizond only shrugged and said, "I have seen muchblood and pain in my life."
A broad figure in a white robe billowed up to Simon and David. Simonremembered him from the pope's council--Fra Tomasso d'Aquino, thedistinguished Dominican. The friar's belt of rosary beads rattled as hewalked. It would take a week, Simon thought, to recite all the OurFathers and Hail Marys that encircled Fra Tomasso.
"Count, I trust you will forgive my interrupting you. I have already hadthe pleasure of meeting Messer David of Trebizond, but I have wanted tospeak to you ever since you arrived in Orvieto. As a seminarian Istudied for a year in Paris under your uncle, Hugues de Gobignon. Afriar of great renown. His murder was such a tragedy."
Simon felt uneasy at reminiscence about the uncle who was not really hisuncle. As he chatted with Fra Tomasso, his eyes roved through the largeroom. He noticed the crowd gathered around the Tartars, John and Philip,who were seated in large, comfortable-looking chairs placed near acrowned swan at the center of a serving table. He saw a servant pourwine into a silver cup John held out to him. More of that wonderful wineof Montefiascone?
Beside the Tartars stood a woman named Ana from the land of the Bulgars,territory now ruled by the Tartars. Anything, thought Simon bitterly, tokeep Friar Mathieu from achieving too much importance. De Verceuil hadfound her and had taken her along as interpreter when the Tartars hadtheir first private audience with the pope.
Another group stood around the seated Pope Urban, many of them in thered and purple of cardinals, archbishops, and bishops. There was deVerceuil, of course, as near to the pope as he could get. The cardinal'svanity, as usual, had made him choose layman's garb, a tunic ofgold-braided silk and a cape of aquamarine satin trimmed with red-dyedsquirrel fur. And between two prelates' shoulders Simon could just makeout the top of Cardinal Ugolini's fuzzy gray head.
If Ugolini was here, had his niece Sophia come tonight as well? Yes,there she was, halfway across the hall, talking to the Contessa diMonaldeschi. The pale violet of Sophia's gown made her skin look darker.The poets always sang of _fair_ ladies, but Simon found her darkcomplexion wondrously attractive. She had let her embroidered silk shawlfall away from her bare shoulders, and he marveled at their sweetdelicacy. Under her gauze veil the pearls in her headdress twinkled likestars against hair that was black as night.
"Excuse me, Fra Tomasso, Messer David. I have promised to deliver a mosturgent message to the contessa."
Fra Tomasso, in the middle of an anecdote about Friar Hugues's subtletyas an inquisitor, gave Simon leave to go. As David bowed, his eyes metSimon's, and his look was at once both knowing and bitter. He, too, wasa guest in Ugolini's house, thought Simon. Was he, too, attracted toSophia? Who would not be?
As Simon moved toward Sophia, the contessa's majordomo strode to thecenter of the sala maggiore and called in a deep voice, "Signori emadonne, tables, game boards, and cards are set for your amusement inthe inner galleria."
Then Simon was bowing before the contessa, acutely aware of Sophiastanding beside her. He kissed the old lady's shiny knuckles, hoping hewould have an opportunity to kiss Sophia's hand as well.
"My dear boy, did you hear the announcement? Do you enjoy cards orbackgammon? I understand your pious king forbids such amusements at hiscourt. And yet our Holy Father himself loves to play alii." She sawSimon staring at Sophia and smiled.
"You see, my dear?" the contessa said to Sophia. "Does this splendidyoung Frenchman look as if he is interested in cards or dice? Or in you?Enough of your modesty."
Sophia lowered her eyelids and blushed. How beautiful her olivecomplexion was, tinted with rose!
"The contessa is merciless," she said in a low voice.
"Merciless!" the contessa cackled. "My dear, if I were the envious sort,then indeed would I show you no mercy. By San Giorgio, I would have youpoisoned. But I made up my mind many, many years ago, when I saw mylooks beginning to fade, that I had to choose between hating the beautyof other women or enjoying it. I was already spending all my hatred onthe odious Filippeschi. So I decided that when I saw beautiful women Iwould rejoice at their presence in the world and delight myself byremembering my own youth and imagining the pleasures they must beexperiencing."
