your guts," Sordello growled.

Exasperated, Daoud saw that hurting Sordello only made him angrier. If
they 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 use
to them.

"Let him be, Giancarlo," Daoud snapped.

"I saved your life," Sordello said to Daoud. "I killed a man for you. Is
this how you repay me--letting this pig strip me and beat me?" His
narrowed eyes gave a hint of slyness. "I could be worth ten of this
Neapolitan mezzano to you."

"You dare call me a pimp!" Lorenzo lunged at Sordello again, this time
aiming the point of the huge dagger at his belly. Sordello twisted his
body 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 whole
body was covered with sweat, glistening in the torchlight, and Daoud
suspected he would be cold to the touch. Sordello's eyes rolled from
Lorenzo, who stood frozen with the dagger outstretched, to Daoud and
back again. The two blacks stood behind Lorenzo, smiling broadly.

"You are worth nothing to me at the moment, Sordello, because you refuse
even to give me the one harmless piece of information I ask for. You
will not tell me who set you to spy on me. So I might as well give you
to Giancarlo here for his amusement." He held a hand out to Lorenzo, as
if giving him leave to proceed.

"It is Simon de Gobignon!" Sordello cried. "It is to him my messages
go."

Daoud's heart leapt with exultation, and he allowed himself a satisfied
little sigh. A flicker of a finger told Lorenzo to lower his knife.
Sordello had made the first surrender, on which all further success with
him depended.

But--de Gobignon. That was a surprise. Daoud had been sure it would be
Cardinal de Verceuil who would try to place a spy in his camp. A
Frankish knight like de Gobignon would prefer the frontal attack, the
pitched battle, to trickery. That was why the Franks were gradually
losing their grip on the land they called Outremer. The French cardinal
was another story. Daoud had seen in him a combination of pride,
ambition, and lack of scruple that would use any means to defeat an
enemy.

How to find out the truth? He ground his teeth.

"You are lying," Daoud said firmly. "It is Cardinal de Verceuil you
serve. Giancarlo--" Daoud gestured, and Lorenzo went over to the brazier
and slowly drew out an iron. The tip o