"Those are the priests of the cathedral chapter. It is the beginning of day for them. They are chanting lauds, the dawn prayer of the Church."
Listening to the voices, Daoud felt hot tears running down his face.
Lorenzo glanced at him and chuckled. "I see you are not so impervious to the attractions of Christianity."
Daoud was embarrassed, but he could not stop the flow of tears. "It is the wine."
He was remembering high mass in the chapel of the castle, with his father's hand on his shoulder as they knelt and the chief priest in dazzling white and gold cope raised the white wafer toward heaven. His father whispered, "Jesus is come down among us," and then his strong tenor voice joined in "Veni Creator Spiritus."
I weep now for my father because I had no chance to weep for him when he was killed.
"Suppose he is in some Christian heaven looking down at me. What would he think?"
Daoud started at the sound of his own words.
I must be drunk. I would never speak so in front of Lorenzo—or anyone—otherwise.
"Who is looking down at you?" Lorenzo asked. His shoulders were hard and broad under Daoud's arm, and he seemed to bear Daoud's weight without the least difficulty. They were past the cathedral now, following a straight, fairly wide street that gently sloped downward. Broken clouds drifted away from the half moon. Like a watchman's lantern it hung over the center of the street, between the overhanging second stories of the houses.