id demanded.

She shrugged. "He did when I left him. But by now he and Cardinal de
Verceuil will have talked together and may well realize my part in what
we did to them."

"Well," said Ugolini, rubbing his hands together. "There will be no more
need for you to pursue Count Simon, my dear, or for Messer Lorenzo to
play backgammon with the French cardinal. And no need for our
illustrious David to risk further verbal jousting with the Tartars."

Daoud felt a stab of exasperation. Just as he had feared, Ugolini wanted
to believe that with last night's triumph over the Tartars, their work
was done. Would he be able to persuade the cardinal to realize this was
only the beginning of a long struggle--one in which he, Ugolini, must
play the chief part?

"De Verceuil is a clever but sloppy player," Lorenzo interjected. "He
kept leaving blots less than six points away from me. But I managed to
lose eighty florins to him. That kept him interested. Once he decided I
was not a skillful player, he kept doubling the stakes and pressing me
to do the same when the choice was mine." He went over to Ugolini's work
table and poured himself a cup of kaviyeh.

Ugolini laughed. "He must now think his winnings eighty costly florins
indeed." He filled a cup from another pitcher, sprang up, and carried
the cup across the room to Sophia.

"You will enjoy this spiced milk more than the Muslim kaviyeh. It is my
favorite morning drink."

"You think it is all over, then, Cardinal?" Daoud growled. "I can go
away and leave you in peace--and richer?"

From the suddenly outraged face Ugolini turned toward him, Daoud thought
the cardinal might well be wishing the Filippeschi had finished him off.

"Was last night not a victory?" the cardinal asked in a choked voice.

"Do you know the difference between winning a battle and winning a war?"

"What more can the French do?" said Ugolini.

"We must talk about that," said Daoud. "Even though, in spite of this
good kaviyeh, my body screams for rest." He drained the cup, put it
down, and stretched his arms. With difficulty he brought his anger under
control. He must win Ugolini, not turn him into an enemy.

Ugolini had sat down in the high-backed chair behind his work table. His
slender fingers restlessly polished the dome of the skull with the
diagram painted on its cranium that lay before him. He looked as gloomy
as if he were contemplating the day when he himself would be reduced to
bones. Loren