n away his life?

"Signore!" Daoud turned his head and saw the clerk called Vincenzo in
the doorway of the dungeon. Beside him was a man in orange and green,
the colors of the Monaldeschi family. Daoud remembered the thick black
brows and the stern face, the grizzled hair. He had seen this man the
night of the contessa's reception for the Tartars.

"The Contessa di Monaldeschi's steward brings a message from her,"
Vincenzo said.

With a sigh d'Ucello set the flask of Greek Fire on the table beside
Daoud. In the sigh Daoud heard, not impatience, but relief. D'Ucello was
glad to put off doing this unspeakable thing, but it meant only that
Daoud would have to endure a longer wait.

_Because he does not want to torture me, I suffer the more._

D'Ucello was still hoping the waiting would break him. And it might. In
spite of all his training, in spite of the Soma that kept him calm and
held the pain away, Daoud felt himself at the very edge of his
endurance. He just might break.

The podesta, the clerk, and the contessa's steward muttered together by
the door of the dungeon. Turning his head, Daoud could watch them.

D'Ucello was jabbing his hands furiously toward the steward. He was
having trouble keeping his voice down.

"This is intolerable!" he cried.

The steward took a step backward, but he kept his face set. He spoke in
a voice too low for Daoud to hear.

"Fires of hell!" D'Ucello shook both clenched fists over his head.

He turned and pointed at Daoud. "Keep that one there on the rack till I
return, Erculio."

"Where is my Signore going?"

D'Ucello opened his mouth. His face grew redder in the torchlight, and
he closed it again.

"I will not be gone very long," he said. "I have to _persuade_ someone
of something."

"Shall I torment this fellow while you are gone?"

"Do as you please. At least see that he gets no rest."

He strode across the room to glare down at Daoud. "You will keep your
manhood for another hour or so. By God's grace you have more time to
think. About what will happen to you and how you can save yourself. Do
not think you have escaped. I will be back."

He lifted his hand. A bolt of panic shot through Daoud as he thought
that if d'Ucello hit him hard enough he might break the ball of poison
in his mouth. He held himself rigid.

D'Ucello lowered his hand.

"Damn you!" he snarled, and turned away.

Now Daoud wished d'Ucello _had_ broken the glass ball. He would have to
lie f