Daoud told himself that it would be wise to be frightened. But what he felt was more a profound disdain for Paulus de Verceuil.
As a man of religion or of power, how can this squawking bird in red plumage compare with Sheikh Saadi and the Imam Fayum of the Hashishiyya?
The rain was coming down harder. It hissed in the still-burning heap of wood and bones.
A movement near the cathedral steps caught Daoud's eye. He turned and saw Simon de Gobignon looking at him. Why was he alone? Had he, like Daoud, not wanted any of his comrades to see this horror?
How infuriating it must be for that proud young Frank to have to work closely with a man like Cardinal de Verceuil. The cardinal was so arrogant, so overbearing, so crude as to turn people against any cause he might support, no matter how worthy.
As the rain fell on him, Daoud hardly noticed it. He saw a new plan shimmering like a mirage on the horizon of his mind.
XXI
"Bonsoir, Messire. I have not seen you since the day the heretic was burned. I trust the spectacle did not disturb you?"
Simon had deliberately addressed David of Trebizond in French, to find out whether the trader spoke that language in addition to Greek and Italian. He might be from the other side of the earth, but there was something very French-looking about him.