f it glowed red in the dim light
of the chamber. His teeth flashing white under his thick mustache,
Lorenzo advanced on Sordello.

"No! It is the truth!" Sordello shrieked, the chain that suspended the
hoop rattling as he tried to pull himself away from Lorenzo and the
smoking metal rod he held. As Lorenzo slowly approached, Sordello
babbled out a tale of having been sent to Venice by Charles d'Anjou,
brother of the King of France, to recruit and command archers for Count
Simon. He had gotten into a brawl and wounded an Armenian prince who had
come to Venice with the Tartars, and Simon had sent him away.

"I cannot serve Count Simon openly because the Armenians still want my
blood," Sordello explained. "So he set me to spy on you instead."

The frantic haste with which Sordello spilled out his story gave it the
sound of truth. This was going much better. Daoud's tense jaw muscles
were relaxing.

Daoud picked up the bowl with the needle in it, gestured Lorenzo back,
and slowly strolled across the chamber to Sordello. He gave the bowl to
Lorenzo to hold, and drew closer until his face was only a hand's width
from Sordello's, until he could smell the inner rot on the man's breath.
Sordello's eyes rolled sideways, trying to watch the needle in the bowl
Lorenzo was holding.

"What does de Gobignon say of me?" Daoud whispered. "What does he think
I am?"

"He thinks you are a foreigner brought here by Ugolini to thwart the
French plans for a crusade," Sordello gasped. "He says Ugolini is an
agent of the Hohenstaufen king. He thinks Giancarlo is gathering a band
of men to murder the Tartars. Please, for the love of God, do not hurt
me, Messere." His eyes would fall out of his head if he stared any
harder at the needle.

"Give me a candle, Giancarlo," said Daoud. He reached out without
looking, and Lorenzo pressed the lighted candle into his hand. Taking a
step back, he held the flame before Sordello's sweating face. His lips
trembling, Sordello turned his head away.

"Look at the flame, Sordello," said Daoud softly. "Just look at the
flame and listen to me. Look at the flame, and I will tell you what I
really am." Daoud passed the candle back and forth before Sordello's
face, murmuring reassurance. Sordello's eyes followed the candle.

He wondered if this would work. It seemed too much like magic. He had
seen it done by Hashishiyya imams, but he had never done it himself.

"I am a sorcerer, Sordello, a mighty wizard