e low voice.

Daoud swayed, and it came to him at once how best to respond. He would
pretend to be too drunk to understand what was happening.

"You provoked these indiscretions," the cardinal ground out. The jeweled
cross hanging on his chest winked and glittered as it rose and fell with
his deep breathing.

Daoud put out a hand to grasp the back of his chair. Smiling at the
cardinal, he leaned heavily on the chair and circled it methodically. He
sat down heavily on the arm, almost tipping the chair over. Then he slid
into the seat with a thump.

He looked up at de Verceuil and said, "What?"

The cardinal's hands--they were very large, Daoud saw--clenched and
unclenched.

_He wishes he could strangle me._

"Why have you tried to embarrass these ambassadors?" de Verceuil
demanded. His voice was a good deal louder now.

Daoud let his head loll. He caught sight of Lorenzo again. The Sicilian
was much closer. Daoud shook his head ever so slightly and jerked his
chin.

_Go away._

He let his head fall forward.

De Verceuil moved closer. Raising his eyes while keeping his head
lowered, Daoud found himself staring at the cardinal's belt buckle, a
gold medallion displaying an angel's head with wings growing out of its
curly hair.

"I have embarrassed no one," Daoud mumbled thickly. "I know John and
Philip's people. They are our neighbors." He laughed, and let the laugh
go on too long. "We talked about things everybody knows."

He felt those big hands seize the front of his tunic and jerk him to his
feet. De Verceuil's flushed face was less than a hand's width from his
own. The cardinal's eyes were huge and dark.

Daoud felt his muscles bunch, and he forced them to relax. He felt fear.
Not fear of de Verceuil, whom he could easily kill, but fear of losing
control of himself, of letting the Face of Steel show through the Mask
of Clay. Such a revelation could put an end to his mission.

"Who the devil are you? What are you doing in Orvieto? Answer me!" De
Verceuil shook Daoud violently. Daoud's head rocked back and forth, and
he saw two faces of de Verceuil.

Had there been no wine in his blood, it would have been easier for Daoud
to control his fear and his anger. He knew he must play at being a
merchant who would be terrified at having provoked the wrath of a prince
of the Church. But, as it was, he felt himself caught up in a whirlwind
of rage, and his hands came up, going for the cardinal's throat. Just i