Daoud picked up the locket. Its hammered silver outer surface glowed softly in the candlelight.
"Please take this too," he said. "You have seen me wear it many times. After I have left you today, open it. I believe you will see a picture—an image—of me."
She lowered her head and rested her hands on his armored chest as he hung the locket on its silver chain around her neck.
He unfolded his forest-green linen cape and draped it over himself, clasping it at his throat with a gold chain.
He took her in his arms, carefully, so as not to hurt her with the steel breastplate, and pressed his lips against hers for a long time.
A knock at the door broke their kiss. "My lord, your horse is ready," said Husain's voice.
At the door of the house, Ugolini and Tilia, both of them heavily cloaked against the cold night air, were waiting for them. In the light of the single small oil lamp burning beside the doorway, they were two short, bulky shadows, Tilia much bulkier than Ugolini.
"We heard you moving about," said Tilia. "We came down to wish you victory."
"What do the stars say about today?" Daoud asked Ugolini.
"Yesterday, the twenty-first of February, the sun moved from the house of Aquarius the water-bearer to the house of Pisces, the fish." Ugolini shook his head dolefully. "The fish is the sign of Christendom."