sman's blade on the back of his neck as
he had not felt it since that day Qutuz demanded his death. The thought
of being executed at Qutuz's command outraged him. It was one thing to
die as a mujahid, a martyr in holy war for Islam, destined to be taken
at once into paradise. But what a shameful fate, to be murdered because
your own sovereign lord did not trust you.

"I am your slave, Effendi."

"Not slave, Daoud. You are as near a son to me as a Mameluke can be. Are
you not the husband of my favorite daughter? I speak now with you
because I must speak, and in all this camp you are the only one I can
rely on absolutely."

Daoud felt tears coming to his eyes. He was embarrassed, even though he
knew it was a manly thing to weep easily. For him crying was rare.

Baibars rested a large, strong hand on Daoud's arm.

"Never to know any brothers but our khushdashiya, our barracks mates,
never to know any father but the emir who trained and freed us, it makes
us the hardest, the finest warriors in the world. But we long for the
loving families we never had."

Daoud wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe.

They sat in silence for a long time, while Daoud, stroking his thick
blond beard, grappled with what Baibars was asking of him. Asking, not
in words, but in the spaces between the words.

Baibars spoke. "Remember what the Tartar general, Ket Bogha, called
Qutuz? The murderer of his master. The world belittles us because each
sultan has climbed to the throne over the murdered body of the last
sultan. Turan Shah, murdered."

He held up his left hand, his sword hand.

"I myself killed Turan Shah because he betrayed the Mamelukes. Next, Ai
Beg, murdered. The Sultana Spray of Pearls, murdered. Ali, son of Ai
Beg, murdered. Each murder weakens the throne itself."

"The throne is as strong as the man who holds it," said Daoud.

Baibars continued to look at his left hand, his head turned to the side
in his one-eyed way. "Even so, Ai Beg did not himself kill Turan Shah
and Qutuz did not himself kill Ali. If I kill Qutuz and take the throne
with his blood on my hand, I am inviting every other Mameluke emir to
kill me when my back is turned. The title of El Malik, the sultan, chief
sovereign of Islam, will be like a ball in a game of mall, flying this
way and that."

Daoud felt as if he were standing at the mouth of an enormous black
cave. It was one thing to know that Qutuz was not fit to rule. It was
another thing t