were huge,
and her nostrils flared with passion. Daoud suppressed an urge to laugh
aloud with delight.

De Verceuil checked his rush to get to his Tartar charges, and turned to
the contessa. "Your Signory, I beg you to understand. They have been
drinking. They did not know what they were saying. Old soldiers'
boasting. Exaggerated tales of their exploits. The Tartars are given to
that sort of thing."

"It is not exaggerated," the old lady cried shrilly. "We have heard
tales before of their massacres. Now I have heard the same from their
own lips. These very men whom I have welcomed into my house--their hands
drip with the blood of children. One of them told how he slit the
throats of forty babies. And they are proud of what they have done. They
feel no remorse. Old soldiers' boasting? Old soldiers boast of
overcoming strong enemies. These--these bestioni gloat over the
slaughter of the helpless. Perhaps they look at my palazzo and think
that one day it will be theirs. And you have brought them under my
roof."

"Donna Elvira," de Verceuil pleaded, "let me find out the truth about
what has been happening here."

Daoud's heartbeat quickened. He should slip away now. Drunk as he was,
he would be too vulnerable to de Verceuil.

The French cardinal was shouting at the Bulgarian woman. John the Tartar
was smiling as if de Verceuil's appearance were enough in itself to
extricate him from the consequences of his too-free speech. Philip's
fleshy chin rested on his chest and his eyes were fast shut.

Something white moved in the corner of Daoud's eye, and he looked toward
the doorway leading to the inner galleria, where the gaming had been
going on. Lorenzo was just sauntering out. He was all the way across the
room, and Daoud's vision was too blurred to see his expression, but he
was probably smiling. He walked closer, seeming to be looking at Daoud
for a signal, but Daoud could think of none to send.

_Well done, Lorenzo. How badly, I wonder, did you have to play at
backgammon to keep de Verceuil occupied all this time?_

"How could I stop them from speaking, Your Eminence?" Ana was
protesting. "I am here only to translate what they say. This man came up
to talk to them, and I simply repeated what they said to him and what he
said back to them."

"What man?" de Verceuil asked the question almost in a whisper, and
Ana's eyes turned toward Daoud.

_Too late. Now I must face him._

"You," de Verceuil said in the sam