by Robert Shea
LI
"Many think I have little power in this city," said Frescobaldod'Ucello. He sat in a dark window recess with one foot up on the ledgeand the other dangling, his fingers tapping the raised knee. Lashed to achair in the center of the long, narrow chamber, Daoud had to turn hishead to look at him. Daoud's back ached from being held rigid by theback of the chair, and the ropes bit into the muscles of his arms andlegs.
At the end of the room, a clerk with scalp shaved in the clericaltonsure sat in the podesta's high-back chair behind a heavy black table,writing down what was said on a scroll with a feather pen. Four tallcandles set in brass stands formed a square around Daoud, casting abright light on him. A row of candles burned in a wrought-ironcandelabrum beside the clerk, lighting a wall hanging behind him thatdepicted some idolatrous Christian religious scene. D'Ucello sat in theshadows that lay upon the rest of the chamber.
Daoud sensed that d'Ucello meant what he had just said as a sort ofchallenge.
"All I know is that for my part I have very little power in this city,Signore," Daoud said with a smile. "I depend altogether on those whohave befriended me." That was the way David of Trebizond should respond.Not very frightened, because not guilty of anything. Humble,ingratiating, but retaining some scrap of dignity.
D'Ucello stood up suddenly, strode briskly across the room to Daoud, andstood over him.
"Do you think your friends will save you from this?" he said tonelessly.His eyes had an unfocused look, as though they were made of glass.
"Save me from what, Signore?" Daoud put bewilderment and a shade ofanger into his voice.
D'Ucello swung his hand. Daoud felt the sting of a hard palm against hisjaw, and the crack of flesh slapping flesh made his ear ring. The blowjolted his head to one side.
It was not very painful. It was meant to insult more than to hurt. Totest. And rage did erupt in Daoud like a fountain of fire. His musclestensed, the bindings cutting deeper, and the chair creaked.
D'Ucello was trying to break through the Mask of Clay. But the mask heldfirm, because the Face of Steel, Daoud's spiritual armor, was beneathit. The fury of Daoud the Mameluke, who yearned to tear d'Ucello apart,remained hidden. It was David of Trebizond who blustered at theindignity of being slapped without cause.
"How dare you strike me, Signore!" he protested. "I have done nothing todeserve that, nothing to deserve being dragged here in the night andtied up. I demand to know--what do you want of me?"
D'Ucello sighed like a chess player whose opponent had escaped check,and went back to his seat in the window recess. Daoud saw the flickeringglow of heat lightning through the thick leaded-glass window behind thepodesta.
"I dislike intensely being made to waste time," said d'Ucello, drumminghis fingers on his knee. "Listen carefully: Every time you force me totell you something we both already know, I will prolong your sufferinganother hour."
Daoud allowed a note of fear to creep into his voice. "Suffering? I begyou, Signore, believe me. Even if you torture me, I still cannot tellyou anything different from what I will freely tell you. Ask me whateveryou want."
The Mask of Clay was useless with this man, Daoud saw. The podesta'smind had pierced it. How had he been able to do that? Because he was aman who observed much and thought much, unlike most men Daoud had met inOrvieto, who let their passions rule them.
Yet d'Ucello had passions. He was a proud man, who must hate standing byhelplessly, holding the supreme office in Orvieto, watching the twogreat families bespatter his city with blood. If he could not stop theFilippeschi and the Monaldeschi from murdering each other, at least hecould do _something_.
D'Ucello had seen enough of Daoud's comings and goings to make himsuspicious. Like a hawk soaring above a plain, the podesta might be toohigh up to know exactly what he saw below, but he knew when he sightedprey. And perhaps d'Ucello saw that this prey, if hunted rightly, wouldlead him to others.
D'Ucello leaned forward, out of the shadow of the window recess.
"There was a man in black who tried to kill the Tartars the night of theFilippeschi uprising. What do you know about him?"
"I know little about the uprising, Signore, since I was not here. I wasin Perugia."
"Why Perugia?"
"To speak with several silk merchants."
"Are there those in Perugia who will vouch for you?"
"Certainly," said Daoud, feeling uneasily that d'Ucello was notdeceived.
"I will write to the podesta of Perugia and ask that your witnesses beexamined," said d'Ucello. "Give me their names."
