ow even more
important in Orvieto."

_Thank God for Tilia._ At this moment Sophia was willing to forgive
Tilia even the corrupting of Rachel.

Ugolini said, "Yes, but if last night I could not stop him from taking
David, what can I do now?" He spread his empty hands.

Another gust of wind lifted the purple drapes and sent scraps of
parchment from Ugolini's table to the carpet. Sophia saw circles and
triangles and whole constellations flying across the room.

They would have to enlist the aid of someone who had influence over the
podesta, Sophia thought, someone who was friendly enough to Ugolini to
be willing to speak on his behalf. With the pope gone, the most powerful
person in the city was--

As soon as the thought came to her, she spoke. "The Contessa di
Monaldeschi. Cardinal, you must go to her and ask her help."

Her heart rose to her throat, choking her. Tilia and Ugolini stared at
her. Would they listen? Would they spurn her idea?

"Why should _she_ help me?" said Ugolini.

"She admires you," said Sophia. "She told me so the night of the
reception she gave for the Tartars. Now that the pope has left Orvieto,
she probably feels neglected."

Wide-eyed, Ugolini shook his head. "But David is accused of involvement
in the attack on her palace. Just yesterday I saw her cackling like a
strega while her men chopped off Marco di Filippeschi's head and
murdered half his family. They even impaled a baby on a spear, and she
shouted with glee."

"That has nothing to do with us," said Sophia, though the image revolted
her. "She has no reason to connect David with the Filippeschi."

Tilia nodded vigorously, shaking her body and the chair she was sitting
in. "Sophia has an excellent idea, Adelberto. If the Contessa di
Monaldeschi pleads for David, if _she_, the injured party, is convinced
of his innocence, the podesta must yield."

Sophia felt more confident as she saw that Tilia was on her side. She
pressed the attack.

"Again and again d'Ucello has shown that he does whatever the
Monaldeschi expect of him," she urged.

"He used to do whatever _either_ family expected of him," said Ugolini.
"Until so many Filippeschi perished that they ceased to matter."

Ugolini went to the window. A blast of hot, damp wind roared into the
room, and he raised his hand protectively in front of his face.

"It will storm soon," said Tilia. "It cannot be soon enough to suit me.
A storm will break this terrible heat. As soon as