"

The Angel of Death, thought Daoud, had done it. Feeling himself mortally
ill, the pope had realized he could no longer bargain with the King of
France on an equal basis. He would have to offer Louis what he wanted,
permission to ally himself with the Tartars.

"Will the pope now support the alliance openly?" If Daoud chose to
fight, he thought, he would have to strike hard and fast. He would have
to strike at the Tartars.

Despite the downward turn of his fortunes, Daoud felt a strange
lightness of heart as he considered the prospect. He had tried every
other way of preventing Tartars and Christians from forming an
alliance--persuasion, bribery, the spreading of lies.

Now he could turn to the way he was best at. War.

"Urban will not come out for the alliance at once," said Ugolini.
"Before Bolsena, Fra Tomasso and my Italian colleagues in the Sacred
College stirred up so much feeling against the Tartars that Urban would
lose support all over Europe if he were to call now for a pact between
Christians and Tartars. So he must move slowly, with Fra Tomasso now
working with him, winning approval for the alliance."

"What if the French sent an army to him now?" Daoud asked.

Ugolini laughed. "Do you think King Louis of France can sow dragon's
teeth and have an army spring up in his fields overnight? He would have
to summon the great barons of France. They would have to decide whether
they support his cause, then assemble the lesser barons and knights.
Supplies must be gathered, money found to pay the knights and
men-at-arms. It can take years to raise an army big enough to wage a
war."

_The Mamelukes would be ready to ride in a day._

_How had the crusaders managed to make any inroads at all in the Dar
al-Islam?_

"If the pope is not ready to declare for the alliance, there is time,"
said Daoud. "Nothing is settled yet."

"Time for what? What will you do now?"

He pushed himself away from the wall, went to a mullioned window, and
pulled open one of the casements. To the northwest a tower of orange
brick with square battlements looked arrogantly down upon the huddled
masses of peaked red roofs. From the tower fluttered the orange and
green banner of the Monaldeschi. There the Tartars were.

He turned from the window and moved slowly toward Ugolini's table.

"I am sorry," he said as gently as he could. "This is not ended."

Ugolini had been playing with the dioptra. He dropped it with a clank.

"What