n de Gobignon again._

XLVIII

Just as Sophia and Riccardo arrived at the Porta Maggiore in the city
wall of Orvieto, the air around them seemed to glow and crackle. A cold
wind blew across the road leading up to the gate. Sophia spurred her
bay, but the horse hardly needed encouragement to gallop the last few
paces to the shelter of the gatehouse. A shaft of lightning dazzled
Sophia, and a mighty thunderclap, loud enough to shake the rock on which
Orvieto stood, deafened her. She and Riccardo were in the shelter of the
gatehouse before the first fat drops began to fall, making craters in
the dust of the road.

They identified themselves to the guards without dismounting. Clerks
were no longer posted at the gates to interrogate and record the name of
every person entering and leaving Orvieto. Evidently the podesta had
given up on that.

Sophia, Daoud, and Ugolini had, even so, been chilled by a polite letter
from d'Ucello to Ugolini requesting that "His Eminence's distinguished
guest from Trebizond" not leave Orvieto without the podesta's
permission. Sophia, on the other hand, seemed free to come and go as she
pleased.

The thought crossed Sophia's mind that she would be soaked as she rode
from the gate to Ugolini's mansion. But the meeting with Simon had left
her in misery, and the storm suited her mood. David knew that she was
meeting Simon outside the town. Now what would she tell David about
where Simon was going?

She was about to ride on into the city streets when a man stepped out of
the crowd that had gathered for shelter under the gateway arch. He
raised a hand.

"Madonna!" It was Sordello. "A private word, I beg of you."

She saw fear in his face, but in his bloodshot eyes burned another
feeling she could not identify. She disliked the man and did not want to
talk to him, especially not now, carrying secrets as she was. But he
served David, and his disturbed look suggested that what he had to say
might be important. Sighing, she dismounted, gave the reins of her
horse to Riccardo, and walked beside Sordello to an unoccupied corner of
the gatehouse.

"You know that Messer David has set me to find the informer among us,
and he says he will kill me if I fail." He had backed her into the
corner and pressed uncomfortably close to her. His breath smelled of
onions, and he was altogether repellent.

"What do you want of me?"

"The one person who might give me a clue is the Count de Gobignon, an