He slipped from behind the cask and picked up a wooden bucket full of water. Carrying the bucket he stepped, silent on his soft-soled boots, to the cellar trapdoor. Keeping his eyes on the crossbowman, he put the bucket down and, holding his breath, grasped the handle of the trapdoor and lifted it. The archer moved as Daoud crouched by the open trapdoor. Daoud froze. But the man's back remained turned. He was only shifting from one arrow slot to the one beside it, to get a view of the piazza from a different angle.
When the archer was settled in his new position, Daoud crept down the cellar stairs, bucket in one hand, and lowered the door over his head. He watched the archer until the slab of wood cut off his view. He was in a pitch-black cellar smelling of wine.
He saw a crack of light from under a door and heard voices. He was about to go and knock, pretending to be a man-at-arms with a message. When the two Armenians within opened the door, he would douse their lantern with the water he was carrying, and then move in on the Tartars in the dark.
Just then the trapdoor above had opened. He hid behind the wine barrels as de Gobignon, the friar, and two more Armenians came down to join their Tartar charges.
Stones were slamming into the walls in such rapid succession that the building was continually shaking. This must be the climax of the Filippeschi attack. Next would come a rush of all the fighting men. They would storm the palace and either break through or be driven off. Probably, Daoud thought, the attack would fail. But even so, it would give him the opportunity he needed.
The two Armenian guards held their bows laxly, resting their backs against the wall by the door. The candle in the sconce was six paces away from the guards. Silently he lifted the bucket of water he had brought down with him and moved it out in front of the wine barrel rack so that later he could quickly reach it. Then he loaded the Scorpion, drawing back its string.
He stepped out from behind the barrels, aiming for the eye of the nearest guard, and fired. The steel dowels snapped forward, propelling the bolt through the eyeball and into the skull. The man collapsed without an outcry. His body, clad in leather and steel, hit the stone floor with a crash.
The other Armenian gave a shrill shout in his native tongue. He stared in horror at Daoud, and his heavy compound bow was up, the iron arrowhead pointing at Daoud's chest.
Daoud had already taken the disk of Hindustan out of the flat pouch on the left side of his belt. Dropping the Scorpion into its pocket, he transferred the disk to his right hand. The disk was heavy; by Frankish weight it would probably be half a pound. Its center was of strong, flexible steel; bonded to its edges was a more brittle steel that would take an edge sharp enough to slice a hair lengthwise.