"I would rather not say. I have an informant in Cardinal Ugolini's
household."
"Really? Good for you." The podesta gave him a look of amused respect
that kindled a warm glow of pride in him. "Well, Your Signory, if there
is a battle between the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi, I can do
nothing about it."
Simon was swept by strange mixed feelings. He was ready to do almost
anything to prevent the coming battle. But in the midst of his despair
at d'Ucello's refusal to help, he kept seeing himself in armor rallying
his men on the Monaldeschi battlements.
But he had to try to persuade d'Ucello to help. He could not leave
without having done his best.
"Is it not your duty to keep the peace in Orvieto?"
"All my watchmen together are not a tenth of the number of armed men the
Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi can put into the streets. I assure you
that if the watch did try to stop the fight, the Monaldeschi and the
Filippeschi would join forces and annihilate my men before they went on
to tear each other to pieces. Look, Your Signory, mine is a lifetime
appointment, which means that how long I live depends on how well I
please those who appointed me. The families wish me to prevent or punish
fraud, theft, rape, and murder. But when the families have quarrels that
can be settled only by bloodshed, they want no interference. Did the
contessa send you here to appeal for my help?"
"No, she told me you could not stop the Filippeschi," said Simon,
appalled at this glimpse of the chaos that lay under the pretty surface
of this town.
D'Ucello nodded with a look of satisfaction. "Of course. No doubt she
sees this as her chance to kill off Marco di Filippeschi, something she
has longed to do for years. I cannot do what you ask. I know the limits
of my power."
Power, thought Simon. Brute strength. That was what would decide this
clash, and all he could do was make sure his side was stronger. He felt
a resolve, at once grim and gleeful, growing inside him.
He stood up and inclined his head. The stout little man rose and bowed
back.
"Then I cannot rely on you?" Simon said.
D'Ucello shrugged. "I am still trying to discover the murderer of your
companion. I have learned that neither David of Trebizond nor his
servant, Giancarlo, were in Cardinal Ugolini's palace when your friend
was killed. I think tonight while the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi
are at each other's throats, the best place for me would be at
Ugolini's, asking those two worthies where they were that night. If I
cannot find out, perhaps your informant in that household could help.
Why not ask her?"
_He thinks I was talking about Sophia._
Simon wished he could go to Sophia. What if he were killed tonight and
never saw her again? He wished there was at least time to send her a
poem.
D'Ucello had probably guessed that Simon was visiting Sophia when Alain
was murdered. Simon felt his face grow hot with chagrin. He had failed
to keep his secret--his and Sophia's.
He remembered Sordello telling him that David and Giancarlo had gone to
Perugia. Simon could save d'Ucello from a waste of time by telling him
that.
_But why bother? He's been no help to me._
Angry with the podesta and with himself, and unwilling to yield any more
information to the little man, Simon took his leave.
* * * * *
With two of his knights, the Sires de Borione and de Vilbiz, flanking
him, Simon hurried back from the podesta's palace to the Palazzo
Monaldeschi. They looked over their shoulders so often as they strode
through the darkening street that Simon began to feel they were looking
backward as much as forward. But no bravos sprang at them from ambush,
no arrows flew from housetops. Indeed, the streets were unusually quiet
and empty for late Saturday afternoon, with the clink of the knights'
spurs and the tramp of their heels on the cobbles the loudest sounds of
all.
Windows were shuttered, doors closed tight. The whole neighborhood,
thought Simon, must be aware of what was about to happen.
They turned a corner into the square before the Monaldeschi palace and
heard the sound of hammers. Simon had ordered de Puys to supervise the
building of slanting wooden screens above the battlements to be covered
with wet blankets to protect the roof from fire arrows. The job was
almost done, and Simon reminded himself to compliment de Puys when he
saw him.
His first task here at the palace was to insure the safety of the
Tartars. He had already decided that the safest place in the palace was
the spice pantry in the cellar.
And what if the palace were overwhelmed and the Tartars were trapped and
killed in the spice pantry? Simon made up his mind that he himself would
not surrender. The Filippeschi would have to kill him to get to the
Tartars.
