swung open along the shadowy third-floor corridor.
Someone stepped out with a candle. Frightened women's faces were white
in the candlelight. She saw Antonia, Angela, Gloria.

She did not see Tilia. She must still be with Sophia, wherever they had
gone this morning.

_Oh, if only Sophia had taken me with her as I begged her to. I knew
something terrible was going to happen._

"What is it?" the women cried to one another. "Who is down there? Wounds
of Jesus!"

Cassio emerged from Francesca's room, tying the drawstring of his hose.
He was a big man, his bare chest matted with black hair, and the sight
of him comforted Rachel until she looked into his face as he hurried
past her and saw that it was tight and pale with fear. And he was
carrying a naked shortsword.

But Cassio's appearance emboldened the women, and they left their rooms
to crowd toward the top of the stairs that led to the lower floors.
Rachel joined them.

"I saw a lot of men outside," Rachel told the others, her heart
battering against her breastbone. "Armed men, with horses and mules and
wagons."

Antonia, a round-faced woman, hair dyed red with henna, pulled her robe
around her. "Another party setting out for Perugia, I suppose. They
probably stopped by for a little farewell fun."

"Then why are they fighting downstairs?" Francesca said, anxiety
sharpening her voice.

Thunder shook the house, drowning out the clamor of the brawling two
stories below. Then Rachel heard the clang of steel and Cassio's voice
crying out angrily.

The carpeted stairs at the end of the corridor shook under heavy feet.
Women's screams, mingled with the cries of men, arose on the lower
floors. She pushed her way to the head of the stairs and looked down.

A group of men were coming up. They had thrown back the hoods of their
brown cloaks, and their pointed helmets reflected the candlelight.
Rachel backed away as she saw that the half-dozen men with helmets were
brandishing long broad-bladed daggers.

The women around her started screaming and darting back into their
rooms. Rachel bolted for her own room.

"Rei-cho!" The man's shrill cry shot an arrow of terror through her.
That was John's voice.

She turned in the doorway of her room and saw the Tartar standing at the
head of the stairs, his soft black cap hiding most of his white hair.
Beside him was a stocky, middle-aged woman, and flanking them were the
swarthy men with their daggers. John and the other men