Daoud chose not to ask the obvious question--who "he" was--but said, keeping his voice soft and kindly, "What will he learn from your death, Sordello?" Before Sordello could answer, Lorenzo burst out, "We are not going to kill him for a long while, are we, Messer David? You promised me I could have some sport." "Quiet, Giancarlo," said Daoud, narrowing his eyes. "You shall have your sport." "Why torture me? Why kill me?" There was a plea in Sordello's voice now. "I have told nothing that could hurt you." "You have told _us_ nothing, Sordello." Daoud stood up. The platform on which the throne chair stood gave him impressive height, and the torches high in the wall behind him threw his shadow across the room. "I admire your fidelity to your master, whoever he is," Daoud said with a smile. "What a pity he will never know about it. As I told you, this is hell, and you are dead already. You will just vanish, like a bit of rubbish washed out of the city by the rain. Your master will probably think you deserted him, as your sort of wandering ladrone so often does." "I am not a highwayman!" Sordello's cry echoed against the stone vault. "I am a man of honor. I am an educated man, a trovatore." "You are feccia!" Lorenzo shouted, and slapped Sordello's face hard. "For that I will one day slice open your guts," Sordello growled. Exasperated, Daoud saw that hurting Sordello only made him angrier. If they hurt him enough, certainly, they would have him begging for mercy, but by then they might have injured him so badly he would be of no use to them. "Let him be, Giancarlo," Daoud snapped. "I saved your life," Sordello said to Daoud. "I killed a man for you. Is this how you repay me--letting this pig strip me and beat me?" His narrowed eyes gave a hint of slyness. "I could be worth ten of this Neapolitan mezzano to you." "You dare call me a pimp!" Lorenzo lunged at Sordello again, this time aiming the point of the huge dagger at his belly. Sordello twisted his body in the chains and gave a cry of fright. "Giancarlo!" Daoud shouted sternly. "Back!" Sordello hung rigid in his chains. Sweat ran down his face. His whole body was covered with sweat, glistening in the torchlight, and Daoud suspected he would be cold to the touch. Sordello's eyes rolled from Lorenzo, who stood frozen with the dagger outstretched, to Daoud and back again. The two blacks stood behind Lorenzo, smiling broadly. "You are worth nothing to me at the moment, Sordello, because you refuse even to give me the one harmless piece of information I ask for. You will not tell me who set you to spy on me. So I might as well give you to Giancarlo here for his amusement." He held a hand out to Lorenzo, as if giving him leave to proceed. "It is Simon de Gobignon!" Sordello cried. "It is to him my messages go."