Daoud's heart leapt with exultation, and he allowed himself a satisfied little sigh. A flicker of a finger told Lorenzo to lower his knife. Sordello had made the first surrender, on which all further success with him depended.
But—de Gobignon. That was a surprise. Daoud had been sure it would be Cardinal de Verceuil who would try to place a spy in his camp. A Frankish knight like de Gobignon would prefer the frontal attack, the pitched battle, to trickery. That was why the Franks were gradually losing their grip on the land they called Outremer. The French cardinal was another story. Daoud had seen in him a combination of pride, ambition, and lack of scruple that would use any means to defeat an enemy.
How to find out the truth? He ground his teeth.
"You are lying," Daoud said firmly. "It is Cardinal de Verceuil you serve. Giancarlo—" Daoud gestured, and Lorenzo went over to the brazier and slowly drew out an iron. The tip of it glowed red in the dim light of the chamber. His teeth flashing white under his thick mustache, Lorenzo advanced on Sordello.
"No! It is the truth!" Sordello shrieked, the chain that suspended the hoop rattling as he tried to pull himself away from Lorenzo and the smoking metal rod he held. As Lorenzo slowly approached, Sordello babbled out a tale of having been sent to Venice by Charles d'Anjou, brother of the King of France, to recruit and command archers for Count Simon. He had gotten into a brawl and wounded an Armenian prince who had come to Venice with the Tartars, and Simon had sent him away.
"I cannot serve Count Simon openly because the Armenians still want my blood," Sordello explained. "So he set me to spy on you instead."
The frantic haste with which Sordello spilled out his story gave it the sound of truth. This was going much better. Daoud's tense jaw muscles were relaxing.
Daoud picked up the bowl with the needle in it, gestured Lorenzo back, and slowly strolled across the chamber to Sordello. He gave the bowl to Lorenzo to hold, and drew closer until his face was only a hand's width from Sordello's, until he could smell the inner rot on the man's breath. Sordello's eyes rolled sideways, trying to watch the needle in the bowl Lorenzo was holding.
"What does de Gobignon say of me?" Daoud whispered. "What does he think I am?"
"He thinks you are a foreigner brought here by Ugolini to thwart the French plans for a crusade," Sordello gasped. "He says Ugolini is an agent of the Hohenstaufen king. He thinks Giancarlo is gathering a band of men to murder the Tartars. Please, for the love of God, do not hurt me, Messere." His eyes would fall out of his head if he stared any harder at the needle.