spent a precious
hour forging. Lorenzo was relieved. He was not at all sure the scroll
would bear close scrutiny, although only one soldier in a thousand could
read. And any clerics who might be along with Charles would probably be
on the edges of the battlefield, succoring the wounded and dying.

"I bring a gift of wine from the Bishop of Agnani to the ambassadors
from Tartary."

"I will have to taste the wine," said the white-haired guard
importantly.

"Of course," said Lorenzo with a grin, and as the guard climbed into the
dark interior of the cart, almost fully occupied by two big wine casks
standing on their bottoms, Lorenzo unhooked a tin ladle from its wooden
wall and handed it to the stout man.

Stupid as well as unfit this guard was, thought Lorenzo. He could stun
him with the sack of sand and stones hidden under his tunic or slit his
throat with the dagger in his boot. But then he would have a body to get
rid of. This particular body would be more of a problem dead than it was
alive and conscious. Lorenzo turned a spigot and let some of the red
wine flow into the ladle.

The guard smacked his lips and grunted. "Too good for those slant-eyed
barbarians."

"Right, my friend," Lorenzo agreed. "But the bishop cultivates their
friendship because he finds them interesting. These high-horse folk have
no common sense."

"If you want to know what is interesting," said the guard, "what is
interesting is the pretty little putana the older Tartar travels with.
They say she's a Jewess. I have often wondered if she would be partial
to other older men."

_Rachel! That pig of a Tartar dragged that poor child here to this
damned war._

"That is interesting, all right. Now, where the hell do I find these
Tartars?"

The guard poured himself another ladle full of wine without bothering to
ask, and drained it with more loud lip noises. Then he and Lorenzo
climbed out of the cart.

"Their tent is the one with blue and yellow stripes in the center of the
camp. You see it? But I do not think you will find them there."

Lorenzo had suspected that the Tartars would not stay in their tent. If
they were out watching the battle with Charles's commanders, it would be
well-nigh impossible to kill them in full view of so many of the enemy.
But that had occurred to him before he left Manfred's camp. He had
thought of another way to carry out Daoud's orders. Along with the
casks, he had brought one jar of a very special wine,