Daoud had a struggle to remember the names of the witnesses. Lorenzo hadgiven them to him months before, members of the Ghibellino network whowere willing to perform this service for Manfred. The clerk's penscratched rapidly as he haltingly brought out the names of five men.
"When did you return from Perugia?"
The clerks, Daoud recalled, had been removed from the town gates at theend of May.
"Sometime in June," Daoud said. "Forgive me, I did not think to bring myjournal with me, and I cannot tell you the exact date." He tried a weaksmile.
"Where is your man Giancarlo?"
_On his way here from Siena with an army, Insh'Allah._
"I sent him on from Perugia," Daoud said. "He travels to Rimini, thenRavenna, eventually to Venice, looking for those who would be interestedin receiving shipments of silks and spices from Trebizond. He had notbeen punctilious about writing to me, or perhaps his letters have beenlost, so I do not know exactly where he is now."
"I thought you were in competition with the Venetians."
Daoud essayed another smile. "That is why I sent Giancarlo."
"And where were you the night the French cavaliere was murdered?"d'Ucello asked.
"I was with a woman."
"What was her name?"
"I do not think I ever knew it." He tried a flash of sarcasm. "If I hadknown there was to be a murder that night, I would have asked hername."
"Everyone was with a nameless woman that night," d'Ucello sighed. "Yes,you should have taken more care to arrange for proof of your innocence,Messere."
He gestured to the clerk, who picked up a small bell on the table besidehis ink pot and shook it, a silvery clangor.
Two broad, leather-faced men in the yellow and blue tunics of the watchcame into the room. They took a few steps toward d'Ucello and stoodawaiting orders like a pair of mastiffs.
"Take him down," said d'Ucello.
"Wait! Will you torture me? I have tried to tell you the truth. Do notdo this, I beg you."
D'Ucello slid off the window ledge. "I am the sort of man who wouldrather spend hours picking a lock than break it open." The smile thatstretched his thin mustache was genuine. "But, as we both know, theGhibellini of Siena may be upon us at any moment, and I must break youopen quickly. So now I will sleep. And while I am restoring my strength,my men will prepare you for our next talk."
Daoud tried to keep the Face of Steel firmly in place while with theMask of Clay he feigned helpless terror. But his defense against feelingseemed to have flaws. Genuine terror of what he was about to suffer keptseeping through. When d'Ucello's guards untied him and forced him tostand, his knees nearly buckled under him.
The steps Daoud descended must have been hollowed out by the feet ofhundreds of hapless prisoners and their guards. The wall of the circularstairwell, which Daoud brushed with his fingertips to steady himself,was of rough-hewn black stone.
His heart was thudding heavily as he descended the stairs, preceded byone guard, followed by the other and by d'Ucello's clerk. The thought ofhours, perhaps days, of pain he must undergo made every muscle in hisbody tremble. The stairwell, lit at long intervals by torches held bywrought iron cressets, went down so far it seemed to have no bottom.Many a prisoner must have felt the temptation to throw himself down fromthe stairs and escape suffering.
The chamber he entered through a door of thick oak planks had beencarved from the yellow-gray rock of Orvieto's mesa.
The room smelled offire, blood, rot, and excrement.
A man slid down from a chair when Daoud entered with his guards.Standing, his head would have come to Daoud's waist. But he was bentdouble and held his arms out from his sides to keep his fingers fromtouching the ground, so his head was not even as high as Daoud's knees.
Memories flashed through Daoud's mind: The woodcutter who had blessedhimself when Daoud was arrested at Lucera. The executioner who hadtossed the heretic's cod into the air to the delight of the crowd beforeOrvieto's cathedral. Daoud had always wondered how the little man hadcome to appear in two such different places. The skin crawled on theback of Daoud's neck. This creature was uncanny.
"You are to keep him awake all night, Erculio," said the guard who hadfollowed Daoud into the room.
"Did I not sleep all day today, so that I would be able to properlyentertain our guest tonight?" The little man bustled forward to Daoud,rubbing his hands. His head was as big as that of a full-grown man, buthis hands and feet were small. His mustache bristled in spikes of blackhair, like a portcullis over his mouth.