She put her hand on Simon's arm. "What do you think, Count Simon? Wouldyou like me to present this young lady to you?"
"A thousand thanks, Contessa," said Simon, falling into the extravagantstyle of speaking the occasion seemed to call for. "I have already hadthe great pleasure of meeting Madonna Sophia at her uncle's mansion."
The contessa nodded. "Ah, you have called upon Cardinal Ug
olini. I amglad to hear that. I would have told you to if you had not done it onyour own." She turned again to Sophia. "Your uncle and I have beenfriends ever since the Holy Father moved the papal household to Orvieto.I deeply admire and respect him. When he reads the stars for me, hisinsights and predictions are remarkably accurate. His remedies for mybody's complaints always achieve their purpose, which is more than I cansay for other physicians I have consulted. And best of all, he findstime for a lonely old lady, when others who should be more attentivemake excuses."
"My uncle is a marvelous man, Your Signory," Sophia murmured. "I am mostfortunate to be his niece. Otherwise I could never hope to be present onthis magnificent occasion, to meet and talk with you."
"And to be waited upon by this handsome cavaliere," the contessafinished for her, smiling broadly.
_The contessa really is enjoying this_, Simon thought. The old lady wasbeaming with pleasure.
Sophia turned to Simon.
"I am most pleased to see you again, Count." Her eyes seemed to shine athim. Was it his imagination?
She held out her hand. His whole body felt more intensely alive as hisfingers touched hers. He noticed as he bent over her hand that she woreone ring, a garnet of a red so deep as to be almost black. His lipstouched the creamy skin of the back of her hand, and he thought he felther tremble slightly.
Contessa Elvira eyed both of them, sighed happily, and said, "I think itis time for me to find someone to play rota with. Perhaps I will askyour uncle to tell my fortune with the cards. He reads the cards as wellas he reads the stars."
They bowed as she moved off. As she turned her back, Simon noticed thather long blue velvet gown had threadbare patches in the rear. She was soold and so powerful, Simon thought, that such things did not matter toher. Perhaps it was a favorite gown from the days when she was young andbeautiful, like Sophia.
But he doubted that she had ever been as beautiful as Sophia.
"May I bring you some wine or something to eat, Madonna?" he askedSophia.
"Thank you, I am not hungry. But"--she gestured as if to free him fromobligation to stand with her--"perhaps you--"
"Oh, no, I am quite content. A hand of cards, then?" Simon hoped shewould see that he was making it his responsibility to entertain her.
She took a deep breath, and Simon felt a small thrill as he watched herbosom rise and fall under the fine silk of her violet gown. "What Iwould really like, Count, would be a stroll in the garden. This room,big as it is, is so hot and crowded. And even though it is September,this evening it is very warm, do you not think so?"
"Very warm," said Simon, delightedly taking her arm.
* * * * *
As Fra Tomasso chatted with him, Daoud watched de Gobignon and Sophiastroll across the brightly candlelit hall to the door leading to theinner galleria.
_De Gobignon spoke to me in the language of my parents._
Sire Geoffrey and Dame Evelyn Langmuir, he knew, were of English stock.But Daoud's father had once told him that all the English nobility spokeFrench.
Tonight was the first time since Daoud landed in Italy that he had heardFrench or had spoken it. When he first heard himself addressed inFrench, he had experienced a strange and frightening sensation, as ifhis dead father were speaking to him. He hated de Gobignon for doingthat to him.
_And I hate him because he will enjoy the woman I want for myself._
The voice of Fra Tomasso faded away. Black rage filled Daoud's skull,deafening and blinding him. He pictured Sophia naked in Simon deGobignon's arms, and his body trembled.
And when he did become Sophia's lover, the puppy would have nounderstanding of how much of a woman he was possessing. To him she wouldbe the sweet Sicilian niece of a cardinal. He would have no idea of thewoman behind that mask.
Sophia, Daoud had come to realize, had known suffering and loss. She hadsurvived at the very bottom of the world, and she had risen to be theintimate of an emperor and a king.
She occupied his thoughts, Daoud sensed with some uneasiness, far moreoften than did Blossoming Reed back in El Kahira.
