al tower.

He reviewed the plan of the castle he had committed to memory in El
Kahira. He was sure that behind the double doors was the great royal
audience hall. The wide doorway would allow troops assembled in the Hall
of Mars to march into the audience chamber for a review.

Daoud noticed a group of Muslim guards lounging in one corner. At
Lorenzo's entrance they touched their hands to their turbans in salute.
Lorenzo responded with the same gesture. Scipio carried the trencher in
his mouth to a corner of the room, where he lay down and began pushing
the hard bread around with his forepaws and, working at it with his
formidable teeth, making loud crunching noises.

Celino led Daoud to the center of the room. He turned suddenly on Daoud.

"Now, spy, you will tell me exactly who you are and exactly where you
come from," he said rapidly. "You will tell me the truth, or you will
die here and now."

Daoud came within a breath of answering, then realized Lorenzo had
spoken in Arabic. Relieved laughter bubbled up toward his throat--he had
not been caught. He choked it down and assumed a puzzled expression.

"I do not understand," Daoud said in Italian. "What tongue are you
speaking, Messer Lorenzo?"

"Liar," said Lorenzo, still in Arabic, his eyes narrowing.

"I understand Italian, Greek, and, of course, the speech of Scythia,"
said Daoud. "If you would question me, speak in one of those tongues."
Daoud sensed that the Sicilian's sudden shifts of mood were calculated.
While his mouth uttered accusations, Celino's eyes watched him with a
calm intelligence that reminded Daoud of an emir examining a
fine-looking horse for hidden flaws.

Daoud saw, at the edge of his vision, that the guards who had been
lounging in the corner of the hall were now in motion. He glanced
quickly left and right. Three men, about fifty paces away, were coming
at him, curved swords drawn. The dog, Scipio, had abandoned the trencher
and risen to his feet, and he, too, was advancing on Daoud, fangs bared.

Lorenzo stepped away from Daoud, still pointing at him.

"Spegni! Kill!"

Tension crackled across Daoud's stomach like a lash. Three swords, and a
dog that looked capable of killing a man. None of the weapons he had
hidden on him would do for this. He slung his pack toward the wall
behind him, leaving both hands free.

He half turned, to keep Lorenzo in sight while watching the advancing
men. The Sicilian had a long dagger in a scabbar