He leaned forward to give Lorenzo a closer look at it without taking it from around his neck. The locket's magic should work only for the person to whom it was given. Daoud heard a low growl. The great hound had risen to his feet and was staring at him with eyes as dark brown as his master's. His upper lip curled, revealing teeth like ivory scimitars. "Silence, Scipio," Lorenzo said. His voice was soft, but iron with command. The dog sat down again, but kept his eyes fixed on Daoud. Heart pounding, he waited for Lorenzo's reaction to the locket. The official grasped it, pulling Daoud's head closer still. "Mh. This is Greek writing, you say? It looks more like Arabic to me." "It is very ancient, Messere, and the two alphabets are similar. I cannot read it myself. But it has been blessed by our Christian priests." Lorenzo let go of the locket and glowered at him. "What Christian priests? Where did you say you are from? What is your name?" With deep relief Daoud stepped back from Lorenzo, snapped the locket shut, and dropped it back inside the collar of his tunic. "I am David Burian, from Trebizond, Messere." "Trebizond? I never heard of it," said the mustached man. "It is on the eastern shore of the Black Sea." "You have come such a great distance with only a few yards of silk and a mirror in your pack? Would you have me believe this is how you expect to make your fortune?" Daoud reached deep in his lungs for breath. Now he would see whether the Christians would believe the story he and Baibars had devised. "Messere, my city, Trebizond, lies on the only road to the East not cut off by the Saracens. A few brave merchants come from the land called Cathay bearing silk and spices. The samples I have brought with me, doubtless you can see, are of the highest quality. We can send you many bales of such silk overland from Trebizond to Constantinople, then by ship to your port of Manfredonia. I am here to arrange this trade." "Arrange it with whom?" Daoud hesitated. He had come to Lucera to meet with King Manfred. If, through some mistake, he should fall into the wrong hands, he would try to get word to the king that he was there. "Your local merchants, your royal officials," he said. "Even your King Manfred, if he wishes to talk to me." "So, a dusty peddler comes to our city gate and wants to speak with the king." He turned to the guard with the spear. "Take him to the castello." Daoud molded the Face of Clay into an expression of naive wonderment. "The castello? Where King Manfred is?" Lorenzo grinned without mirth. "Where King Manfred's _prison_ is, my man. Where we hang the people sent by the pope to murder King Manfred." Lorenzo's eyes were hard as chips of obsidian, and when he said the word _hang_, Daoud could feel the rough rope tightening around his neck. But he was more angry now than frightened. His jaw muscles clenched. Why had Aziz not made sure there would be no mistake like this?