ey think that it is
_good_ to commit deeds of unimaginable horror, and they do it with
calculation. Exemplum: As David of Trebizond has told me, when they wipe
out the population of a city, they know there will be a few survivors.
So, weeks later, they return to the ruins when the remaining few people
have emerged from hiding, and they slaughter them all. That is the worst
sort of evil--evil done with utter deliberation."

_David of Trebizond, may he roast in hell!_ thought Simon.

"With respect, Your Reverence," said Friar Mathieu, "the Tartars have
lived isolated in their prairie homeland since the beginning of time.
But I beg of you to believe that they can be won to the mercy of Christ.
I have seen it. I have _done_ it."

_We are gaining ground_, Simon thought. If Fra Tomasso really could be
swayed by the testimony of a person who had seen with his own eyes, they
had a chance.

A hammering from beneath the floor made Simon start. Someone was
knocking on the trapdoor. Friar Mathieu nibbled at his mustache in
vexation while Fra Tomasso smiled broadly and called, "Come up."

The heavy door creaked upward, pushed by a hand in a white sleeve. A
shiny, tonsured scalp reflected the light from the tower window.

The young Dominican who emerged was almost too breathless to speak.
"Reverend Father! News from Bolsena! Un miracolo!"

Fra Tomasso's eyes widened. "Bolsena? Is that near here?"

"So near, Reverend Father, that the miracle happened yesterday and the
news reached us this afternoon."

"What miracle?"

"A foreign priest--from some eastern country--was saying mass. And when
he got to the consecration and raised the Sacred Host"--the young
friar's eyes glowed--"the Host dripped blood!"

Simon's head spun in confusion. Frustrated rage at being interrupted
when they were so close to victory struggled with amazement at this tale
of a bleeding Communion wafer. He looked at Fra Tomasso, and all hope
ebbed away. The philosopher's face fairly glowed with relief. Sadness
swelled in Simon. They did not have a chance. Perhaps they had never had
one.

* * * * *

Before they knew it, it seemed, Friar Mathieu and Simon were walking
together out the gate of the Dominican convent. Behind them there were
shouts and white-robed friars bustling to and fro like a flock of
startled doves. The whole convent, it seemed, was in an uproar over the
miracle at Bolsena.

Fra Tomasso had courteously