"Please, in the name of the mercy of God," Daoud pleaded. "I am amerchant. I am rich. Do not hurt me. I will pay you well."
"We want to hear nothing from you except frequent screams and answers tothe questions the podesta wants me to put to you," said Erculio in acold voice. "What do we want to know, Vincenzo?"
D'Ucello's clerk said, "The podesta believes he is a Ghibellino spy senthere by the bastard King Manfred. He thinks he incited the Filippeschiuprising. Also he may have killed the French cavaliere."
Erculio nodded vigorously. "Well, then, Messere. Are you prepared toadmit your guilt, now that you see where you are and realize what isabout to happen to you?"
"These accusations are false!" Daoud cried. "I swear it!"
The tonsured clerk, carrying a handful of quills, a bundle of scrolls,and his ink pot, seated himself at a table in one corner of the room andbegan to write.
To gain time, Daoud looked around Erculio's domain, remembering thesimilar room in Tilia's brothel where he had subjected Sordello to theHashishiyya initiation. This place was starker and more frightful. Itwas large, perhaps fifty paces on a side, divided by two rows of thickcolumns holding up the weight of the great stone building above it.Despite its size, the chamber was well lit. The candle sconces werelined with sheets of tin to throw extra light.
Daoud recognized most of the implements of torment around the room. Arack, a tilted wooden table with chains and winches. A sharp-pointedwooden pyramid over which a victim could be suspended. A chair withspikes protruding at the joints. A coffin lined with spikes. A brazierfull of pokers and branding irons of various sizes. Weights and pulleys.Whips and cudgels, hung neatly from pegs that lined the walls. A cagefull of rats. A number of smaller devices to crush fingers or limbs--oreven skulls--laid out neatly on tables beside rows of long needles.
Daoud visualized himself drinking from a bowl of liquid light and feltthe mind-created drug Soma pouring down into his stomach and spreadingto his heart and lungs, through all his veins.
But still he must keep up the Mask of Clay.
"I can say no other than what is true," he cried. "I am David ofTrebizond. I came here to sell silk. I have harmed no one. Please bemerciful."
Erculio grunted. "Strip him and string him up."
Daoud protested weakly, letting his voice tremble as the guards pulledthe clothes from his body. He felt the cool, dank air of the cellar onhis bare skin.
"Be careful," Erculio said. "That is a good embroidered tunic. The hoseand boots are new. Those clothes are my property now." Fussily, hefolded the garments as they fell away from Daoud and laid them on achair.
"Will you not return them to me--afterward?" Daoud quavered.
"Afterward?" Erculio laughed.
"What is this?" said one guard as he used his dagger to cut the thongthat held the leather capsule around Daoud's neck. The tawidh, thathealed his wounds and protected him from death.
Daoud said nothing.
_Now they can truly destroy my body._
The guard handed the tawidh to Erculio, who glanced at it and threw iton his low chair. He frowned at Daoud.
"Put a loincloth on him, fools," he growled. "Did I say to strip himstark naked? Are we not decent fellows here?" He fumbled about in a pileof rags and threw one to a guard.
"That's the first time you've complained about a prisoner being naked,Erculio," the guard grumbled as he wrapped the cloth around Daoud's hipsand passed it between his legs. "Don't you need to be able to get at hiscock?"
"Do not try to teach me my craft," Erculio said snappishly. "Up with himnow."
The guards grabbed Daoud by the arms and pushed him under danglingchains. They lifted his arms over his head and bound his wrists withthick leather cuffs. Then they went to a winch with a crank on eachside, next to the wall, and began to turn in unison.
Daoud cried out in pain as his body was jerked into the air. The leathercuffs cut into his wrists. His shoulders felt as if his arms were beingtorn out of their sockets.
He pictured the Soma cascading through his body, and the pain receded.But he continued to cry out as if in unbearable agony until the twoguards stopped raising him. He hung there, the Mask of Clay sobbing andwhimpering.
Erculio scuttled over to stand under him, holding a thick stick as longas a man's arm. Daoud's feet were just level with Erculio's head.Leaning on the stick, Erculio looked up at Daoud, appraising his body,and a pink tongue tip flickered under the bristling mustache.
