tom of the pool.
Smaller brown carp darted this way and that above it.

"The cardinal's gold makes great things possible," he said. "Will you
leave us for a while, Rachel?"

Sophia handed a small leather-bound book to Rachel. "You may read these
poems of Ovid if you like."

Rachel clasped the book to her narrow chest. "I do not read Latin,
Signora, but I will look at the pictures."

"Have a care," said Sophia with a light laugh. "Some of them may shock
you."

"Then I will try to enjoy being shocked." Rachel bowed and hurried away.

Daoud listened to the banter between the woman and the girl with mixed
feelings. He liked both of them, and he enjoyed hearing them joke with
each other. He imagined women must talk that way among themselves back
in El Kahira, but if they did, men never had a chance to hear.

He also felt deeply uneasy at the growing closeness between Rachel and
Sophia. The two of them shared a room on the top floor of Ugolini's
mansion, next to Daoud's and Lorenzo's. His stomach tightened as he
thought of the long talks they might have. What if Rachel learned that
Sophia was actually a Byzantine woman, when she was supposed to be the
cardinal's niece from Sicily? And what if Rachel then let that slip to a
servant? Byzantines, Greek Catholics, were hated almost as much as
Muslims here in the lands of the Latin Church. One small, seemingly
harmless revelation like that could destroy them utterly.

_I must get them separated._

Turning to Sophia, Daoud was struck once again that so much beauty
should openly display itself outside a harem. A narrow cloth-of-gold
ribbon wound around her neck, crossed between her breasts and tied her
pale peach gown tightly at the waist. Her lustrous black hair was bound
in a net of gold thread.

She looked at him quizzically. Daoud studied her face. Her long,
straight nose, dark red lips and delicate chin made him glad that
Christian women went unveiled. He could well believe this woman had
enjoyed the attentions of an emperor and a king. He himself could not
look at her without wishing he might take her in his arms.

"Well, my Frankish-Turkish master-slave, what has your busy mind found
for me to do? Do you wish me to get myself shot in the street by
Venetians? Or create a disturbance in church and be tortured to death?"

Her thrusts caught Daoud off balance. Feeling a surge of anger, he was
silent for a moment.

Then he jabbed a finger at her. "Do you understand