He began to make a strange sound, a long-drawn-out moan. Perhaps he was in pain. Perhaps he was going to be sick. Her heart leapt hopefully. Then the moan changed pitch, and his mouth began to shape words. They must be Tartar words. He was singing to her. It was unmistakably a song, but it was strange and shrill to her ears. She almost burst out laughing, but immediately felt terror at the thought of offending him.
It began to dawn on her, though, that John was not behaving like a brute, as she had feared he would when she first saw him in the doorway. If she looked behind the black slits that were his eyes, under the tanned-leather skin, he seemed a pleasant old man. His language might be gibberish to her, but it was clear that he was trying to entertain her, even woo her.
But she hated the thought of what he was trying to woo her for.
He ended his song by clapping his hands rhythmically—she counted nine handclaps. He followed that with more eager smiles and nods. He actually wanted to know whether she liked his song. She relaxed a bit.
She smiled and nodded back. "Yes. Very good, John. Che bello!" Perhaps she could get him to sing more, and put off the moment she dreaded.
But he stood up with a look on his face that froze her heart in her chest. There was nothing ferocious or cruel in it or even lustful. There was neither kindness nor pity in it, nor anything that recognized her as a person. It was the satisfied smile of a man looking upon a possession.
He slipped off the wide-sleeved gown and unbuckled his belt. She began to tremble uncontrollably.
Daoud sat slumped with exhaustion on the carpeted floor of Ugolini's cabinet. The long night just past had drained him of all his energy. He wanted to sleep, but first he must see to it that Ugolini made good use of the advantage they had gained at the contessa's reception.
A strong, rich, familiar smell filtered into his nostrils, and his head lifted, as if a powerful hand had gripped it. The door opened, and a servant carried in a tray laden with six small porcelain cups, one each for Ugolini, Daoud, Sophia, and Lorenzo and two extra, as well as two pitchers. Ugolini pushed aside a pile of parchment on his work table, and the servant set the tray down.