"You have a beautiful body, Messere. Well-proportioned, with powerfulmuscles. You are un bello pezzo di carne, a fine piece of meat." Erculiowalked around behind him and stopped there for a moment, where Daoudcould not see him.
"Scars from old wounds, too, I see," the little man said.
_Perhaps in this light the scar left by the Tartar's arrow looks old._
Erculio stood before him again. "You look able to endure much, so youwill last longer. You may think when a guest comes down here I just pickthe first instrument that comes to mind. Not so. I follow a strictorder. You will get to know every instrument here, if you live longenough. This will be very educational for you."
"I have been telling you the truth," Daoud moaned. "Will you not believeme?"
"Bugiardo! Liar!" Erculio struck him hard on the shin with the stick.Pain blazed through his leg. Daoud could have remained silent, but heshrieked loudly, knowing that fear, as much as pain, would make the manhe was pretending to be cry out.
Turning to the others, Erculio said, "What will you wager against thesehandsome clothes of his that I get this pezzo di carne to speak thewords our honorable podesta wants to hear? A bet makes this game moreinteresting. What say you, any takers?"
"The man is quivering like a frumenty now," said one guard. "He wouldhave been talking long ago if he had anything to say."
"You think so?" Erculio snapped his fingers. "Good. Bet with me, then."
The guard fumbled in a purse at his belt and drew out a glittering coin."There you are. A gold florin, not ten years old and barely worn. I wonit dicing last night."
Erculio examined the coin. "Twenty years old, and the lilies are a bitwilted. But it's heavy enough, I suppose. Done! Now, MesserPezzo-di-Carne--I call you that because I do not know your realname--you had better tell us what we want to know, or I will _really_make you suffer." He dropped the coin on top of Daoud's clothing.
Erculio brought the stick against Daoud's shin, in the spot he hadstruck a moment ago. The pain shot through Daoud. But Soma turned thepain to a tingling, and Daoud visualized it as a glow that spread fromtoe to hip. He screamed, as he knew he should, but behind the Face ofSteel he felt at peace.
Erculio let out a laugh that sounded more like the clucking of achicken. "You see, we do not need elaborate instruments. We can inflictunbearable pain with the simplest means--like this!" And he swung thestick to hit precisely the same spot on Daoud's shin he had struck twicebefor
e.
Daoud bellowed and felt the tingling and saw the glow in his leg, andthe Soma, the drug created by his spirit, preserved his sanity.
How small Erculio looked, crouched down on the stone floor. So man mustlook to God. God was so infinitely far above man, the miracle was thatGod was mindful of man at all. But God was inside of man--inside of eachhuman being--as well as above him.
_It is blasphemy to liken myself to God._
He called to mind the Koran's admonition, _There is none like unto Him_.
His mind occupied with God, he barely noticed the activities of thespiderlike creature that crawled about on the floor below him as he hunglike a trapped fly. Erculio worked on his legs for a long time, bruisingthe shins with his heavy stick until Daoud thought both legs must bebroken. Then the torturer pressed a red-hot poker against the soles ofhis feet.
Erculio had the guards let Daoud down and force him to walk on hisburned feet to the rack table, where they chained him facedown andstretched him till the ligaments that held his bones together were readyto snap.
The Mask of Clay screamed and pleaded for mercy and insisted he hadalready told them everything. But the pain lay as far from hisconsciousness as the sea lies from the desert tent of a Bedouin.
Erculio applied more instruments to Daoud's body, inflicting many kindsof pain--burning, stabbing, bruising, crushing. He kept Daoud awake, andDaoud knew that hours must have gone by, perhaps the whole night.
Daoud's outcries grew hoarser and weaker, and at last Erculio's effortsbrought forth nothing from him but soft groans and whimpers.
Daoud saw the clerk, Vincenzo, rise yawning and leave as another clerk,also shaven-headed, but with a short brown beard, came in to replacehim. He saw the two guards in yellow and blue sit down on the floor,their backs to the wall, and doze off. He saw after a time the secondclerk lower his head on his folded arms. He saw all this while Erculiopranced about him, hurting him and hurting him.
Erculio looked around at the others in the chamber. He left off pushinga needle into Daoud's ankle and rushed over to the guards and shouted atthem to wake up. He poked them with his stick. They cursed him andkicked at him and went back to sleep. He scurried to the sleeping clerk.
