ou least expect it you will find yourself in hell. Not
the one we created for you last night. The real one."

"You don't need to threaten me," said Sordello with a flash of his old
rebelliousness. "Just tell me what you want."

"Simply go on doing what you have been doing. You will give the Count de
Gobignon information about us--but from now on we will tell you what to
tell him. And you will keep me informed about the young count. Hardly
any work at all, you see."

Sordello grunted. "I doubt it will be that easy. But as long as you
offer a reward so great, I am your man."

_My slave_, thought Daoud, hoping that his pity for this creature did
not show in his face.

But he must remember that there were hidden places in this man's soul.
And he had never before tried to enslave a man as the Hashishiyya did
it. He could not be sure that he had succeeded fully, and so he had made
a creature potentially as dangerous to himself as to anyone else. The
flesh on the back of his neck crawled.

* * * * *

She was sitting by the window, staring out at the spot on the street
where the young man's body had lain. She heard the door open behind her.
She turned, and there was David. Golden-haired, lean, tall, with those
light-filled eyes. She forgot herself and felt a leap of love, and then
her heart clenched like a fist with anger.

_Wait, let him tell it before I judge him._

He closed the door slowly, a strange expression on his face. She looked
from him to the image of the saint. Yes. The look around the eyes was
the same. They had accepted pain and sorrow, did not struggle against it
as ordinary people did, and they knew _something_.

Except that David's eyes were not the bright blue of the saint's.
David's eyes seemed to reflect whatever color was about him.

How could it be that the icon she had painted could remind her of two
such different men as Simon de Gobignon and David of Trebizond?

He stood there looking at her, and she realized that he was waiting for
her to speak. He wanted to know what she and Simon had done in this
room, and he did not want to ask. And she knew at that instant, watching
his face, that he was expecting to be hurt by what she would tell him
about herself and Simon.

_But what about that young Frenchman in the street? I saw Simon kneel by
him, weep for him, bear him away._

"Something terrible has happened," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "You did not succe