"Saved? Of course I am saved. When a warrior dies fighting in defense of the faith, God welcomes him with open arms into paradise. I do ask your blessing. You are a holy man. And I ask your forgiveness for throwing you down those stairs." "That was you!" De Gobignon's eyes widened. "Of course. I wish I could tell you all the things I have done, good and bad. I have had a life of many miracles." De Gobignon's face hardened. "You killed Alain." Daoud hoped the realization would not turn de Gobignon against him. Sophia's life might depend on the count's forgiving him. "Have I not admitted that I waged secret war on you in Orvieto? Yes, I killed your friend. I later was sorry I had done it, but he could have exposed me. I hurt Friar Mathieu. But I could not kill--a priest. All the things that thwarted you in Orvieto--they were my doing." "I hate you for those things. For Alain especially." "The princes of Europe and the Tartars would put countless men, women, and children to the sword. They still may do it. That is what I came here to fight against. To save my people." De Gobignon shook his head. "How can you feel they are your people? You were not born a Muslim." "Nor was Muhammad. May God commend and salute him. My faith is the faith of the homeless, the uprooted, the exiled. The Prophet said, _Islam began in exile and it will end in exile_." Friar Mathieu's bearded face and anxious blue eyes seemed to float over Daoud. "You lie there, defeated, dying. Charles has conquered Manfred. Does this not mean that your faith has failed you?" "Whatever God's purpose has been for me, I have accomplished it. God may destroy unworthy bearers of the truth, but the truth He will not destroy." "Do you think yourself unworthy?" "I hope I have not been. I have tried to be a good slave to God. That is what the word Mameluke means--slave." _I have wandered in the desert and now I am going to the watering place._ He wanted to say more, but there was no strength in his breath. The silver globe was cracking like an egg, and a black, irresistible tide of pain was pouring out. "Take the tawidh from around my neck, Father," he whispered. He felt fingers at his collar, and after a moment the thong slid free. _Make me to die submissive unto Thee and join me to the righteous. I bear witness that there is no god but God and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and Messenger. Amin!_ He could not hold the pain back. He could escape it only in sleep. He could not see Friar Mathieu or Simon de Gobignon or Rachel. His eyes were closing. He would dream of Sophia. * * * * * Rachel clutched the leather capsule desperately, as if by holding it tightly enough she could keep Daoud alive. She felt her sorrow crushing her as if it were a great stone pillar pressing down from the sky. She touched his cheek with her fingertips, and his face felt still as stone, and she knew the life had gone out of him.