got an opportunity, they would not hesitate to steal it from her. And
stab her to death to get at it, if they had to. She hated carrying the
heavy box everywhere. But even if she could have found a safe place for
it in Rome, she had no way of knowing whether she could ever get back
there to claim it. The chest held her prisoner as much as John did.

She had thought that while she and John traveled with Charles d'Anjou's
army, she might be able to slip away. Perhaps if there was a battle, she
might escape in the confusion. But she could not do it alone, not if she
wanted to take the chest.

"You can take my place if you are so eager," the second Venetian
laughed. "I've seen battles enough."

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Icerna. Still in papal territory."

"Where are we going?" She heard a movement as she asked the question,
and looked over at John. He was pouring himself a goblet of red wine
while eyeing Rachel and the Venetians distrustfully. He had learned no
Italian, and perhaps he thought she was flirting with the two archers.

"We are coming to a town called Benevento. Right on the Hohenstaufen
border. Supposed to be a papal city, but you never know. Border cities
usually give their support to whoever is closer to them with the bigger
army. The rumor is that whether the town is Guelfo or Ghibellino, King
Charles will let the troops have their way with Benevento. And high
time. How is a man to live on the miserable wages our would-be king
doles out to us?"

"Enough of your damned complaining!" a deep voice boomed. The flap of
the tent flew open, letting in a blast of chill air, and Cardinal de
Verceuil strode in. Terror raced through Rachel. She quickly dropped a
quilted blanket over the chest containing her treasure.

De Verceuil threw back the fur-trimmed hood of his heavy woolen cloak
and, though his words had been for the Venetian archers, glared at
Rachel accusingly. She felt herself trembling. He was dressed in bright
red, but like a soldier, not like a man of the Church. He wore a heavy
leather vest over his scarlet tunic, and calf-high black leather boots.

_God help me, what is he going to do to me?_

Sordello, the capitano of the Tartars' guards, followed the cardinal
into the tent. His lopsided grin was as frightening as the cardinal's
angry stare. His eyes narrowed, and Rachel felt her face burn as he
looked her up and down.

"Out!" Sordello snapped at the two Venetian crossbowmen. After they