"You are supposed to be writing down everything the prisoner says. Comenow, wake up! Indolento! The podesta will hear of this, I promise you."
The clerk mumbled something without raising his head from his arms.Erculio nodded with satisfaction and hurried across the chamber toDaoud. He stood by Daoud's head.
"As-salaam aleikem, Daoud ibn Abdallah," the torturer whispered.
For a moment Daoud could not believe he had really heard it. The drugthat he had brewed in his mind had taken control of his ears. Or elsethis was their way of tricking him into talking freely.
_But if they knew my Muslim name and that I speak Arabic, they would notwaste time accusing me of being a Ghibellino._
"Wa aleikem salaam," he replied. The uprush of joy he felt at finding afriend here in this terrible cellar momentarily shattered the Face ofSteel. What madness this was, that the friend should be the source ofall his torment? He bit back hysterical laughter.
"Like you, I serve El Malik Dahir," Erculio said in Arabic. Hearing thattitle, Daoud thought it even less likely that the little man was tryingto trick him.
"I have been watching you since Lucera, My Lord," Erculio went on. "Youhave done well, even if it has been God's will that you should notsucceed. You have been clever. But you should have taken the tawidh offbefore you surrendered. Do you think there are no Christians who canrecognize Arabic numerals?"
Now Daoud was sure the little man was an ally of some sort.
In Arabic he said, "Does the scar on the back of my leg look fresh?"
"It has healed so completely that no one would believe you got it a fewmonths ago. They know nothing of our Islamic medicine. You bear anotherwound, though, that would have much to say to the observant--yourcircumcision. That was why I had them put a loincloth on you and lay youfacedown on this rack."
"Lucky for me you were here," Daoud said.
"Not luck," said Erculio. "El Malik deemed it wise that, should you bemade a prisoner, one of his men ought to be among your captors."
_Even here, Baibars's hand reaches out to me_, thought Daoud, feeling arush of gratitude.
"Help me to escape," said Daoud. "The guards and the clerk are asleep."
Erculio brought his small hand downward in a gesture of flat rejection."There are a hundred men-at-arms on duty up above. The podesta himselfwill be down here in an hour. Why can you not make up a story that willsatisfy him? Say you are a Ghibellino. That is what he believes, andsince it is not true, it will not help him. In a thousand years he wouldnever guess the truth."
"No. The only way I can protect those close to me is to admit nothing."
Erculio shook his head, and his black eyes were liquid with sadness."What a pity. Your case is hopeless, then. Ever since I saw you inLucera I have felt sorry for you. How can El Malik expect one man tochange the course of nations? You are like a man trying to hold aparttwo ships about to collide." He sighed. "I have done all I can for you.I have hurt you as much as I can without doing you permanent injury--sofar. There is only one other service I can perform for you."
"What is that?" said Daoud, though he felt sure he already knew theanswer.
"You would not want to reveal under torture that you are an agent of theSultan of El Kahira, and provoke the very crusade you were sent here toprevent. You would not want to give your friends away. If you break, Iwill see to it that you die before you might speak."
"I will not break," said Daoud. "And when it is all over, and d'Ucellohas killed me, he will at last come to believe that I was telling thetruth. Because he believes that no one can hold out against torture tothe very end. But promise me one thing."
"Insh'Allah, anything."
"If you must cripple me, see that I do not leave this dungeon alive."
Understanding and respect glowed in the black eyes peering at Daoud overthe edge of the rack. "As you wish, My Lord."
He knew he should be grateful that he had this man here to guarantee hima decent death. But a great sadness came over him at the thought thathis life must end miserably in this dungeon. He had always hoped that hewould meet his fate amid the glory of jihad, holy war.
_Well, this is jihad of a kind._
* * * * *
The respite was over. Erculio fell upon Daoud with renewed vigor,driving needles under his toenails and fingernails and beating him witha whip of knotted rawhide cords that tore open his back. Daoud felt theblood running down his sides and pooling underneath him. The little mantook a red-hot poker and pressed it, hissing, against the scar made bythe Tartar's arrow and Lorenzo's knife. That, Daoud realized, would makeit impossible to tell what sort of wound it had been.
