appeared nearly black; it must be night outside. The floor was of
hardwood planks, very clean and highly polished. Moving very slowly and
painfully, Daoud stretched himself out on the yellow satin bedcarpet and
drew d'Ucello's cloak over him like a blanket.

This was a great deal more comfortable than the table on which he had
lain for what seemed like endless days and nights. He could hardly
believe the vast change that had taken place.

_Maybe I have gone mad and this is all like a hashish dream._

D'Ucello sat at a plain oak table piled with parchments, rolled and
unrolled. The candelabra on the table supplied the light for the room. A
slender blue vase with graceful twin handles stood on one corner of the
table.

Though this was not a room that would find favor in the world of Islam,
Daoud recognized that d'Ucello, in his own Venetian way, had a highly
refined sense of beauty.

The podesta unlocked a tall box of dark wood, inlaid with ivory, that
stood on his desk. Lifting the lid, he held the flask of Greek Fire over
it.

"We are both lucky I did not use this," he said. He took a folded white
cloth from the box and wrapped the flask. Then, carefully, he set the
flask upright in the box, closed the lid, and locked it.

Daoud let out a slow sigh of relief as he saw d'Ucello push the box to
one side. It was becoming easier and easier to believe that he was
saved.

In spite of the pain that stabbed at a thousand places on his body,
Daoud was able to smile. "I know why it is lucky for me. Why for you?"

"Cardinal Ugolini and his niece went to the Contessa di Monaldeschi and
insisted that you were innocent, that you were the cardinal's guest.
They begged her to command me to release you at once. The contessa is
very simple in her way, and she likes to do favors for churchmen. So she
sent a message to me that I must stop your torture and come to her at
once."

Daoud could not think. He felt so light-headed that it might have been
easy now for d'Ucello to extract admissions from him. He had been in
pain and had not eaten or slept in over a day. He must pay careful
attention to what he was saying. It would never do to be careless with
d'Ucello.

D'Ucello smiled at Daoud, a humorless grimace that stretched his thin
mustache.

"I am not going to ask your forgiveness," d'Ucello said. "I was doing
what I thought right."

Daoud said nothing. He felt d'Ucello was being frank with him, but he
could not find it in