Sordello spat at Lorenzo's feet. "Ladruncolo! Sneak!" At this Lorenzo and Daoud broke into laughter, while Sordello glared at them helplessly. The hoop on which he was splayed turned slowly one way and then back the other. "You are indignant at being spied upon?" Lorenzo chuckled. "Then imagine how we feel. And what is worse, you do not even tell the truth about us." "I piss in your teeth," Sordello snarled. "For instance, what you write about Madonna Sophia," Lorenzo went on, unperturbed. "You lost her a mere three streets from the cardinal's mansion. She knew you were following her and took pains to rid herself of your unwanted attentions. But you could not admit to your master what a buffone you are, so you made up all that about her buying gloves in the bazaar and going to church." Actually, Daoud thought, that was the afternoon Sophia had come here, to Tilia's house, to see Rachel, and it would have been disastrous if Sordello had followed her. They would then have had to kill him, which would have been unfortunate, since this way of handling him was so much better. Of course, they might still have to kill him. He already knew enough about them to send them all to the stake if he ever spoke out. He must be brought under control, to serve their purposes, or he must quietly disappear. "So, you not only spy on us, but you lie about us," said Daoud. "And to whom do you send these lies? When the Bulgarian woman Ana takes your weekly reports back to the Palazzo Monaldeschi, to whom does she deliver them? De Verceuil? De Gobignon?" "Go peddle your silks and spices, Messer David." The man was so ill-tempered he had not the sense to try to protect himself by hiding his anger and defiance. Daoud gritted his teeth in frustration. Sordello was not breaking quickly enough. Daoud sent Lorenzo a signal with two fingers. Lorenzo sprang at Sordello with his blade, a dagger so big it was almost a short sword, and slashed at his tunic, belt, and hose. The blacks grinned. Sordello roared his protests. A last flick of the blade cut away his grimy loincloth. In a moment Sordello hung naked on the ring, his shredded clothes hanging from his ankles or lying on the flagstone floor. His body was wiry and muscular, with only a small paunch at the waist. The flickering torchlight picked out the shadows of scars crossing his chest and belly. Daoud stared with curiosity and faint distaste at the uncircumcised penis peeping from its thicket of grizzled hair. Daoud put his fingertips together and casually crossed his legs, lounging back in the throne, letting the contrast between his position and Sordello's sink in. He prayed that the man might succumb. His soul must be made of sand; how could it be otherwise? The ring slowly rotated. Sordello twisted his head to look over his shoulder at Daoud. "If you kill me, he will know." There was the faintest quiver in his voice.