by Robert Shea
XXIX
This was a fearsome place, thought Daoud as he gazed around theunderground chamber hewn out of the yellow tufa on which the buildingstood. Lit with torches, its vault was festooned with ropes and chains,one wall lined with whips, rods, and scourges hanging from hooks, pokersand branding irons heating in smoking braziers, a rack in one corner, aring of wood and iron six feet in diameter suspended in the center ofthe room, on which a man could be spread-eagled. A veritable bazaar oftorture instruments. Its door was of solid oak reinforced withcriss-crossed strips of iron, designed to dash any hope of escape.
Daoud sat in a thronelike chair painted black--Tilia said it had oncebelonged to a pope--on a raised platform against a wall. If the damnedchair had a few cushions in it, it might almost be comfortable. Thisplace, Tilia had told him, was for patrons of hers who liked totorture--or be tortured.
It was perfect for his purpose. But could he himself be as perfect asthe room? This was a hard and wily man he had to deal with tonight. Itwould be difficult to dominate him.
Beside Daoud, a preparation of wine, hashish, and the distilled juice ofthe Anatolian poppy simmered in a pot held on a metal tripod over acandle flame. He sniffed the faint steam that rose from the warm potion.He warned himself to do no more sniffing, or he would be unable toconduct the night's proceedings with a clear head. He glanced down atone broad arm of the throne, where a small brass bowl lay. In the dishrested a steel needle as long as a forefinger, its tip covered with ablack paste.
A nervous anticipation tingled in the pit of his stomach, but he heldhimself very still.
Daoud heard Lorenzo's voice, and a moment later the oak-and-iron doorswung open. A man stumbled through, his head covered with a black hood,his hands tied behind him, his ankles chained close together withhobble-gyves. Two of Tilia's mute black slaves held his arms. Behind himwalked Lorenzo, a broad-bladed dagger held at waist level.
Daoud sat straighter in the throne, resting his hands on the arms. Thedoor boomed shut, and at Lorenzo's command the slaves untied theprisoner's wrists and pulled the hood off his head.
Sordello stood before Daoud, blinking and staring angrily around him.Daoud watched, pleased, as the sight of the irons and chains andscourges bore in on Sordello and the anger on the bravo's face changedto alarm.
"Why have you done this to me? What the devil is this place?"
An appropriate question, Daoud thought. "You are in hell," he said.
Sordello squinted at Daoud. "And who are you supposed to be, MesserDavid, the Prince of Darkness? Is this some sort of miracle play?"
The man's defiance dismayed Daoud. He had hoped that the mere sight ofthe chamber would set Sordello to babbling and begging. He needed to befrightened more.
"Have them chain him to the ring, Lorenzo."
Sordello aimed a kick at one of the slaves following Lorenzo's orders.The African gave Sordello's arm a quick twist and got a howl of pain outof him. Soon the aging bravo, arms stretched out, legs spread apart, wassuspended upright in the great hoop. The ring of iron hung from theceiling on a single chain wrapped around a huge beam, allowing it torotate slowly. Daoud imagined how helpless Sordello must feel hangingthere.
Lorenzo took hold of the ring and gave it a spin. Face and back, faceand back, face and back, Sordello whirled before Daoud. His eyes bulged.
"Figlii di cagne!" he shouted.
_Still more angry than frightened. But perhaps he is just good atconcealing his fear._
Daoud made a small hand gesture, and Lorenzo stopped the spin of thering so that Sordello was facing Daoud.
Daoud studied Sordello, looking for the subtle signs that would revealhis true feelings. His eyes gleamed like a caged hyena's, full of hatredfor Daoud.
Lorenzo had kept Sordello locked in a pitch-black cubicle in CardinalUgolini's mansion for a day and a night before bringing him here. Daoudstudied the man. It was obvious from his pallor, his red-rimmedeyelids, and his sagging mouth that Sordello had lain awake much of thetime in the darkness. Daoud could see the fear, too, in the clenchingand unclenching of Sordello's jaw muscles.
Daoud flicked a finger at Lorenzo. "Read the love song you found on thistrovatore when you seized him."
