"Why not?" said Manfred. "She will be perfect."
"Because she will not want to go." There was censure in Celino's dark stare—and a boyish defiance in Manfred's answering look.
"Do not question me," said Manfred. "I have no choice. For her good and for my own, she must leave here. And she will be useful to you."
Instead of replying, Celino only sighed again.
"A woman?" Daoud was thunderstruck. In El Kahira women left their homes only to visit other women. He felt anxiety claw at his belly. Any mistake in planning might wreck the mission and doom him, and Celino, to a horrible death. And to send a woman to the court of the pope on such a venture seemed not just a mistake, but utter madness.
"A very beautiful woman," said Manfred, a grin stretching his blond mustache. "One who has had a lifetime's schooling in intrigue. She is from Constantinople, and her name is Sophia, which means wisdom in Greek."
There are no more treacherous people on this earth than the Byzantines, Daoud thought, and they have ever been enemies of Islam.
Argument surged up in him, but he saw a hardness in Manfred's eyes that told him nothing he might say would sway the king. He looked at Celino, and saw in the dark, mustached face the same reluctant acceptance he had heard in the sigh.
Whoever this Sophia might be, he would have to take her with him.