his is how you expect to
make your fortune?"

Daoud reached deep in his lungs for breath. Now he would see whether the
Christians would believe the story he and Baibars had devised.

"Messere, my city, Trebizond, lies on the only road to the East not cut
off by the Saracens. A few brave merchants come from the land called
Cathay bearing silk and spices. The samples I have brought with me,
doubtless you can see, are of the highest quality. We can send you many
bales of such silk overland from Trebizond to Constantinople, then by
ship to your port of Manfredonia. I am here to arrange this trade."

"Arrange it with whom?"

Daoud hesitated. He had come to Lucera to meet with King Manfred. If,
through some mistake, he should fall into the wrong hands, he would try
to get word to the king that he was there.

"Your local merchants, your royal officials," he said. "Even your King
Manfred, if he wishes to talk to me."

"So, a dusty peddler comes to our city gate and wants to speak with the
king." He turned to the guard with the spear. "Take him to the
castello."

Daoud molded the Face of Clay into an expression of naive wonderment.
"The castello? Where King Manfred is?"

Lorenzo grinned without mirth. "Where King Manfred's _prison_ is, my
man. Where we hang the people sent by the pope to murder King Manfred."

Lorenzo's eyes were hard as chips of obsidian, and when he said the word
_hang_, Daoud could feel the rough rope tightening around his neck.

But he was more angry now than frightened. His jaw muscles clenched. Why
had Aziz not made sure there would be no mistake like this?

"Why are you doing this to me, Messer Lorenzo? I mean no harm."

"And I intend to see to it that you _do_ no harm in this place, Messere
of Trebizond," Lorenzo shot back. He waved to the guard. "To the
guardroom, Ahmad."

_May a thousand afrits hound this infidel to his death_, thought Daoud
angrily. "And what will you do with me, Messer Lorenzo?"

"I will examine you further at my leisure, after I have passed all these
good people into the city." One violet-sleeved arm made a flowing
gesture toward the waiting throng.

Daoud noticed that the tiny firewood seller, who had already passed by
the guards, had paused at the inner portal. He shook his head sadly and
touched forehead, shoulders, and chest in that sign Christians made to
recall the cross of Jesus, their Messiah.

_Why, I believe he is praying for me. That is kindly done._