ntessa, clenching her bony fist.

And what if the contessa were to discover that the man they were talking
about had incited that attack and used it as cover for his own attempt
to murder the Tartar ambassadors, Sophia thought. She would want him
torn to bits in the piazza. New waves of terror washed over her.

And she would want those who helped him punished along with him. Sophia
glanced at Ugolini and saw that he was sweating.

_Dear God, do not let him falter now._

"Of course, Contessa," he said. "That is why I have come to you. Because
you, and not the podesta, are the one truly injured. But the arrest of
David is a terrible mistake. I place before you my belief in this man's
absolute innocence. I am prepared to swear to it. He was not even here
in Orvieto when that dastardly attack occurred. He was in Perugia. There
are countless witnesses. I know this man. He is a _good_ man, a
merchant, not a warrior."

"I remember him," said the contessa. "A very good-looking blond man. I
heard his conversation with the Tartars and I began to wonder myself
about the wisdom of allying ourselves with them."

"It is probably because David did testify against the Tartars that the
podesta thinks he might be connected with the attack on your palace,"
said Ugolini. "But such a man as David would have nothing to do with
such mascalzoni as the Filippeschi. I, too, have opposed the alliance,
and yet you and I are friends. It is one thing to disagree in a
civilized way. It is another to turn to behave like a scoundrel. David
has the same horror of murder that we all do."

Remembering what she had heard about the killings in the cathedral
plaza, Sophia wondered if the contessa had any horror of murder at all.

"I am sure that is true," said the contessa. "But the podesta must have
good reason for detaining this David."

Despair overwhelmed Sophia. The tears that had been falling in her soul
sprang to her eyelids and began to run down her cheeks. She should not
show her feelings like this, she thought. But what did it matter, when
Daoud was dying and no one would lift a hand to save him?

"Why are you crying, child?" said the contessa. Sophia heard sympathy in
her voice.

"Forgive me, Contessa," she said, sobbing. "This is very rude of me."

"Does this man mean so much to you?" asked the old lady, her rasping
voice softened.

In her anguish, Sophia was still clear-headed enough to see that she
might use that anguish. She thr