ls, Messer David," said King Manfred. "Now let us talk of the silk
trade. Join us, Lorenzo."

Manfred led the way into the audience chamber beyond the Hall of Mars.
Walking beside Daoud, Celino snapped his fingers at Scipio. The big gray
hound rose and followed, casting a hostile look at Daoud.

_Why did they try to kill me?_

In the audience hall, marble pillars supported a vaulted ceiling pierced
by circular glazed windows. A dozen or more men and women stood around,
staring at Daoud. His glance quickly took in the feathered caps of the
men, the pale rose and violet gowns of the women, and the gilded nets
that held their hair.

He tried not to stare at the women, whose faces were bare in the manner
of unbelievers. But they were all, he noted, beautiful in varying
degrees. Several had striking blond hair and blue eyes. Though it was
his own coloring, he was not used to seeing fair women, and his
heartbeat quickened.

But the gaze of a darker woman met his. Her amber-colored eyes seemed to
burn. Her nose was small, the nostrils flaring, her lips full and dark
red. The face was carefully without expression, revealing as little as
if it were indeed covered with a veil.

The dark woman's black hair was coiled on top of her head in braids
intertwined with ropes of pearls. Her scarlet gown was decorated with
long strips of satin embroidered in floral designs. Over her narrow
shoulders she wore a shawl of flame-colored silk. Having been to
Constantinople, Daoud recognized her style of dress as Byzantine. She
made the other women of Manfred's court look like barbarians.

She held his gaze steadily. He bowed his head courteously, and she
responded with a faint nod. Then he was past her.

Standing on a dais at the end of the hall was a large chair of black
wood with painted panels; to the left of the dais sat a small group of
purple-robed men holding string and wind instruments. On the right was a
small doorway. A servant leapt to fling open the door for Manfred, who
strode briskly toward it, tossing pleasantries to his courtiers.

The door led through a series of rooms where clerks wrote busily, and
Daoud noticed with surprise that they went right on scribbling as their
king walked through. Obviously Manfred preferred their work to their
homage.

Daoud sensed that their path was taking them on a circuit of the great
eight-sided structure. They passed through a small kitchen where bakers
were preparing fruit pastries