"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."