Simon would know Sophia Orfali, not Sophia Karaiannides, who had toldDaoud more than once, he thought with a grim smile, how much she hatedFranks. She would make a fool of this Frank.
Fra Tomasso was rambling on about the one sea voyage he had ever taken,from Normandy to Naples. "One would think going around the continent ofEurope like that would take much longer than making the same journeyoverland. It took us only a month, whereas on land it would have takenat least three. The sea is a two-dimensional surface. On land one istraveling over a three-dimensional surface and can encounter manyobstacles."
_Yes, and a carrier pigeon travels much faster than a ship._ In a monthor two Daoud's request for the book Fra Tomasso wanted would havereached Baibars, and a few months after that, if Baibars could obtainthe book, the Friar's pudgy hands would be holding it.
Listening with half an ear, Daoud looked about him at the marble pillarsthat ran up to the gilded beams of the ceiling, at the paintings ofangels and saints on the plaster walls, at the fragments of old Romanstatues that stood here and there--mostly nude torsos. Idolatry, yes,but beautifully done. The arts of the Christians and their paganpredecessors were not altogether as barbaric as he had imagined them.
Ugolini suddenly appeared at Daoud's elbow to interrupt his thoughts andFra Tomasso's discourse. "Excuse me, Fra Tomasso, but His Holinesswishes a word with David."
The little cardinal's eyes darted about nervously. Obviously, the ideaof a conversation between Daoud and the pope terrified him.
"Have you had any wine?" said Ugolini in a low voice as they crossed theroom to where Urban, in his white cassock, a red cloak wrapped aroundhis shoulders, was sitting in a large, high-backed chair. The spiritualfather of all Christians was dressed heavily for such a warm evening,Daoud thought. A sign of ill health.
"I never drink wine if I can avoid it," he answered Ugolini.
"Well, you will not be able to avoid it tonight. But remember, you haveno head for it."
Daoud was about to retort sharply, but he swallowed the impulse. Suchunnecessary advice was the cardinal's way of allaying his terror. He hadnever told Ugolini about the training in resistance to drugs he hadundergone with Sheikh Saadi. Al-koahl, the intoxicating element in wine,could affect his body but not his mind.
* * * * *
"This is a very dangerous practice," Sheikh Saadi said as he crouchedover a small cooking pot suspended on a tripod above a low fire. "But itis now a necessary one for you."
Whatever was bubbling in the pot gave off a strange, cloying odor thatDaoud found frightening and seductive at the same time. They were in theinner garden of Saadi's small house in al-Fustat, the oldest quarter ofEl Kahira.
Daoud half sat, half reclined on a pile of cushions. He leaned back andsaw that the stars were fewer and the sky was lighter. They had been upall night drinking kaviyeh.
The liquid Saadi was brewing now smelled nothing like kaviyeh. Studyingthe simmering, sweet-smelling liquid, Saadi seemed satisfied. He tookthe pot off the fire and set it on a stone.
Still on his knees, the sheikh swung around to smile at Daoud. In thefirelight his face was many shades of brown and black. But his beard, inthe years Daoud had known him, had gone from gray to a white as pure asthe wool from which the Sufi took their name.
"Kneel and compose your mind," said Saadi.
Daoud rose from a sitting position to his knees. As Saadi had taughthim, and as he had practiced for many years, he visualized his mind asan empty pool, walled with tiles. A fountain sprang up in the center ofthe pool and filled it slowly with clear water. The walls of the pooldisappeared, and there was nothing but clear water in all directions,stretching away to infinity.
Saadi seemed to know when Daoud had reached the vision of infinity, andhe spoke again.
"Think of God."
Daoud saw a mountain, a flame, the sun. None
of those were God. At lasthe saw the blackness of the spaces between the stars. There in theinfinite lightlessness was the dwelling place of God, like the BlackStone in the Qa'aba. He saw the darkness that veiled God, and he lockedthe idea of God in his mind.
"Now, hold the thought of God, and drink."
Saadi held a silver cup to his lips. The liquid was sweet and thick. Heswallowed, and it burned the lining of his stomach.