Friar Mathieu answered Simon's knock. Simon had never seen the Tartars'
chambers before, and he was shocked. Mattresses covered with blankets
lay along the walls. Rugs and cushions were scattered about, but there
was no bed, table, or chair to be seen. An overpowering smell of burnt
meat filled the first room Simon entered. In the center of the wooden
floor an area about three feet across was covered with blackened
flagstones, and atop the stones was a heap of charred wood. Beside this
crude hearth was a pile of broken animal bones, melon rinds, and other
refuse. An open wine barrel added its sweetish smell to the general odor
of smoke and decay.
Simon wondered whether the contessa had seen this squalor. She had shown
the Tartars special favor, giving them three rooms in the northwest
corner of the third floor. In most palaces a single room was the most
even a very distinguished visitor could expect. If she thought they were
savages after David of Trebizond had baited them at her reception, what
would she think after seeing this pigsty?
John and Philip rose at Simon's entrance and bowed, smiling broadly.
They seemed not the least embarrassed by the foul condition of their
chambers. Simon bowed back, trying also to smile.
"If Cardinal Ugolini were to show these rooms to the Sacred College,
many of the cardinals would join him in detesting the Tartars," Simon
said to Friar Mathieu. "A wonder the smoke has not smothered them."
With a wry smile Friar Mathieu pointed at the ceiling. An irregular hole
had been broken through above the Tartars' hearth.
"Fortunately for everyone, they are on the top floor of the palace," the
Franciscan said. "All they have tried to do is reproduce the kind of
home they are used to living in, even to the smoke hole in the roof."
The white-bearded John said something in the Tartar tongue to Friar
Mathieu.
"They have heard of the coming fight," the Franciscan said. "They want
weapons and a place on the battlements. They say it is their duty as
guests to defend their hostess, the contessa."
Simon tensed himself for trouble. He had feared this. He chose his words
carefully.
"I am sure the contessa will be overwhelmed with gratitude when I tell
her of such a gracious offer. But we would not want to have to answer to
the mighty Hulagu Khan if something happened to them or to their noble
mission. Tell them that, and that it is _our_ duty to keep _them_ safe.
There is a stone storeroom underneath the kitchen, a spice pantry. I
have explored the palace, and that is the securest place. They must go
there the moment the Filippeschi attack. They should take the Armenians
with them."
The Tartars looked angry and shouted vigorous staccato protests when
Friar Mathieu translated this. Philip, the younger, black-haired one,
especially addressed himself to Simon. Philip seized the oblong gold
tablet of office that hung around his neck and shook it at Simon.
"He reminds you that his title is Baghadur, which means Valiant. He says
you insult him by asking him to hide in the cellar. Among his people
nobody hides. Even the women and children fight."
Simon felt his assurance collapsing. What if the Tartars simply refused
to seek safety? He could not put them in chains.
Earnestly he said, "Tell them it is their duty to their khan to stay
alive and continue negotiations. Be as courteous as you have the power
to be in their language."
"Oh, I am being very polite. One always is, with them."
After another exchange Friar Mathieu said, "They say Hulagu Khan would
expect them to fight."
Simon had a sudden inspiration. "Tell them that if they were to fight
and if anything happened to them, even the slightest injury, the King of
France would cut my head off."
There was a particle of truth in that, Simon thought as Friar Mathieu
translated. Kindly as King Louis was, decapitation would be preferable
to facing his reproach if Simon's weakness caused the Tartars' death.
John shrugged and answered Friar Mathieu quietly. Simon held his breath,
praying that this last effort would work.
Friar Mathieu said, "John says that you are a brave young warrior, and
it would be a shame to have your head cut off when you have a lifetime
of battles ahead of you. For your sake they will forgo the pleasure of
this fight. But they insist on taking only two guards with them. They
insist that the rest of their men fight beside yours."
Relief washed over Simon. He hoped he would be able to think as quickly
in the coming battle as he had just then.
"I can use their other men. Have whatever the ambassadors need for their
comfort carried to the spice pantry." He looked again at the pile of
garbage. "Tell them they will be next to the kitchen. They should like
that."