Lorenzo unfolded a square scrap of parchment and read:
Your Magnificence:
On Thursday last Donna Sophia left the Cardinal's mansion alone, on foot and heavily veiled. As she clearly did not want to be seen, your servant thought much was to be gained by following her, and so did. I regret to say she spent the afternoon wandering in the craftsmen's market, shopping for gloves, purses, and other adornments. Before Nones she went to the Church of Sant' Andrea, where she prayed a while, then went to Confession. Your servant attempted to approach close enough to overhear, but was unable to do so without being seen.
Lorenzo looked up and shook his head. "What a furfante you are! Tryingto eavesdrop on penitents." He went on with the reading.
David of Trebizond has spent his days riding about Orvieto, meeting with the fattori of various trading houses that deal in silks and spices. Your servant adds a list below. The cardinal sleeps most of the day and works through the night behind the locked door of his cabinet on the top floor of the palazzo. Sometimes he mounts to the roof and studies the stars with the aid of magical instruments. Of the servant Giancarlo I am unable to make report, having not seen him all this week.
Lorenzo laughed. "That is the only true statement in this list of lies.You did not see me all week because I have been constantly at _your_back."
Sordello spat at Lorenzo's feet. "Ladruncolo! Sneak!" At this Lorenzoand Daoud broke into laughter, while Sordello glared at them helplessly.The hoop on which he was splayed turned slowly one way and then back theother.
"You are indignant at being spied upon?" Lorenzo chuckled. "Then imaginehow we feel. And what is worse, you do not even tell the truth aboutus."
"I piss in your teeth," Sordello snarled.
"For instance, what you write about Madonna Sophia," Lorenzo went on,unperturbed. "You lost her a mere three streets from the cardinal'smansion. She knew you were following her and took pains to rid herselfof your unwanted attentions. But you could not admit to your master whata buffone you are, so you made up all that about her buying gloves inthe bazaar and going to church."
Actually, Daoud thought, that was the afternoon Sophia had come here, toTilia's house, to see Rachel, and it would have been disastrous ifSordello had followed her. They would then have had to kill him, whichwould have been unfortunate, since this way of handling him was so muchbetter.
Of course, they might still have to kill him. He already knew enoughabout them to send them all to the stake if he ever spoke out. He mustbe brought under control, to serve their purposes, or he must quietlydisappear.
"So, you not only spy on us, but you lie about us," said Daoud. "And towhom do you send these lies? When the Bulgarian woman Ana takes yourweekly reports back to the Palazzo Monaldeschi, to whom does she deliverthem? De Verceuil? De Gobignon?"
"Go peddle your silks and spices, Messer David." The man was soill-tempered he had not the sense to try to protect himself by hidinghis anger and defiance.
Daoud gritted his teeth in frustration. Sordello was not breakingquickly enough.
Daoud sent Lorenzo a signal with two fingers. Lorenzo sprang at Sordellowith his blade, a dagger so big it was almost a short sword, and slashedat his tunic, belt, and hose. The blacks grinned. Sordello roared hisprotests. A last flick of the blade cut away his grimy loincloth. In amoment Sordello hung naked on the ring, his shredded clothes hangingfrom his ankles or lying on the flagstone floor. His body was wiry andmuscular, with only a small paunch at the waist. The flickeringtorchlight picked out the shadows of scars crossing his chest and belly.Daoud stared with curiosity and faint distaste at the uncircumcisedpenis peeping from its thicket of grizzled hair.
Daoud put his fingertips together and casually crossed his legs,l
ounging back in the throne, letting the contrast between his positionand Sordello's sink in. He prayed that the man might succumb. His soulmust be made of sand; how could it be otherwise?
The ring slowly rotated. Sordello twisted his head to look over hisshoulder at Daoud.
"If you kill me, he will know." There was the faintest quiver in hisvoice.
Daoud chose not to ask the obvious question--who "he" was--but said,keeping his voice soft and kindly, "What will he learn from your death,Sordello?"
Before Sordello could answer, Lorenzo burst out, "We are not going tokill him for a long while, are we, Messer David? You promised me I couldhave some sport."
"Quiet, Giancarlo," said Daoud, narrowing his eyes. "You shall have yoursport."
"Why torture me? Why kill me?" There was a plea in Sordello's voice now."I have told nothing that could hurt you."