The pain seemed to be happening to someone miles away as Daoud convertedit to ripples of light passing through his body. He understood thatErculio was applying tortures whose effects could be seen. The podestawould be satisfied that Erculio had done his work well.
Daoud did his part too. The rest had restored his strength, and nowDaoud screamed so loudly he woke the guards and the clerk. Erculio setthe guards to work replacing the burned-down candles in the sconcesaround the dungeon. When Daoud turned his throbbing head to look at thecandles, he saw hazy rings around them and rays radiating from them.Sweat stung his eyes.
The thick wooden door of the cellar swung inward, and d'Ucello entered.He walked over to where Daoud lay on the rack, and stood staring at himwith his peculiar, glazed expression. D'Ucello's face was more sour thanusual, and his eyelids were puffed. He looked just awakened from a sleepthat had given him little refreshment. His mouth twitched under the thinmustache.
Daoud noticed that in one hand d'Ucello held a small silver flask with anarrow neck and a glass stopper. D'Ucello clenched his hand around ittightly, as if he feared to drop it.
<
br /> "What has he said?" he demanded, turning to Erculio.
"Just much screaming, Signore." Erculio looked across the room at thebearded clerk, who nodded vigorously.
"You have not hurt him enough, then, Erculio," said the podesta. "Heshould be offering us _something_ by now. To withstand torture for solong almost smacks of sorcery."
"Perhaps he really has nothing to tell," Erculio ventured.
"Nonsense!" D'Ucello glared at the dwarf. "Even an innocent man wouldmake the torture stop, if he had to lie to do it. And this man is notinnocent."
_By that one remark Erculio risks much for me_, thought Daoud, prayingthe little man would not again endanger himself.
"Attenzione," said d'Ucello, coming close to Daoud's head and holdingthe flask so Daoud could see it. He withdrew the stopper, a long icicleof glass. He held the flask low over the rack table and tilted itmomentarily. A few drops of dark brown liquid splashed onto the wood. Atonce d'Ucello righted and stopped the flask.
A white flash, bright as lightning, burst before Daoud's face, blindinghim.
He jerked his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Erculiocurse in Italian and the clerk and the guards cry out.
Smoke burned Daoud's nostrils and throat. As he coughed, he opened hiseyes and saw a small fire burning its way into the wood a hand's breadthfrom his face. He felt a wave of heat. D'Ucello and his men watched insilence as the fire ate through the thick planking of the rack table.Gradually the blaze lost its intensity as the liquid that started it wasused up. It ended in a hole a man could pass his fist through, withglowing, smoking edges.
"What _is_ that?" said the clerk, tugging nervously at his brown beard.
"Witchcraft," said d'Ucello with a grim chuckle. The clerk and theguards stared at him. Erculio was expressionless.
In spite of Soma, in spite of his years of training, Daoud felt a screamof horror rising inside him at the thought of what d'Ucello wasthreatening.
"Not witchcraft, but just as evil," d'Ucello went on. "It is a weapondevised by the Byzantines."
"Ah!" said the clerk. "This must be that Greek Fire I have heardcrusaders tell of. I always thought it another of their lies about theEast."
"It is real," said d'Ucello. "Perhaps our guest, being from the East,has seen it before. The Turks stole the secret from the Byzantines andhave been using it against the crusaders. It starts burning the momentit is exposed to air. It clings to whatever it touches, and its flamescannot be put out. Maligno."
The podesta turned to Daoud. "But in this case we will be using it for agood purpose. Messer David, do you love your organs of manhood?"
"What are you saying to me?" Daoud cried, determined that he would beDavid of Trebizond to the very end. His real terror now matched hispretended terror, but he managed to keep them two separate feelings. Thescream trying to escape him battered itself like a trapped animalagainst the inner wall of the Face of Steel.
D'Ucello bent closer to Daoud, and from his painful position, bellydown, arms and legs stretched taut, Daoud lifted his head to look at thepodesta. D'Ucello glowered at him, his lips tight under his thinmustache.
"I mean that if you do not tell me who you really are and what you aredoing in Orvieto, I will apply this healing potion to your male member.It should not take more than a drop to burn away everything you havethere." D'Ucello feinted at Daoud's face with the flask, and Daoudflinched back and cried out. He strained desperately against the chainsthat held him.
