ew herself down on the terrazzo floor and
clasped the contessa around the knees.

"Sophia!" She could hear Ugolini's chair scrape as he stood up. The boy
took a step toward her.

"It is all right," said the contessa. "You love this man, do you not?"
She patted Sophia's hair.

"Yes," Sophia wept. "And I swear to you, he is innocent."

_He is, too, because he believes that everything he is doing is right._

"Your Eminence?" said the contessa. "You approve of your niece and this
man from Trebizond?"

"Oh, certainly," said Ugolini waving his hands. "He is a fine man."

"Hmm," said the old lady. "That night at my reception I thought you and
the young Count de Gobignon were attracted to each other."

Sophia felt a strange stab of guilt.

"Oh, he is too far above me, Contessa," she said. "A count. David is a
merchant. We are right for each other."

_It is true that David and I are much more suited than Simon and I._

"It makes me feel young for a moment to see a beautiful woman in love."
The contessa stroked Sophia's cheek with dry, rough fingers.

Sophia opened her eyes wide and looked the contessa full in the face.
"Please help us, Contessa, for the sake of love."

The contessa sighed and smiled. "I will send for d'Ucello. I will
request that he stop questioning your friend." She looked across at
Ugolini. "You must give me your word, Your Eminence, that this David
will not leave Orvieto until all doubts about him are settled."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Sophia kissed the shiny knuckles, wetting
the blue-veined hand with her tears.

"Sophia, stand up," said Ugolini, touching her shoulder. "This is
embarrassing."

Vittorio helped her to her feet, holding her waist more tightly than was
necessary.

_Embarrassing? If not for my outburst, there would be no hope of freeing
Daoud._

_But I must live in terror awhile longer. Until I know he is well. That
they have not done anything to him. Oh, God, let him come back to me
healthy and whole._

LIII

Rachel sat on a divan by the window in her room. She had drawn the
curtains back and pushed the shutters open so that she could see out and
feel the cool breeze. She held a small leather-bound book in her hand,
_Geography of the World_, by Yucaf ibn Faruzi, a Spanish Jew. It was one
of the small store of books Angelo had owned, written in Hebrew, that
she had kept with her to help her pass the long hours she spent alone.
Besides enjoying reading, she fe