in the same tongue. "But if
you--"

"Bon seigner," the captain interrupted, "there are no words to describe
how honored I would be to carry you. And no words to describe my grief
that I cannot take you." That could be taken two ways, Simon thought.

"I am prepared to pay prodigiously, Captain," said Simon with sinking
heart.

If the captain noticed that Simon was speaking in his own tongue, he did
not remark on it. "I do not own this ship. That is the point, you see,
bon seigner. The owners have instructed me to wait here for a cargo of
olive oil, which I must take to Cyprus. So I cannot leave now, and when
I do leave, I must sail away from France."

The captain was respectful enough, but Simon sensed a hidden glee in his
refusal.

"But you have not heard how much I will offer you," he said, desperate.

The bald man shut his eyes as if in pain. "It does not matter. Merce vos
quier, forgive me, but I have a duty to those who have entrusted this
ship to me. Surely there must be some other captain in this harbor who
will let you make him wealthy."

"I have been to every other captain," said Simon. "All have refused me
for one reason or another. Yours is the only ship left."

The captain of the _Constanza_ spread his hands. "Ah, well, Pisa is only
a little farther north, and there are many more ships docked at its
quays along the Arno. You are bound to find one that will carry you. Or,
failing that, this is the best time of the year to make the journey to
France overland. The roads are good."

Simon knew that Pisa had been a Ghibellino city for generations. Word of
his coming might even have reached enemies in Pisa. He was sure that he
and Thierry had been followed along the road they had taken up the
Tyrrhenean seacoast. The Pisans would be only too glad to put an end to
his mission, and quite possibly to him. And following the endlessly
winding coastal road--which would require him to pass dangerously close
to Pisa--it would take him a month or more to get to French territory.
He decided that this captain meant him nothing but ill. He broke off
abruptly and made his way back to the rowboat.

A shout of laughter came floating across the water from the _Constanza_
as the boatman rowed him back, putting Simon in an even fouler mood.

Looking toward shore, he saw a man in a short, dark cape standing on the
dock with Thierry.

The boat tied up at a piling, and Simon gave the rower a second denaro
and climbed up