best
right of anyone to the count's coronet. If he kept it, and kept the
secret of his parentage, it would be through his own choice. No mortal
would thrust that choice upon him.

He began to feel better. He started humming a tune, an old crusader song
Roland had taught him, called "The Old Man of the Mountain."

Until now other hands had shaped his life. From this moment on he would
hold his destiny in his own hands.

* * * * *

"May I disturb you for a moment, Your Signory, before you retire?" The
Contessa di Monaldeschi's chief steward was a severe-looking man with
long white hair streaked with black.

Simon had just set foot to the steps leading to the third story of the
Monaldeschi palace, where his bedchamber waited. He most definitely did
not want to be disturbed this evening. But the steward had shown gravity
and discretion arranging for the drunken Tartars to be bundled off to
bed, and Simon felt that whatever he might say would be worth listening
to.

"Late this afternoon a vagabondo came to our door. He claims to be a
former retainer of yours. He begs an audience with you--most humbly, he
says to tell you. He waits in the kitchen. We can keep him till
tomorrow. Or we can put him out in the street. Or you can see him.
Whatever Your Signory desires."

A former retainer? A sour suspicion began to grow in Simon's mind.

"Did he at least tell you his name?"

"Yes, Your Signory. Sordello."

Simon felt hot blood pounding at his temples in immediate anger.

_Has that dog had the temerity to follow me all the way to Orvieto?_

"Send him away," he said brusquely. "And do not be gentle about it."

The steward's stern face remained expressionless. "Very good, Your
Signory." He bowed himself away. A good servant, thought Simon. He
showed neither approval nor disapproval. Simon started up the stairs.

_What the devil could Sordello have to talk to me about?_

_Do not call upon the devil. He may hear you and come._

Halfway up the stairs Simon felt the itch of curiosity growing stronger
and stronger. Perhaps Sordello had been to see Count Charles and had
some word from him. The feeling was like a scab Simon knew he should not
pick but could not let alone.

He turned. The steward was almost invisible in the shadows at the end of
the long hallway.

"Wait. I will go to him."

* * * * *

In the kitchen on the bottom floor of the Palazzo Mona