"For us, I think, much is changed." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I love you. Does love mean anything to you Muslims?" He laughed softly. "Of course it does. _In this world, women and perfume are dearest to me._ So spoke our Prophet, may God commend and salute him." She shook her head and ran her finger down his forehead and nose. "I am glad I am as dear to you as perfume. You say 'our Prophet,' lying there looking more French than Simon de Gobignon. Of course, that is why your sultan sent you here. If I, who know what you are, still find it hard to accept you as a Saracen, those who do not know would never suspect." As she spoke the name de Gobignon, he felt a twinge of anger. Just his name, mentioned in their bed, was an intrusion. Her eyes flickered momentarily away from his, as if she, too, realized it was an error. Best, he thought, to say nothing about it. "Yes, I am truly a Muslim, and Muslims know more of love, I believe, than most Christians." But now he thought of Blossoming Reed. _Why must these ghosts hover over us?_ She reached out to touch the little leather capsule tied by a thong around his neck, the only thing he was wearing at the moment. "What is that?" "It is called a tawidh. Inside are numbers written on a scroll. It protects me from death by wounding and causes any wounds I do receive to heal quickly." "Tawidh?" She mimicked exactly the Arabic pronunciation. "How can numbers on a scroll protect from wounds?" He did not fully understand himself the Sufi belief that all things are numbers, and that numbers written by a holy man could control objects and events. "One must be of my faith to understand it," he said briefly. She looked at him earnestly. "It is so hard to think of you as a Mohammedan, David." "Not Mohammedan--Muslim. And David is not my name. My true name is Arabic. Shall I tell it to you?" "Oh, yes, please. I will use it with you when we are alone together." "I am called Daoud ibn Abdallah. Daoud is Arabic for David." "Then your name _is_ David." "No, it is Daoud," he said. "The sound matters a great deal. It is the sound that God hears." "You believe that God speaks Arabic?" "It is the language most pleasing to Him. Did He not give His message to the Prophet--may God praise and salute him--in Arabic?" She pulled herself closer to him. "Ah, David--Daoud--do not talk to me of religion now. Here and now, let us think not of religions and empires and wars, but only of you and me." She paused and looked at him a little anxiously. "Do you think the servants or anyone else heard me screaming?" "I saw no one outside. Most of them probably suspect that we have been lovers for a long time. But suspicion is one thing. To confirm it by our outward behavior could be dangerous. We must continue to act as if this never happened." "We will do this again, will we not?" He touched her dark red lips with his fingertips and said: