"Messere, let us speak quickly. You are David of Trebizond, are you not?" The man had asked the question in an urgent but respectful tone. Feeling a bit more hopeful, Daoud answered, "Yes, I am David." "Who the devil are _you_?" called a voice from behind Daoud. The man addressed his answer to Daoud. "I am Andrea Sordello of Rimini, Messer David. These three men are my comrades. It would honor us if you would accept our service." "Accept his service," Lorenzo said at once from behind Daoud. "We have nothing to lose." Daoud made himself decide at once. "If you are willing to help me, I am grateful." "Be off with you, Messer Sordello," called one of the original pursuers. "This is no quarrel of yours." "And what is _your_ quarrel with these men?" Sordello replied. "That is no affair of yours, Messere!" It was the voice of a very young man, intense, passionate. Daoud turned to face the young voice. At once Sordello moved to take a position at his side. Daoud realized that he could see better; the first hint of dawn. And not only was there more light, but his head was clearer as well. The heat of his body, aroused to fight, was burning away the intoxicating spirits in his blood. The men opposite were spread far apart. The one who spoke for them was slender and wore a cap that fell over one ear. A silver badge glittered on the cap. Sordello spoke again. "Since you will not say, Messere, I will tell _you_ what your affair is. You are of the famiglia Filippeschi. You saw these gentlemen leaving the Palazzo Monaldeschi and decided that any guest of the Monaldeschi must be an enemy of yours. And so you decided to hunt down and kill these good gentlemen, who have done you no harm and are not even citizens of Orvieto, for the offense of having enjoyed the hospitality of your rivals." Filippeschi. Daoud had been wanting to make contact with them ever since his arrival in Orvieto. Now he had met them, and--accursed luck--they wanted to kill him. "Lorenzo, they are Filippeschi," he muttered. "Talk to them." "There is no talking to _them_, Messer David," said Sordello. "They are out for your blood." "Be still," said Daoud. The man had offered his services. Let him confine himself to serving, then. Lorenzo stepped out in front of Daoud, his sword still out before him, but angled toward the ground. "Messeres, at least you should know who it is that you have set out to kill. I am Giancarlo of Naples, and this is my master, David. He is a merchant from Trebizond, which is very far away. Much too far for him to have any connection with the quarrels of Orvieto." One of the Filippeschi bravos, a short man standing to the left of the slender leader, said, "You spin a tale to try to fool us. