, Daoud ibn Abdallah, once
David Langmuir, had penetrated to the very center of Christian power.

_Was there ever a moment like this before in all of time, when a servant
of the true God and a believer in the word of the Prophet held the hand
of a pope in his?_

"Messer David of Trebizond, the Venetians have just raised the prices of
saffron, curry, ginger, and cardamom," said the pontiff in a deep voice.
"All of which are indispensable to my kitchen. Can you furnish me with
spices more cheaply?"

It took all of Daoud's self-control to hold in a burst of laughter. A
Mameluke comes face-to-face with the pope, and what do they discuss? The
price of spices!

But he sobered as he realized how useful the pope's interest in spices
could be to him. As a purveyor of spices to the papal palace, his
position in Orvieto would be more respected and more secure.

"If you deal with us, Holy Father, you are dealing with the people from
whom the Venetians get those spices," said Daoud with a smile as he
stood up. "This is exactly the purpose of my visit."

"Good, good. Have Cardinal Ugolini arrange an appointment for you with
my steward."

As they walked away, Daoud said softly to Ugolini, "Would it not be
amusing if the Sultan of Cairo were to furnish the spices for the pope's
kitchen?" The irony of it once again struck him as funny. What a tale
for the bazaars of El Kahira.

Ugolini stared at him, side whiskers quivering. "Not amusing at all."

_Ugolini is right to be afraid. I saw what they did to that man in the
piazza. I must not make jokes. Ugolini needs to feel he can rely on me._

Celino emerged from the circle around the Tartars to stand before Daoud.
At Daoud's insistence the Sicilian wore garments tailored specially for
this evening, mostly in white, with gold embroidery on the edges of his
waist-length ermine-trimmed cape and his satin tunic.

"What are the Tartars doing?" Daoud asked.

"Sitting and drinking and mostly talking to each other," said Celino.
"There is a crowd of curious people around them, asking them questions."

"Where is that Friar Mathieu who interprets for them?"

Celino shrugged. "Not here. There is a woman from some eastern country
translating."

Daoud felt a tingle of excitement, like a hunter who had sighted prey.

He surveyed the room. Simon de Gobignon--_may his right hand rot and
wither_--had already left with Sophia, as Daoud and Sophia had planned.
De Verceuil still hovered nea