"What is it?"
"Wine mixed with hashish."
Daoud was shocked.
_Filth, spiritual poison!_
Saadi himself had taught him that. And now Saadi had tricked him intosipping the vile stuff.
He swayed on his knees, feeling dizzy and angry. Saadi held up a warninghand.
"Remain in the Presence of God. He will protect you from the ill effectsof the poison. This is the practice."
Daoud struggled back to the infinite emptiness that hid God, and as hedid so he felt his mind clear. The drugs were spreading like tiny flamesthrough his body, but his body was far away. Too far away for him tofeel the heat.
Beside him, Saadi said, "Everything made by God has two sides, a usefulside and a harmful side. That which is sometimes a poison can at othertimes be a medicine. Even kaviyeh, which we drink in such greatquantities to give vigor to our minds, can be a poison. If a substanceis taken in the right amount, on the right occasion, with the rightattitude, it can unlock doors in the mind. Our lord Baibars, peace beupon him, has told me he plans to send you to the Hashishiyya forfurther training. This practice will help you to gain more from theirteachings--and protect you from being corrupted by them. In the monthsto come you will learn to take in every kind of intoxicating substanceand keep your mind free. This is not magic. This is a power of thespirit. What are you feeling?"
"The drug devours my body, but my mind is in the Presence of God."
"One day, when you have learned all you can from the Hashishiyya, I willteach you the secret of the most powerful drug of all--soma, the drugthat is made by the mind and does not harm the body at all."
* * * * *
_No head for wine? No man in this room is less susceptible to wine._
De Verceuil still stood beside the white-bearded pope. His gloomy facetightened as his eyes met Daoud's.
Daoud dropped to one knee before the pope and kissed the heavy gold ringthat bore a tiny engraving of a man in a boat. He saw that the old manwas wearing white satin slippers.
Daoud felt so dizzied by the wonder of this moment that the tiled floorseemed to shake under him. He held in his hand the hand of the Pope ofRome, successor to those popes who had sent wave after wave of crusaderscrashing against the walls of Islam, whose words had caused the deathsof thousands and thousands of the faithful. He, Daoud ibn Abdallah, onceDavid Langmuir, had penetrated to the very center of Christian power.
_Was there ever a moment like this before in all of time, when a servantof the true God and a believer in the word of the Prophet held the handof a pope in his?_
"Messer David of Trebizond, the Venetians have just raised the prices ofsaffron, curry, ginger, and cardamom," said the pontiff in a deep voice."All of which are indispensable to my kitchen. Can you furnish me withspices more cheaply?"
It took all of Daoud's self-control to hold in a burst of laughter. AMameluke comes face-to-face with the pope, and what do they discuss? Theprice of spices!
But he sobered as he realized how useful the pope's interest in spicescould be to him. As a purveyor of spices to the papal palace, hisposition in Orvieto would be more respected and more secure.
"If you deal with us, Holy Father, you are dealing with the people fromwhom the Venetians get those spices," said Daoud with a smile as hestood up. "This is exactly the purpose of my visit."
"Good, good. Have Cardinal Ugolini arrange an appointment for you withmy steward."
As they walked away, Daoud said softly to Ugolini, "Would it not beamusing if the Sultan of Cairo were to furnish the spices for the pope'skitchen?" The irony of it once again struck him as funny. What a talefor the bazaars of El Kahira.
Ugolini stared at him, side whiskers quivering. "Not amusing at all."
_Ugolini is right to be afraid. I saw what they did to that man in thepiazza. I must not make jokes. Ugolini needs to feel he can rely on me._
Celino emerged from the circle around the Tartars to stand before Daoud.At Daoud's insistence the Sicilian wore garments tailored specially forthis evening, mostly in white, with gold embroidery on the edges of hiswaist-length ermine-trimmed cape and his satin tunic.
"What are the Tartars doing?" Daoud asked.
"Sitting and drinking and mostly talking to each other," said Celino."There is a crowd of curious people around them, asking them questions."
"Where is that Friar Mathieu who interprets for them?"
Celino shrugged. "Not here. There is a woman from some eastern countrytranslating."
