ith your horses and baggage," said David. "He must not have been on any
list. He will meet you at the shrine of Saint Sebastian on the road to
Siena. From there you know what you have to do."

David grasped him by the shoulders and then patted his back. They had
become good friends, Lorenzo realized. Look how David was trusting him
to ride with a fortune in gems to Siena, meet the right parties, bargain
with them, deliver the gems to them and come back to Orvieto with a
Ghibellino army. That was much to expect of a man. Yet David seemed not
to doubt that Lorenzo would do it.

Lorenzo felt warm when he thought how much David meant to him. He had
come on this mission as King Manfred's man, but he was going to Siena
just as much for David as for Manfred. Bringing the Sienese into the
struggle might keep the French away, though, and that would help Manfred
as much as it would the Muslims.

"Lower away, then," Lorenzo said to Riccardo.

David stepped back. Riccardo and Lorenzo both took hold of the rope.
Lorenzo stepped over the edge of the chute. His legs dangled, and he
tried not to think about how much empty space was between him and the
rocks at the base of Orvieto's mountain. The rope cut painfully into his
waist and back. He gripped it tightly with his gloved hands and wrapped
his legs around it to take some of the strain off the loop around his
waist.

Grunting, Riccardo slowly lowered Lorenzo through the chute. David was
standing beside Ugolini's man and had laid a protective hand on the
rope. The hole in the floor was just wide enough for Lorenzo's shoulders
to pass through. Then he was hanging free below the city wall, his back
to the cliff, staring out at a starry black sky and the silhouettes of
distant hillsides. He felt dizzy and shut his eyes.

"Turn me," he whispered hoarsely up at the opening above him.

After a moment he felt his body rotating, and again he had to fight
dizziness. He was facing in toward the smelly crevice, and he drew up
his legs and planted his feet firmly on its walls. With the help of the
rope he could walk down the cliffside. Riccardo let out the rope a
little more, and Lorenzo's boot sole scraped loudly against the
crumbling tufa surface, releasing a shower of pebbles.

"Who's down there?" a distant voice shouted, and Lorenzo felt as if
someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him. That was the guard
in the tower high above. He wondered if the guard could see him down
h