l you what you want to know about the man called David."

She wanted to spit in his face. She was desperate to know what he could
tell her, but even if he did tell her about Daoud, how could she put any
trust in him? If Daoud was alive he would find his way to her, or she to
him. She had nothing to gain by cooperating with Sordello.

"You disgust me!" she cried. "I wish you were not even able to see my
face, let alone the rest of me." And she turned away from him, her hand
dipping into the leather bag.

She heard his heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden floor. And another
outburst of barking from below.

"I wanted you to give yourself to me willingly," Sordello said. "But if
you refuse me, I will take you. And while I am doing it, I will tell you
about the man David."

Terror seized her and shook her as if she were a rag doll. The way that
filthy pig said that--it must mean something bad had happened to Daoud.
She felt paralyzed by fear and grief.

Then, sudden rage made her want to strike out at this man who was
hurting her so. She had the box of darts open now. She must be very
careful of the poisoned tips.

The door to the room crashed open.

LXXI

"Sophia!"

She dropped a loose dart back into the bag and turned.

Simon de Gobignon stood in the doorway, staring at her. The firelight
made his dirt-streaked face glow. His surcoat was ripped, showing the
mail underneath, and she saw dark stains on the purple and gold. He was
splashed with blood, she thought, her stomach churning. His head was
bare, his mail hood thrown back and his mail collar open. He held his
helmet, adorned with the figure of a winged heraldic beast, under his
arm.

At first sight of him she felt a glow of joy. Simon lived. And she was
safe from Sordello. Triumphantly she glanced over at the bravo and felt
even better at the sight of his scarlet color, his clenched jaw, the
swollen veins throbbing in his temples.

Then suddenly it came back to her that Simon was an enemy too.

_It has always been too easy for me to forget that._

She would have to face his questions, his accusations, his pain, his
rage. She felt like a bird in flight suddenly struck by an arrow and
plummeting to earth.

And a worse thought struck her, piercing her heart like a sword. What
was it that Sordello would have told her about Daoud? In God's name,
what terrible thing had happened to him?

Simon's being here meant he, too, must have learned whe