The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 110

"Two or three of my cousins will take a walk in the piazza before the Palazzo Monaldeschi on a Friday evening, when everybody strolls," Marco said. "If their mere presence in that part of the city does not cause an incident, they will step on a few toes."

"It will take some courage to go into the lion's den," Daoud remarked.

The young Filippeschi chieftain laughed ruefully. "We possess more of courage than we do of anything else."

If they did not also possess some prudence and the ability to keep a secret, Daoud thought, everything was lost.

XLI

The stained gla.s.s in the cathedral's deeply recessed rear windows broke the sunlight of the April morning into blue, yellow, and red beams.

Walking slowly through the nave, Simon wondered why Sordello had insisted this time on meeting him in person in the cathedral rather than sending his news through Ana. The departure from their routine gave Simon an uneasy feeling that some disaster was about to befall him.

The miraculous altar cloth with the dark spots in its center was mounted in a gilded frame above the altar. On each side of it a tall white candle burned. At the foot of the altar two priests in black ca.s.socks and white surplices knelt on benches, their heads resting on their folded arms so that it was impossible to tell whether they were sleeping or praying. In the four months since the cloth had been brought to Orvieto, it had never been left unattended. The pope had decreed that priests in hourly s.h.i.+fts would watch day and night before the blood of the Savior.

Simon suspected reverence was not the only motive for this vigil. He knew several tales of famous relics being stolen, not only from pious zeal, but because relics attracted pilgrims and their money. And the people of Bolsena might still be jealous.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Simon approached the altar, genuflected, and walked into the shadows on the left side of the cathedral. He paused by a fluted pillar that rose like a tree trunk. Approaching him was a beggar in a tattered gray cloak that hung to his ankles. A deep hood hid his face. The man gripped Simon's arm. The face of Sordello looked out of the shadows under the hood. Simon pulled his arm free.

"I have something important to tell Your Signory, but it is not about Cardinal Ugolini and his circle." Sordello spoke in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"The Filippeschi are going to make a surprise attack on the Palazzo Monaldeschi."

The news. .h.i.t Simon like a kick in the belly.

The Tartars--and he and his men--would be caught in the middle. He thought back to Alain's murder. Even since then he had felt that Orvieto could be a death trap for him and all his men.

Simon leaned forward to peer into Sordello's pinkish eyes. "When will the attack come?"

"Tonight, after vespers."

_Tonight!_ Now Simon's blood froze. _No time! No time!_ a voice shrieked inside him. He wanted to run back to the palace shouting warnings all the way. It took all his strength to keep him standing with Sordello, to force his mind, galloping like a runaway horse, to slow down and frame questions.

"How did you find out?"

"Tavern talk. Some of Giancarlo's hired bravos were drinking with Filippeschi men."

Sweat that felt like a cold rain broke out all over Simon's body. The Tartars--he must get them out of the Monaldeschi palace. But the contessa had been his hostess for many months. He himself had no quarrel with the Filippeschi, but he had an obligation to defend the contessa.

"How long have you known this?"

"I just learned it last night, but they must have been preparing for months."

"Why _now_?"

Sordello's eyes met his. "The Filippeschi think the Monaldeschi are betraying Italy to you French."

If the Filippeschi were attacking now because he was at the Palazzo Monaldeschi, then indeed he had a quarrel with them, whether or not he wanted one. And it was his fault, in a sense, that the contessa was in danger.

"Betraying Italy to the French? What does that mean?"

Sordello ticked off points on his fingers. "The pope is French. He asks the contessa to take the Tartars into her house. Then you and Cardinal de Verceuil come with the Tartars. And now everyone has heard that the pope wants Charles d'Anjou to come in and take Sicily and southern Italy from King Manfred. The Filippeschi want to turn the tide now, they say, before the French own all of Italy."

The face of Uncle Charles flashed vividly before Simon's mind, the big nose, the staring eyes. When they had talked of this mission over a year ago at the Louvre, he had said nothing of Sicily, had spoken only of the liberation of Jerusalem and the destruction of Islam. Was Sicily what he really wanted--or perhaps even all of Italy?

What should he do? It struck Simon with frightening force that there was no one but he to take the responsibility. He was in command. He must make the plans and the decisions. His heart thudded frantically, and he prayed that Sordello could not see the consternation that filled him.

"What forces do they have, what weapons?"

Sordello shook his head. "As to that, Your Signory, I know very little.

I have been at Cardinal Ugolini's mansion, not among the Filippeschi. I would guess they must have at least five hundred men and siege weapons.

They would be mad to start this thing with less."

"Five hundred men and siege weapons!"

Simon pictured the Monaldeschi palace with its great tower crumbling under a bombardment of boulders. He saw men swarming over it like ants.

He saw the defenders lying dead in the ruins--de Puys, Thierry, the Armenians, the Venetians--himself. He saw the Tartars with their throats cut.

Again he felt the urge to run back to the palace to prepare at once.

Again he suppressed the urge so he could ask more questions.

"Where did they get such forces?"

Sordello shrugged. "They are a big family. They have relatives in the outlying towns."

Simon bent down to look deep into Sordello's bloodshot eyes. "Are you sure Ugolini and David of Trebizond and the rest are not involved? If we French and the Tartars are the provocation, Ugolini must be behind this."

Sordello tapped his cheek just under his right eye. "Your Signory, I watch them as closely as those priests watch the miraculous altar cloth.

Ugolini has been in despair all winter, since Fra Toma.s.so changed sides.

He buries himself in his cabinet with his magical instruments. David has lost interest in the Tartars and thinks only about trade. He talks to Giancarlo of making up a caravan to go back to Trebizond. The two of them left for Perugia on business yesterday."

"What about Giancarlo's bravos?"

"Altogether, Giancarlo has hired only a dozen such men, including myself. We guard David's goods and escort his caravans." Sordello waved a hand in dismissal.

"And what of the cardinal's niece?" said Simon, trying not to sound especially interested.

Sordello shrugged. "That lovely lady stays apart. She goes to church, she reads, she paints."

Worried though he was about the impending Filippeschi attack, Simon's heart felt lightened by joy. Sophia was innocent. His love for her was vindicated. After this was over he would come to her and broach marriage.

"You must watch Madonna Sophia for me," Simon said. "Stay close to her.

Do not let her go out tonight."

"Stay close to her." Sordello grinned. "That will not be hard, Your Signory."

Simon seized the front of Sordello's tunic. "Never speak that way of her."