f scorn in the smile. "I
would prefer French, Monseigneur, to Italian as _you_ speak it."

"Forgive me, Madame," Simon whispered.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said airily. Simon thought surely the
cardinal would reprove his niece for her unkindness, but he stood there
beaming like a master showing off a remarkably gifted scholar.

_Ah, lady!_ thought Simon, _I pray you be merciful to me_.

Ringing a small bell that stood on his desk, much like the one Friar
Tomasso d'Aquino had used to keep order at the pope's court, Ugolini
summoned one of the priests on his household staff, and Simon, his head
still spinning from his unexpected encounter with Sophia, found himself
being escorted out of the cardinal's mansion.

As Simon and the priest were walking through the gallery that led to the
main entrance, the outer door swung open and a large gray boarhound
trotted in. It was deep-chested, with long ears, a pointed, aristocratic
muzzle, and intelligent brown eyes. The dog jumped at Simon, resting his
forepaws on Simon's chest and looking up at him as if studying his face.

Simon, who had played and hunted with hounds all his life, took an
immediate liking to the dog. He scratched the back of the animal's head.

"Down, Scipio," said a deep voice, and Simon saw the hound's master--the
same swarthy man with grizzled, curly hair and thick mustache he had met
on the road from the north three days before. The one leading the little
company of bravos.

Again that tense, besieged feeling came over Simon, the same as when he
met this man on the road. There was too much going on in Orvieto, almost
all of it surprising and much of it seemingly dangerous. If he wanted to
be sure the Tartars were safe, he would have to give up sleeping.

The dog dropped to all fours and stood beside his master.

The other did not acknowledge having seen Simon before. "Forgive us,
Signore. I fear Scipio has gotten dust on your tunic."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Simon. He brushed off his
plum-colored tunic. "Do you serve Cardinal Ugolini?" This time he would
not let the man pass without questioning him.

"I am Giancarlo, Signore, a servant of Messer David of Trebizond." He
bowed deeply.

Feeling angry because he was sure he was being lied to, Simon wanted to
ask about the men with Giancarlo on the road, but decided it was better
not to appear too suspicious.

_Let them think I am a naive young nobleman, easily gulled. Not so f