"You have told _us_ nothing, Sordello." Daoud stood up. The platform onwhich the throne chair stood gave him impressive height, and the torcheshigh in the wall behind him threw his shadow across the room.
"I admire your fidelity to your master, whoever he is," Daoud said witha smile. "What a pity he will never know about it. As I told you, thisis hell, and you are dead already. You will just vanish, like a bit ofrubbish washed out of the city by the rain. Your master will probablythink you deserted him, as your sort of wandering ladrone so oftendoes."
"I am not a highwayman!" Sordello's cry echoed against the stone vault."I am a man of honor. I am an educated man, a trovatore."
"You are feccia!" Lorenzo shouted, and slapped Sordello's face hard.
"For that I will one day slice open your guts," Sordello growled.
Exasperated, Daoud saw that hurting Sordello only made him angrier. Ifthey hurt him enough, certainly, they would have him begging for mercy,but by then they might have injured him so badly he would be of no useto them.
"Let him be, Giancarlo," Daoud snapped.
"I saved your life," Sordello said to Daoud. "I killed a man for you. Isthis how you repay me--letting this pig strip me and beat me?" Hisnarrowed eyes gave a hint of slyness. "I could be worth ten of thisNeapolitan mezzano to you."
"You dare call me a pimp!" Lorenzo lunged at Sordello again, this timeaiming the point of the huge dagger at his belly. Sordello twisted hisbody in the chains and gave a cry of fright.
"Giancarlo!" Daoud shouted sternly. "Back!"
Sordello hung rigid in his chains. Sweat ran down his face. His wholebody was covered with sweat, glistening in the torchlight, and Daoudsuspected he would be cold to the touch. Sordello's eyes rolled fromLorenzo, who stood frozen with the dagger outstretched, to Daoud andback again. The two blacks stood behind Lorenzo, smiling broadly.
"You are worth nothing to me at the moment, Sordello, because you refuseeven to give me the one harmless piece of information I ask for. Youwill not tell me who set you to spy on me. So I might as well give youto Giancarlo here for his amusement." He held a hand out to Lorenzo, asif giving him leave to proceed.
"It is Simon de Gobignon!" Sordello cried. "It is to him my messagesgo."
Daoud's heart leapt with exultation, and he allowed himself a satisfiedlittle sigh. A flicker of a finger told Lorenzo to lower his knife.Sordello had made the first surrender, on which all further success withhim depended.
But--de Gobignon. That was a surprise. Daoud had been sure it would beCardinal de Verceuil who would try to place a spy in his camp. AFrankish knight like de Gobignon would prefer the frontal attack, thepitched battle, to trickery. That was why the Franks were graduallylosing their grip on the land they called Outremer. The French cardinalwas another story. Daoud had seen in him a combination of pride,ambition, and lack of scruple that would use any means to defeat anenemy.
How to find out the truth? He ground his teeth.
"You are lying," Daoud said firmly. "It is Cardinal de Verceuil youserve. Giancarlo--" Daoud gestured, and Lorenzo went over to the brazierand slowly drew out an iron. The tip of it glowed red in the dim lightof the chamber. His teeth flashing white under his thick mustache,Lorenzo advanced on Sordello.
"No! It is the truth!" Sordello shrieked, the chain that suspended thehoop rattling as he tried to pull himself away from Lorenzo and thesmoking metal rod he held. As Lorenzo slowly approached, Sordellobabbled out a tale of having been sent to Venice by Charles d'Anjou,brother of the King of France, to recruit and command archers for CountSimon. He had gotten into a brawl and wounded an Armenian prince who hadcome to Venice with the Tartars, and Simon had sent him away.
"I cannot serve Count Simon openly because the Armenians still want myblood," Sordello explained. "So he set me to spy on you instead."
The frantic haste with which Sordello spilled out his story gave it thesound of truth. This was going much better. Daoud's tense jaw muscleswere relaxing.
Daoud picked up the bowl with the needle in it, gestured Lorenzo back,and slowly strolled across the chamber to Sordello. He gave the bowl toLorenzo to hold, and drew closer until his face was only a hand's widthfrom Sordello's, until he could smell the inner rot on the man's breath.Sordello's eyes rolled sideways, trying to watch the needle in the bowlLorenzo was holding.
"What does de Gobignon say of me?" Daoud whispered. "What does he thinkI am?"
