"If you deal with us, Holy Father, you are dealing with the people from whom the Venetians get those spices," said Daoud with a smile as he stood up. "This is exactly the purpose of my visit." "Good, good. Have Cardinal Ugolini arrange an appointment for you with my steward." As they walked away, Daoud said softly to Ugolini, "Would it not be amusing if the Sultan of Cairo were to furnish the spices for the pope's kitchen?" The irony of it once again struck him as funny. What a tale for the bazaars of El Kahira. Ugolini stared at him, side whiskers quivering. "Not amusing at all." _Ugolini is right to be afraid. I saw what they did to that man in the piazza. I must not make jokes. Ugolini needs to feel he can rely on me._ Celino emerged from the circle around the Tartars to stand before Daoud. At Daoud's insistence the Sicilian wore garments tailored specially for this evening, mostly in white, with gold embroidery on the edges of his waist-length ermine-trimmed cape and his satin tunic. "What are the Tartars doing?" Daoud asked. "Sitting and drinking and mostly talking to each other," said Celino. "There is a crowd of curious people around them, asking them questions." "Where is that Friar Mathieu who interprets for them?" Celino shrugged. "Not here. There is a woman from some eastern country translating." Daoud felt a tingle of excitement, like a hunter who had sighted prey. He surveyed the room. Simon de Gobignon--_may his right hand rot and wither_--had already left with Sophia, as Daoud and Sophia had planned. De Verceuil still hovered near the pope. "Celino, you heard the contessa's servant announcing games in the next room? See if you can draw Cardinal de Verceuil into a game with you." "He favors backgammon," said Ugolini. "All the French dote on backgammon," said Celino. "Keep him entertained," said Daoud. "To entertain de Verceuil you will have to bore yourself," said Ugolini. "He prefers a game whose outcome is never in doubt." Daoud and Ugolini turned to the serving table, and Daoud began methodically to work his way through the various dishes the contessa's servants had set out for her guests. There were eels steeped in a strange, almost rotten-smelling sauce, there were small, tender lobsters and large, meaty ones. There were baby birds meant to be eaten bones and all. There was white bread and there were fine cakes. Daoud filled his stomach, forcing himself to eat even those foods that repelled him, while he watched Celino join the group gathered with the pope. Daoud used his dagger to cut himself a slice of roast veal. It was juicy and tender, and he cut himself another. The meat tasted as if the calf had been killed that same day; it was not heavily spiced. How pleasant to dine at the home of a wealthy woman. By the time he finished his fourth slice, Celino and de Verceuil were in conversation.