d that name--Simon. Was there an omen of some sort in that? Did not
this Simon even look somewhat like her painting of Saint Simon Stylites,
carried with her all the way from Constantinople? As the saint might
have looked when he was a young man?

As Sophia Orfali meeting the Count de Gobignon, she had felt almost half
in love with Simon.

"How can you talk of killing him?" Ugolini cried, his voice almost
cracking. "The French cardinals and their men-at-arms would tear the
city apart. It might be enough to bring Charles d'Anjou or King Louis
himself down here with an army. Sooner or later they would trace it back
to us. And then, if you want to know your fate"--his finger moved in
turn from David to Lorenzo to Sophia--"go see what they do in the Piazza
del Cattedrale to that poor wretch this count captured."

Sophia felt a sickening, falling sensation in her stomach at this
reminder of the danger she was in. Usually she managed to keep calm by
refusing to think about what would happen if she were caught. She cursed
Ugolini for taking her defenses by surprise.

Lorenzo whirled suddenly on Ugolini. "Get hold of yourself, Cardinal.
How can a man think, with you shrieking away like a crazy old nonna?"

_Good for you, Lorenzo_, she thought.

"I am a prince of the Roman Catholic Church," Ugolini shouted. "You will
show respect!"

Unabashed, Lorenzo turned to David. "Despite his hysterics, I do think
the cardinal is right. If de Gobignon were murdered, the city would be
in an uproar. We could not go on with our work."

"Dear God, why did You send these people into my life?" Ugolini groaned.

Lorenzo offered the scroll in his hand to David. "This prince of the
Church has been making such a commotion, I nearly forgot this. A man
with a clerical tonsure brought it to the door just after the young
count left."

David's dagger seemed to leap into his hand. The man could move so fast,
Sophia thought. He cut the black ribbon tying the scroll and slipped the
dagger back into its scabbard. He unrolled the parchment and studied it
with a frown.

"This is in Latin," he said, handing the scroll to Ugolini.

Red-faced and breathing heavily, Ugolini took the scroll and read it,
moving his finger along the lines. He shut his eyes as if in pain.

Whatever this message was, thought Sophia, it was upsetting him still
more.

Ugolini looked up with fear-haunted eyes. "It is from Fra Tomasso
d'Aquino. He invites you to visit him a