though he believed he would
never have a true home or enjoy peace in this life, he felt a happiness
such as he had never known before. And this was strange, because Hulagu
Khan's emissaries to the Christians still lived, and al-Islam was still
threatened with destruction, and while he turned many plans over in his
mind, he was not sure what to do next.

But when he and Sophia were together he was able almost entirely to
forget those threats. And when he was not with her, he carried her image
in his heart, and his heart was the lighter for it.

His leg had healed, and it was safe for him to walk the streets now. He
knew the podesta's men must be watching him, but he feared them less
now, because they would not see him limp. They might wonder when he had
returned to Orvieto from Perugia, but they would have to suppose it was
after the podesta took the clerks away from the gates. Each day he
wandered through the town, forming plans, observing.

He sensed a tension in the air, growing a little stronger each day, like
the summer's heat. Around the palace of the Filippeschi on the south
side of the town, in its windows and on its battlements, men stood
watchful, holding crossbows, hands on their sword hilts. They were not
as strong as they had been last April. The bravos Lorenzo had gathered
and Daoud had lent to their cause had quietly left Orvieto. The
Filippeschi had lost many men and were thrown back on their own
resources now. Their grim apprehension was obvious.

Daoud did not speak directly to the Filippeschi. Aside from his one
meeting with their leader, Marco, he had avoided any contact with them
that might compromise him. He wondered whether Marco had given any
thought to a suggestion Lorenzo had made to him: that aid might be
forthcoming if the Filippeschi switched their allegiance to the
Ghibellino cause. Apparently Filippeschi loyalty to the pope went back
centuries, and was not easily changed. That was something to be
discussed when Lorenzo returned.

At the Palazzo Monaldeschi Daoud saw an air of preparation, of forces
gathering, of confidence. One afternoon Vittorio de Monaldeschi, aged
eleven, in full mail--a child's mail shirt and hose must cost as much as
a man's, and be usable for only a short time--wearing an orange and
green surcoat, rode slowly along the length of the Corso with a dozen
horsemen, orange and green pennons on their lances. A show to intimidate
his enemies.

Both sides seemed to be