but after the bright sunlight of the street
it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the doorway
and actually to see Donna Elvira, the Contessa di Monaldeschi.

She took him by the hand and led him through the inner door, which, in
the time-honored practice of fortified buildings, was set at right
angles to the outer one. The hallway that ran the length of the second
floor was dimly illuminated through the barred windows. Unlit brass oil
lamps hung at intervals from the ceiling.

"I saw you from my window and came down to let you in myself." The
contessa's nose was sharp and hooked like a falcon's beak. It might have
been handsome on a man, but it gave her an unpleasantly predatory look.
Simon felt distaste at the short silky hairs on her upper lip and
uneasiness at the bright black eyes that looked at him so greedily. She
gave off a strong smell of wine. How old was she, he wondered. At least
eighty.

He politely bowed over her bony knuckles and kissed them quickly. She
held his hand longer than necessary.

"Your greeting does me too much honor, Donna Elvira," Simon said, easing
his hand away from hers. "I was frowning because I was thinking of what
we must do to protect the ambassadors from Tartary. I am happy to see
that you have a guard posted on the roof."

"Always." The contessa held up a clenched, bejeweled fist. "But surely
you are not afraid for the emissaries. Who would want to hurt those
little brown men? No, I am ever on guard against my family's ancient
enemies, the Filippeschi."

Simon felt the boulder on his back grow a little heavier.

_Something else to worry about._

"Is it possible that the Filippeschi family might attack us here?"

The contessa nodded grimly. "They have wanted blood ever since my
retainers killed the three Filippeschi brothers--the father and the
uncles of Marco di Filippeschi, who is now their capo della famiglia.
They caught them on the road to Rome and cut off the heads of all three,
to my eternal joy. Six years ago, that was."

"My God! Why did your retainers do that?"

There was more than a little madness, Simon thought, in the bright-eyed,
toothless grin the contessa gave him. "Ah, that was to pay them back for
the death of my husband, Conte Ezzelino, twenty years ago, and my son
Gaitano, who died fighting beside him, and my nephew Ermanno, whom they
shot with an arrow from ambush twelve years ago." She held up bony
fingers, totaling up the terri