Cruel and pitiless, ready to
murder anyone who stands in his way.

Certain as the judgment of God it is that Simon and the man in black
will fight again. This is war to the death.

BOOK TWO

THE HOLY WAR

_Anno Domini 1264-1266
Year of the Hegira 662-664_

"That which striketh!
What is that which striketh?
Ah, who will convey to thee what the Striking is?"
--The Koran, Surah CI

"How many men have slept in happiness, unaware that sudden death was
about to strike them?"
--Hulagu Khan

XLV

Daoud drifted in and out of consciousness for two days after the fight
at the Monaldeschi palace. Sleeping was much better than being awake and
remembering failure.

In dreams he rode once again with his khushdashiya, his brother
Mamelukes.

A yellow silk banner rippled in the breeze before them, declaring, WAGE
WAR UTTERLY ON THE IDOLATORS, AS THEY WAGE WAR UTTERLY ON YOU.

Dust clouds swirled around them as they thundered down upon a row of
Frankish knights. From a distance Daoud sent bolt after bolt from his
compound bow whistling into the dark line of mail-clad men. He saw men
clutch at their throats and topple from the saddle.

Screaming, he charged into the midst of the Franks, whirling his saif
over his head, his lance in his left hand. A knight galloped into his
path, holding up a shield white as an eggshell, emblazoned with a red
cross. Daoud brought the saif down, and the knight raised his shield to
fend off the blow. That left the crusader momentarily blind, and Daoud
thrust under the shield with his lance.

The lance went in as if the knight wore no mail. As the Frank fell
backward from his horse, Daoud saw that it was Simon de Gobignon.

Sophia's light touch on his shoulder woke Daoud. He was lying on his
stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw the glowing,
diamond-shaped windowpanes and the familiar white walls of his room on
the upper floor of Cardinal Ugolini's mansion. He turned his head to
look at Sophia. Her dark eyes comforted him.

"Time for your poultice," she said.

He tried to smile at her. "And something to drink. My mouth tastes dry
and foul."

"Wine?"

"By the Archangel, no! The juice of oranges, and later kaviyeh."

Sophia laughed. "Oranges? In April? Y