s from her breast.
Her thumb pressed a dark red carbuncle between the arms, and a thin
blade sprang out of the shaft.

"Please notice that the cross is attached to my neck by a chain, David.
I cannot hurt you unless you come too close to me. I have no wish to
attack you. There is asp venom on the blade, by the way."

His anger turned against himself. It was foolish to try violence on a
woman like this. Had he not told himself he could not force Tilia and
Ugolini to do anything, that he must persuade them?

_This woman herself is as dangerous as an asp. But I need her._

He let go of her arm. "Pardon my crudity, Madama."

Tilia pointed her blade straight up and pressed another jewel in the
cross. The blade dropped back into the shaft.

"I do not mind crudity," she said, "but I do not like to be manhandled."
She smiled slyly. "Unless I've invited it. I had already made my mind
up, before you laid violent hands on me, that I would agree to your
going at once to the cardinal. I have decided that you may be able to
accomplish what you set out to do without getting us all killed. You are
brave and intelligent, but you know how to bargain, too. You know when
to yield and you know when to stand your ground."

Daoud felt pleasure at her compliments, but even more pleasure that she
was going to cooperate with him.

"Then why did you just say we would not be going to the cardinal?"

"I was about to add that first you _will_ feed me bread and cheese and
the execrable wine of Bagnioregio. _Then_ I _will_ give you a message
that will get you into Cardinal Ugolini's mansion."

Daoud laughed. That Tilia had yielded was a great relief. And she was
both witty and dangerous, a combination he admired.

XI

Simon was surprised at how young Cardinal Paulus de Verceuil looked. The
man who stood with him in a vineyard on the road to Orvieto had a long,
fine-skinned face and glossy black hair that fell in waves to his
shoulders. If his scalp was shaved in a clerical tonsure, his red velvet
cap covered it. His handsome violet silk tunic reminded Simon that his
own surcoat was travel-stained and that Thierry had not polished his
mail in days.

De Verceuil tossed away the cluster of pale green grapes he had been
nibbling and spoke suddenly.

"Count, a report has reached me that you spoke rudely to the doge of
Venice." His booming bass voice sounded as if it were emerging from the
depths of a tomb. "You do realize that your