Daoud felt a tingle of excitement, like a hunter who had sighted prey.
He surveyed the room. Simon de Gobignon--_may his right hand rot andwither_--had already left with Sophia, as Daoud and Sophia had planned.De Verceuil still hovered near the pope.
"Celino, you heard the contessa's servant announcing games in the nextroom? See if you can draw Cardinal de Verceuil into a game with you."
"He favors backgammon," said Ugolini.
"All the French dote on backgammon," said Celino.
"Keep him entertained," said Daoud.
"To entertain de Verceuil you will have to bore yourself," said Ugolini."He prefers a game whose outcome is never in doubt."
Daoud and Ugolini turned to the serving table, and Daoud beganmethodically to work his way through the various dishes the contessa'sservants had set out for her guests. There were eels steeped in astrange, almost rotten-smelling sauce, there were small, tender lobstersand large, meaty ones. There were baby birds meant to be eaten bones andall. There was white bread and there were fine cakes. Daoud filled hisstomach, forcing himself to eat even those foods that repelled him,while he watched Celino join the group gathered with the pope.
Daoud used his dagger to cut himself a slice of roast veal. It was juicyand tender, and he cut himself another. The meat tasted as if the calfhad been killed that same day; it was not heavily spiced. How pleasantto dine at the home of a wealthy woman. By the time he finished hisfourth slice, Celino and de Verceuil were in conversation.
Daoud chatted with Ugolini about astrology. In the cardinal's opinion itwas an auspicious night, and that assessment of the heavens helped calmthe bewhiskered little man somewhat.
It being harvest season, the contessa's tables were laden with freshfruits. Daoud enjoyed apricots and grapes, and sliced open an orange. Hewatched Celino and de Verceuil move toward the galleria, where thecontessa's guests were playing games.
Daoud eyed the two brown-skinned men in their shimmering robes sittingat their ease in the sala maggiore in the midst of a circle of curiouspeople. Their chief guardians, de Verceuil, de Gobignon, and FriarMathieu, were all elsewhere.
Daoud, as was customary among these people, dipped his hands in a basinof water and wiped them on the table linen. Then he began to push hisway into the ring of people around the Tartars.
After a few moments he found himself staring down at them. They werelaughing together over some private joke, speaking to each other intheir chirping language.
Fra Tomasso was part of the group around the Tartars, as were severalbishops and two cardinals. A stout, middle-aged woman stood beside John,the older of the two. She wore a stiff, brocaded blue gown, and her hairwas tightly wrapped in a net of gold thread.
"Madonna Ana," said Fra Tomasso, "ask Messer John Chagan for me whetherthe city called Karakorum is still the capital of the Tartar empire."
The woman turned to the white-bearded John and repeated the question inrapid-flowing Tartar speech.
John bowed and smiled to Fra Tomasso and spoke to the woman. Daoudalmo
st felt envy at the sight of John's gorgeous ankle-length silkrobe--white, printed with flowers having massive, many-petaled crimsonand purple heads, along with clusters of green leaves and wispy goldclouds. He gestured as he spoke, and his hands were square,short-nailed, and hard-looking. Daoud had no doubt that those hands hadtaken many lives.
"Messer John says the capital of their empire is wherever the Great Khanmakes his home," said the Bulgarian woman in a flat tone. "It used to beKarakorum. But now the Great Khan is building a city in the land ofCathay. The city is called--Xanadu."
"And how long would it take to travel from Baghdad to this Xanadu?" FraTomasso asked.
"Messer John says for a party of Christians to go to Xanadu from Baghdadmight take as long as a year. But for the Tartar post riders it takestwo months."
"Two months!" exclaimed Fra Tomasso. "For a journey that would takeordinary men a year? How far is it?"
"Permit me to answer that, Father," Daoud interrupted, "because theTartars do not know your system of measurements. The roads betweenBaghdad and the great cities of Cathay are tortuous, and vast desertsand huge mountains stand in the way. But our geographers in Trebizondestimate that a caravan going over that route would travel a distance ofthree thousand leagues."
"And the Tartars cover that in two months? Do they fly?" The fat monk'sjowls quivered. Daoud noticed that the front of his white tunic wasstained with what appeared to be spots of gravy and wine.
