t Alain's poor naked body had been stretched out there,
to be tormented in death by this old Franciscan physician-priest.

If he abandoned the bed, he would have to give up the room, though, and
it was one of the few private rooms in the Monaldeschi palace. It was a
warlike room, as befitted a young knight, decorated with battered
Monaldeschi arms. Crossed halberds, spotted with rust, were hung on the
stone chimney that ran up from the kitchen on the first floor. Shields,
dented and scratched, each almost as tall as a man, faced each other
from opposite walls. They were probably quite old, since they bore
simple blazons. The one on Simon's right was ocher, with a black chevron
dividing it across the middle. The other bore an azure cross against a
white background.

This being the top floor of the palace, the mullioned window was
spacious, and Friar Mathieu had drawn back the curtains and pulled the
twin window frames inward on their hinges to get more light. Simon went
to the window and looked through the protective iron grill down into the
square. Two men and three horses were gathered by the steps leading to
the front door. They wore yellow and blue livery, the colors of the city
of Orvieto.

"I think I have found something," said Friar Mathieu. Just as he
finished speaking, Simon's door shook under a heavy knock.

"Say nothing," said the Franciscan. "I will tell you later."

The knock sounded again. Simon went to the door and opened it. A stocky
man whose bald head came up to the middle of Simon's chest stood there.
Simon observed that the man carried more muscle than fat on his sturdy,
barrel-shaped frame. He wore a yellow silk tunic trimmed with blue, and
a short sky-blue cape. A bright gold medallion on a gold chain hung from
his neck. Two daggers, one long and stout, the other short and slender,
hung from the right side of his belt. The sword on his left side reached
from his waist to his ankle. Simon knew he had seen him before, but he
could not remember where.

"Your Signory, Count de Gobignon, it is my honor to address you," the
stout man said. His words were polite, but his tone was perfunctory. He
had to tilt his head back to look at Simon, but his voice and expression
made Simon feel very young and small. Even so, Simon held his silence
and did not step aside to let the man in. Let him introduce himself
first.

After a pause, the man said, "Your Signory, I am Frescobaldo d'Ucello,
podesta of Orvieto