e Gobignon
and that heretic preacher, Daoud thought.

Daoud was amazed that Christians would interrupt the most sacred moment
of their Mass. He tried to see over the heads of the people around him.
One voice, roaring in protest, was raised over the others. It sounded
familiar to Daoud.

People were passing word back from the middle of the nave, where the
struggle was. "It is Marco di Filippeschi," a man near Daoud cried.
"They have come to kill him."

Daoud's body went cold. Might whoever was coming after Marco attack him
too?

The fighting seemed to be moving toward the doors, and the crowd flowed
after it. Mass was forgotten as the congregation, cardinals and bishops
included, rushed to see.

Ugolini hurried to Daoud and took his arm. The two of them were carried
with the crowd toward the rear of the cathedral. Ugolini clutched at
Daoud so tightly that his fingers hurt. The servants, Daoud noticed,
managed to stay with them.

"Stay close to me," Ugolini said.

"You might be safer in the cathedral," said Daoud.

"Outside there is more room to run."

The short-legged Ugolini could not run very far, thought Daoud. He
steeled himself. If they were attacked by a large number of enemies,
they were dead men.

Daoud and Ugolini came through the main door of the cathedral together
and stood on the crowded steps.

"I cannot see!" Ugolini cried. People on the steps below him were
blocking his view.

Daoud was tall enough to see quite well. His heart, beating rapidly,
seemed to be rising from his chest to his throat. Marco di Filippeschi,
his long black hair flying as he jerked his body from side to side, was
struggling with four men who held him, while a fifth wrapped a rope
around his arms. Other men used pikes to push back the crowd, forming a
ring of space around the young Filippeschi leader and his captors.

_Marco is going to die_, Daoud thought, feeling cold sweat all over his
skin.

He looked to the edges of the piazza and the mansions that overlooked
it. He saw crossbowmen in the orange and green livery of the Monaldeschi
on rooftops and in windows, and mounted lancers in the outlets to the
square.

_The Filippeschi should have missed Mass today._

"God damn your puzzolenti souls, you bastards!" Marco roared as he
fought. "May your mothers and fathers burn in Hell!"

Some men were trying to help Marco; Daoud saw little knots of struggle
as his eyes traveled over the crowd. But no one could reach M