"He thinks you are a foreigner brought here by Ugolini to thwart theFrench plans for a crusade," Sordello gasped. "He says Ugolini is anagent of the Hohenstaufen king. He thinks Giancarlo is gathering a bandof men to murder the Tartars. Please, for the love of God, do not hurtme, Messere." His eyes would fall out of his head if he stared anyharder at the needle.
"Give me a candle, Giancarlo," said Daoud. He reached out withoutlooking, and Lorenzo pressed the lighted candle into his hand. Taking astep back, he held the flame before Sordello's sweating face. His lipstrembling, Sordello turned his head away.
"Look at the flame, Sordello," said Daoud softly. "Just look at theflame and listen to me. Look at the flame, and I will tell you what Ireally am." Daoud passed the candle back and forth before Sordello'sface, murmuring reassurance. Sordello's eyes followed the candle.
He wondered if this would work. It seemed too much like magic. He hadseen it done by Hashishiyya imams, but he had never done it himself.
"I am a sorcerer, Sordello, a mighty wizard. I can pass through anyobstacle. I can see what people are doing thousands of leagues away. Ican bring the dead back to life. I told you that you are a dead man,Sordello. You are truly dead, but you have nothing to fear, because mypower can bring you back to life."
The bravo hung lax in the chains, his half-shut eyes still moving fromright to left, following the candle flame. His knees had buckled and hisbelly sagged.
Daoud handed the candle to Lorenzo and beckoned to one of the Africans,who took the simmering pot of drugged wine from the tripod, holding itby a wooden handle, and gave it to Daoud.
"Where are you, Sordello?"
"I am in hell."
"And what are you?"
"A dead man."
"And I?"
"A mighty wizard."
"Very good. Now drink this." Daoud felt the lip of the pot to make sureit was not too hot, then brought it to Sordello's mouth. ObedientlySordello lifted his chin and opened his lips, allowing Daoud to pour thewarm wine into his mouth, and then swallowed. Daoud poured more into himand then gave the pot back to Tilia's servant.
"Now you will truly know my power, Sordello. Prepare yourself for themost wonderful night of your life. You will make a journey from hell toheaven. Close your eyes and raise your head." Lorenzo held out the brassbowl with the needle, and Daoud took the needle, holding it firmly withhis thumb and first two fingers. Gesturing to Lorenzo to bring thecandle close to Sordello's throat, he searched out a vein just where theneck met the shoulder.
"You can feel nothing. You can feel no pain at all."
Daoud took a deep breath and prayed to God to guide his hand. He jabbedthe needle into Sordello's neck. The bravo remained utterly motionless,and
Daoud heard Lorenzo gasp in amazement. Daoud left the needle stuckin the pale, pink flesh. He watched Sordello closely and put his palmbefore his lax mouth. He could feel Sordello's breath on his palm, slowand steady, the breath of a sleeping man. After a time the craggy blockof a head fell forward, and the body hung limp in the chains.
So far, all was working as he had hoped. But the man was stronger thanhe had thought. He had been harder to break. There was always the dangerthat somewhere deep in his soul a part would remain free. Daoud hadheard of such things happening, of slaves of the Old Man of the Mountainwho suddenly rebelled. The methods of the Hashishiyya were not perfect.
He would have to chance it. It was in God's hands now.
"Are you sure he is not dead?" Lorenzo said in a low, awed voice.
"Look for yourself. He breathes. His heart beats."
Lorenzo shook his head. "What is that stuff?"
Daoud pointed to the two Africans, who stood calmly by, awaiting orders."_They_ know. In the jungle below the great desert, where it is very hotand wet, a body can rot in hours. Tiny men, less than half our size,live there, and they hunt large animals for their meat. They smear thisstuff on their darts. It comes from a mushroom that grows in theirforest. The animal struck is paralyzed and unconscious, but it lives.They have time to carry it back to their village, which may take days,and then they can slaughter it and butcher it."
"But what a blessing this could be for the wounded and the sick," saidLorenzo. "Why does the world not know of it?"
Daoud shrugged. "The tiny men kill those who venture into their forests.What little is brought back by Arab traders is kept as a precioussecret. Only sultans may permit its use." He turned to the two blacks."Take him upstairs now."