ng like a mirage on the horizon of his mind.

XXI

"Bonsoir, Messire. I have not seen you since the day the heretic was
burned. I trust the spectacle did not disturb you?"

Simon had deliberately addressed David of Trebizond in French, to find
out whether the trader spoke that language in addition to Greek and
Italian. He might be from the other side of the earth, but there was
something very French-looking about him.

They stood facing each other a little apart from the crowd gathered in
the sala maggiore, the great hall of the Palazzo Monaldeschi. The large
room was lit by hundreds of candles. Four musicians in a distant corner
sawed away energetically at vielles of different sizes held between
their knees, while two others blew on hautboys. Tables were piled high
with meat and pastry along the sides of the hall. Servants circulated,
refilling goblets from pitchers of wine. Neither Simon nor David was
holding a goblet.

The big blond man, who had not been looking at Simon, turned and stared
at him. Simon detected a pallor under his tan. David did not react to
the sound of French like a man who had heard an unfamiliar language. He
looked more as if he had heard the voice of a ghost.

David bowed. "Pardonnez-moi, Monseigneur. I had not expected to be
addressed in French."

Simon was surprised to hear in David's northern French the harsh accents
of the English Channel coast.

"Where did you learn my tongue, Messire?" Simon asked.

David shrugged. "Since the Crusades began, many of your countrymen have
passed through Trebizond."

Many Crusaders had been Normans, Simon thought. It made sense. But it
was odd that this man David, who claimed to be a Greek, not only spoke
like a Norman, but looked like nothing so much as a big, blond Norman
knight. Simon had seen just such faces--square, with long, straight
noses and cold gray-blue eyes--everywhere in Normandy and in England
when he had accompanied King Louis on a state visit to the realm of his
vassal, King Henry of England.

But David did not dress like a Norman, Simon noted. His apparel was
gaudy in the extreme. He wore a white cap with a blood-red feather, a
short cloth-of-gold cape, particolored hose--light green and peach--and
forest-green boots.

Simon, who, in emulation of King Louis preferred somber colors, had
chosen for tonight a brown velvet singlet and maroon hose. The brightest
thing about him was the jeweled handle of his prized scimitar.