re she was from
Daoud. Where, then, was Daoud?

She saw figures in the shadows outside the door, one white-haired and
white-bearded, the other a small woman wearing a mantle over her head.

Simon took a few steps into the room, his mail clinking. She could tell
by his movements that he was exhausted. She felt a surge of pity for
him, at what he must have done and suffered. She reminded herself he had
been fighting against Manfred and Daoud, on the side of Anjou. Still,
she felt sorry for him.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Simon said, glaring at Sordello,
his voice crackling with anger.

_Why so much hatred_, Sophia wondered.

"You wanted me to be gone, Your Signory, and it seemed most useful for
me to come here. It occurred to me that important followers of the
infidel Manfred might be here. And, indeed, on the floor below you will
find his agents Tilia Caballo and ex-Cardinal Ugolini, being questioned
by my men."

"And you were _questioning_ this lady. Before God, I do not know what
keeps me from running you through." His mailed hand reached across his
waist to grip the hilt of his sword.

"Easy, Simon," said the white-haired man. He came into the room now, and
Sophia recognized Friar Mathieu, the Tartars' Franciscan companion.

She looked past the elderly priest and saw who was with him.

"Rachel!"

In the midst of her fear and sorrow, Sophia felt an instant of
miraculous happiness, as if the sun had come out at midnight.

She rushed across the room holding out her arms, and the girl flew into
them.

"Rachel, what a joy to see you!"

"Oh, Sophia! Sophia!"

Rachel was crying, but not for joy. She was sobbing heartbrokenly. What
had happened to her?

"How do you come to be with Count Simon?" Sophia asked, hoping that
answering would calm Rachel.

But Rachel went on weeping into Sophia's shoulder, and Friar Mathieu
spoke for her. "Rachel and I fell in with Count Simon, and we thought it
safest to stay with him. And he chose to come here."

"It's all right now," Sophia said, patting Rachel's back as she held her
in her arms. "Everything will be all right."

"No, Sophia, no." Rachel, it seemed, could not stop crying. Bewildered,
Sophia looked up. Friar Mathieu and Simon were standing side by side in
the center of the room. Sordello, his face working with barely
controlled fury, had moved to a far corner. His sword still lay on the
bed, Sophia noticed, but his hand was on the hilt of his dagg