s body ached to kill de
Gobignon.

_Oh, God, give me the chance to destroy him!_

He heard another sound to his left, the scrape of a boot on
cobblestones. His hand darting to his sword, he glanced toward the
street he had just passed through. Nothing.

De Gobignon had brought a friend or servant with him. The friend was
waiting at that inn, where he could watch the front of Ugolini's
mansion, and, perhaps, signal to de Gobignon as dawn approached.

De Gobignon's friend had been watching Daoud. He must be all in a sweat,
knowing that Daoud had seen the young count in Sophia's window. He would
expect Daoud to raise an alarm. And if Daoud did not, then de Gobignon
would guess that David of Trebizond _approved_ Simon's making love to
the cardinal's niece. And from that it would only be a step to realizing
that David and Sophia must be plotting together.

It would extinguish any suspicion of Sophia the count might have if
Daoud were to rush into the mansion, raise an alarm, and pursue Simon.
But if de Gobignon were caught, it would mean a scandal. His French
compatriots would certainly do all they could to stop him from seeing
Sophia again.

Again Daoud heard the scrape of a boot sole on the stone of the street.
He drew farther back under the overhanging upper story of a house facing
the mansion. Now de Gobignon's man could not see him without showing
himself.

There was only one thing to do. And it gave Daoud grim satisfaction to
realize it.

_I cannot kill Simon de Gobignon, but I have to kill his man._

He drew the Scorpion from its pocket in the hem of his cloak. Quickly
and silently he unfolded it. A leather case held a sting for the
Scorpion, a steel dart half again as long as his finger, coated with the
same paste he had used to render Sordello unconscious. He pulled the
string of twisted rawhide back with his fist, slipped the dart into
place.

The Frank took a step out of hiding. Daoud saw him as a big shadow at
the corner of the building. He imagined the Frank's thoughts. He must be
trying desperately to think of some way to warn his master before the
cardinal's guards were roused.

Daoud raised the Scorpion, but the darkness made the shot difficult. De
Gobignon's man was too hard to see.

"Pardonnez-moi, Messire," he said in the language he had not used since
he was ten. "I have a message for Monseigneur the Count de Gobignon." He
spoke in as casual and friendly a tone as he could muster.

Daoud