Daoud turned to Ana. "Kindly ask the ambassadors to explain to FraTomasso how their riders cover such a distance so quickly."
After some conversation between Ana and the Tartars, Fra Tomasso had hisanswer. "The fastest riders and horses in our empire carry messages inrelays over the major routes. A message never stops traveling, night andday, until it reaches its destination. At night, runners with torchesguide the riders."
The Italians looked awed. Daoud felt unimpressed. The Mamelukes also hadpost riders. They could carry a message from El Kahira to Damascus infour days.
"How intelligent!" said Fra Tomasso. "I will warrant we would be bettergoverned here in Europe if we had such a system."
The note of admiration in Fra Tomasso's voice made Daoud uneasy. Aservant passed, offering cups of wine on a tray. Daoud took a goblet.John and Philip raised the empty cups they held, and Ana refilled themfrom a pitcher on the table.
"Your empire is so vast, is it not," Daoud said to the Tartars throughAna, "that even messages that travel swiftly cannot hold it together?"
Philip, the black-bearded Tartar, answered that, smiling. "Fear of theGreat Khan holds our empire together," Ana translated.
"Is the Great Khan feared even in the lands of Kaidu Khan and BarakaKhan?" Daoud asked, naming the two rebels who did not recognize HulaguKhan's brother Kublai. He strove for a tone of innocent curiosity.
The faces of the two Tartars remained expressionless, but Daoud,schooled by his Hashishiyya masters to notice signs of emotion in themost guarded of men, observed the flush creeping into their browncheeks, the slight quickening of their breathing, and the twitching oftheir fingers. Until he asked his disturbing question they had answeredDaoud readily, almost casually, as they would any of the contessa'sother guests. Now, in silence, they studied him. Waiting for them tofinish their inspection, Daoud held out his wine cup to Ana, who filledit from the pitcher on the table. The pitcher was almost empty, and shesignaled to a servant to bring another.
John Chagan said, and Ana translated, "I do not believe we have had thehonor of being presented to you, Messere."
Daoud turned to Fra Tomasso, who was following the conversation closely."Will you be good enough to introduce us, Your Reverence?" Anyopportunity to involve himself with the Dominican philosopher could beuseful.
While Fra Tomasso presented him and Ana translated, Daoud stared at theTartars with deliberate challenge, draining his wine cup. Philip caughtthe meaning of the gesture at once, and drank deep from his silvergoblet as well. John followed suit.
"Trebizond," said John. "Not far from our borders." Daoud had wonderedwhether any of the Tartars' sponsors had told them of David of Trebizondand his testimony against them at the pope's council.
"Your khan, Hulagu, has already pressed our emperor for tribute andsubmission," said Daoud, refilling his cup. He tensed, wondering whetherhe was pushing the Tartars too far, too quickly. If they grew insultedand refused to speak to him, he would have accomplished nothing.
He sipped his wine. Before tonight, the taste of wine had alwayspuckered his mouth, and he had had to force himself to drink it. Butthis straw-colored wine was as sweet as spring water. John and Philipseemed to enjoy it, too. They quickly emptied and refilled their cups.
Daoud watched the two Tartars closely as Ana translated his last remark.A suggestion of amusement played about the eyes of the white-beardedJohn Chagan. John, he guessed, must be about sixty years of age. Oldenough to have ridden under the founder of the Tartar empire, the rulercalled Genghis Khan. Philip, whose face was fuller, was probably halfJohn's age.
"We are at peace with Trebizond," said John. "We have exchangedambassadors." He took a gulp of wine and emitted a deeply satisfiedsigh.
"How can a people who believe that the whole world belongs to themremain long at peace with anyone?" asked Daoud. He watched the woman,Ana. If she were to dull the edge of what he said in translating it, hiseffort would fail. But she seemed unmoved by what he said and repeatedit quickly in the Tartar tongue.
But now the two Tartars were glaring at him, Philip in open fury, Johnwith a cold hostility as if Daoud were an insect that needed to bestepped on.
How much farther could he press them, he wondered as he took another sipof wine and stared back.