obbed.

"Get up on this one." Celino indicated the horse from which he had just
dragged the old man. "Take your packs off the donkey and put them on
this horse if you want them. Quickly, quickly. Leave the donkey."

Daoud fingered the crossbow as the boy hastily transferred himself and
his goods to the horse.

_Still Celino risks our lives with his care for these strangers. Damned
infidel. I am the leader of this party._

"Here they come!" cried Sophia. Waving swords and long-handled
halberds--God knew where they had gotten them--and sticks and
pitchforks, the crowd from the inn tumbled through the gate. Some of
them were on horses.

"Ride!" shouted Daoud in the voice he used to command his Mameluke
troop.

He kicked his spurs into his horse's side and sent it galloping down the
road.

He and Celino had not talked about which way to flee, but there was
really only one direction they could go--north, toward their
destination. That, he knew, would take them straight into the heart of
Rome.

There would be a price to pay for the blood they had shed this night.

The great Salah ad-Din had said it:

_Blood never sleeps._

VIII

The clatter of four horses' hooves over the broken paving stones of the
Appian Way rang in Daoud's ears. He heard shouts behind him as the men
from the Ox's Head organized a pursuit. And beside him the old man, held
erect by Celino's powerful arm, groaned again and again as the wild ride
jolted his stomach wound. His legs dangled lifelessly on either side of
the horse.

Daoud looked over his shoulder and saw that the boy was keeping up,
riding next to Celino. His robes were hiked up and his skinny, bare legs
gleamed in the faint moonlight. Daoud could hear him sobbing loudly, in
time with his father's groans, as the horses pounded onward.

Glancing over at Sophia, on his right, he saw that she was stiff in the
saddle, like one not used to riding, and the moonlight showed her lips
tight and her jaw clenched. But she rode hard and made no complaint. She
sat astride, wearing trousers under a divided skirt. Daoud felt himself
admiring her. So far the woman had proved no burden. Celino had caused
trouble, but not she.

Glancing quickly again at her profile, outlined by moonlight, he
realized with a start that she reminded him of a face he had not seen in
many years. Nicetas. She had the same high forehead and long, straight
nose. Her mouth was fuller, but her lips had the chise