d's eyes followed Manfred's pointing arm to the narrow north end of
the long valley in which Benevento lay. The road from Rome entered the
valley at the north end and ran through it to the gate above which they
were standing. Rows of tents filled the northern opening of the valley,
and the tiny figures of horsemen and foot soldiers were forming dark
lines across the light brown fields.

Last night peasants from that end of the valley had come flocking into
Benevento with cartloads of possessions and stored crops. Even though
they were supposedly supporters of the papal cause, the people who lived
around Benevento felt safer under Manfred's protection.

But this valley was a stone coffin, Daoud thought. Hills on either side,
squeezing together at the top of the valley, the town lying across the
bottom end. In this box, how could he use the Sons of the Falcon well?
He pummeled his brain.

One thing he could at least achieve. He remembered Nuwaihi's report that
the Tartars were with Charles's army. He turned to Lorenzo.

"It falls to you to finish the Tartars. Make your way into Charles's
camp while the battle is on."

Lorenzo's mouth turned down under his thick mustache. "It will take
time. I can take a wagon and go around through the hills and pretend to
be a peasant offering to sell wine and food to Anjou's people."

"Take some men with you."

Lorenzo shook his head. "That would arouse suspicion. If I go alone,
whoever is guarding Charles's camp will see no reason to fear me."

"I went alone into the Palazzo Monaldeschi to kill them, and I could not
do it."

"And I, with my poor Sicilian skills, cannot be expected to succeed
where Daoud ibn Abdallah, who was trained by the Old Man of the Mountain
himself, failed. Is that what you are thinking?"

Daoud smiled ruefully. "Well--"

Lorenzo frowned at him ferociously. "You have given me the task. Let me
carry it out as best I can."

Daoud gripped his arm, feeling muscle like oak. "Go with God, my
brother."

"May your Allah bless your struggle today, Daoud." One last, long look
from the dark brown eyes, and Lorenzo turned away.

Again, as he had with Sophia, Daoud felt anguish that he had not told
Lorenzo enough of his gratitude, his respect, his love.

_And if Lorenzo dies an unbeliever, I will not meet him in paradise._

Manfred was standing at the battlements, staring north at his enemies,
looking, it seemed to Daoud, more sad than angry.

"Sire," Daou