.

"You have thought of everything, Tilia," said Daoud.

"There is more," she said with a smile, and pulled on an embroidered
strip of purple velvet hanging from the wall. Daoud heard a bell ring
somewhere beyond the wall. Then through the door to the outer gallery
came two more of Tilia's black servants. The first one bore a wide
silver tray, and Daoud smelled a familiar and savory odor that filled
the air of the room. As the servant laid the tray on a round table,
Daoud saw slices of roast kid garnished with shredded cheese on a bed of
rice with peppers.

"Roast yearling!" Daoud exclaimed, delighted.

He bit into a sliver of kid. It was delicious. The meat was accompanied
by sliced boiled lemons sprinkled with nadd and scented with ambergris.

"But where did you learn to prepare such a dish?"

The stout little woman rolled her eyes. "There is much you do not know
about me. If I find you deserving I will tell you, one day. Meanwhile,
partake! And you, Lorenzo. And Francesca. Levantine cookery will not
poison you."

The second servant set a platter of peaches and figs and a flagon of
kaviyeh beside the lamb. A good meal for a long night, thought Daoud.

He sat on one of the couches to peer through a peephole. He could see
the three women gathered around Sordello's inert form. They were
massaging him gently, as instructed.

But it would be a while yet before he woke and found himself with three
beautiful women, every pleasure they gave him enhanced by hashish.

"In the south we know and love Saracen dishes," said Lorenzo with a grin
as he licked his fingers after helping himself to the kid. "But, Madama
Tilia, am I to have food only? Shall I not have a companion to help me
endure this night's work?"

Tilia reached up and pulled at the end of his grizzled mustache. "Only
rarely does a Sicilian bullock set foot in my house. I am saving you for
myself."

"Meraviglioso!" Lorenzo exclaimed. "Instead of one of the handmaidens of
Venus I shall have Venus herself."

Lorenzo's wit was itself meraviglioso, thought Daoud. But for him,
something other than the games of Venus was uppermost in his mind. Ever
since his angry words with Sophia of a few days before, he had been
troubled by the thought of Rachel. And especially tonight when, even as
he passed the time here at Tilia's, Simon de Gobignon was visiting
Sophia. Sophia had been to see Rachel herself, but had refused to talk
about her. He wanted to reassure himse