Greek Fire--what a cruel turn of fate that a thing invented by Sophia'speople should destroy him. Grief swelled in his throat as he mourned theend of those hours of delight they had passed together.
But, Daoud thought, d'Ucello did not need Greek Fire to destroy hismanhood. He could burn it with oil and a torch, or he could orderErculio to slash it away with a knife. The podesta had chosen Greek Firebecause it was strange, hinted of magic--maligno. Daoud remembered whatd'Ucello had said, an eon ago, when they were talking upstairs: that hewould prefer picking a lock to forcing it. Even now the podesta wastrying to use fear rather than pain to make Daoud tell him what hewanted to know. D'Ucello himself did not really relish inflictingphysical pain; he preferred to work on men's emotions.
D'Ucello peered at him. "Under the appearance of a helpless andterrified merchant, there is bravado. But now you know what a terriblething is going to happen to you if you persist. I will give thatunderstanding time to ripen."
He drew away and turned to Erculio. "I will return at midday, after mymorning audiences. See that he thinks about what is going to happen tohim."
Erculio bowed. "Signore."
The podesta left the dungeon, still holding the silver flask.
_He has to put off carrying out his threat_, Daoud thought. _Once he haspoured that Greek Fire on my loins, he has done his worst. If the feardoes not force me to speak, the deed is pointless. After it is done Iwill have little more to lose. If he were a true torturer, he would havebegun with my toes._
Even so, Daoud was sure d'Ucello would carry out his threat.
_Therefore, I must prepare myself for death._
If d'Ucello used the Greek Fire on him, Daoud would want Erculio to killhim. And he was sure Erculio would do it.
He turned his mind again to thoughts of God. Soon he would beface-to-face with God in paradise.
He heard Erculio talking to the guards, making preparations for some newtorment. Rather than wallow in fear, Daoud visualized a fresh flood ofSoma coursing through his heart and mind and limbs. Saadi had explainedthat there was no limit to how much of a spiritual drug a man couldtake.
This time, as Soma detached his spirit from his body, something happenedto him unlike anything he had never known before. He was looking down athimself. He saw himself lying facedown, nearly nude on the rack, hisblond hair darkened and plastered down with sweat. He saw the bloodyslashes across his back, the blackened burn mark on his leg.
He was floating near the ceiling of the dungeon. He looked down at thespider shape of Erculio, talking with the guards and the clerk. Amazingthat they did not look up here and see him. They thought he was still onthe rack.
He rose through solid stone, a space of lightlessness. Then he wasmoving over tiled floors through the upper levels of the Palazzo delPodesta, and he was out through its iron-sheathed oak door.
The vault of the sky over him was as black and heavy as the stones ofthe dungeon where his body lay. It must be the final hour of night. Eventhough he was a spirit, he sensed that the air was hot and damp.
He rose higher and higher over Orvieto, and amazingly he was able to seedespite the absence of light. He could see the entire oval shape of thecity from end to end, and the deep valleys that surrounded it. There atthe west end was the cathedral of San Giovenale, with the great piazzawhere public events took place. There was Cardinal Ugolini's mansion,near the palace where the pope had lived. On the north side of the town,the Palazzo Monaldeschi, where he had hoped to end the threat to Islamwith swift blows of his dagger. And there--
From such a height--and since it was not yet dawn--he should not havebeen able to recognize her, but he saw and knew at once the small figureof a cloaked and hooded woman striding purposefully through a twistingstreet. She was walking through the eastern side of the town, in thedirection of Tilia's house, which he could see from up here, with thedovecote on its roof and its crenellated balconies, though Sophia couldnot. Beside Sophia, a hulking figure carried a torch to light their way.Ugolini's man-at-arms Riccardo.
Without knowing how he did it, Daoud was down from the sky in an instantand walking invisibly beside her. Her black brows were drawn together ina frown, her nose and mouth covered by a silk scarf. She looked almostlike a Muslim woman. She was full of fear for him, he knew. He wanted totell her not to be afraid, but how could he, knowing he was going todie?
He thanked God for letting him see Sophia one last time.
_I love you, Sophia. Remember our joy._