w Daoud stopped, tensing. He called on the power of his mind to resist
the wine. His tears dried on the instant.

"Walk on," said Lorenzo in a low voice. "Keep your arm over my shoulder.
Keep talking to me." In a louder voice he said, "I do not believe
people's souls go to a heaven of any sort."

"Can they hear us?" Daoud said softly. De Verceuil, he thought. He must
have decided to have me killed. His body felt cold. His journey from
Egypt and all his work, despite tonight's triumph, might end here on a
rain-wet street. And what would happen to Sophia if he were killed?

"They cannot hear what we say. But careful, they might be able to tell
from the tone of our voices whether we are aware of them. Can you
fight?"

"Not well. Not well at all." The Scorpion, the small crossbow hidden in
his cloak, he thought, might account for one or two of them, if he could
see well enough to aim it. He blinked his eyes. He saw two moons hanging
over the street, blinked again, and saw one.

"Do not Jews believe in an immortal soul?" he asked in a normal voice,
keeping up the pretense of conversation.

He cursed his lack of foresight. Why had he not thought to arrange for
some of their bravos to meet them and escort them back to Ugolini's
palace? Because he did not want himself connected with the fighting men
Lorenzo had brought to Orvieto. That it had been a sensible precaution
did not ease his anguish now.

"Maimonides writes that men and women live on after they die only in the
memory of others," said Lorenzo. "Of course, orthodox rabbis say that
Maimonides was a heretic."

"If the dead live on only in memory, then my father is truly dead,
because I have done nothing for his memory, and I fight against all that
he fought for."

Daoud realized that his wine-numbed mind was hardly working. He was
relying on Lorenzo to think of some way to get them through this. He
hated having his life depend on another man's cleverness. He tried to
free his thoughts from the poisonous grip of al-koahl. It had been
easier earlier this evening, but he was very tired now.

"I prefer to believe that people become more broadminded after they
die," said Lorenzo. "They come face-to-face with the truth, whatever it
is, and they see how each of us, Turk and Jew and Christian, has been
struggling to uphold a dimly glimpsed version of what they see plainly.
If they do not feel sorry for us, then probably they laugh at us.

"And now, this way. Move as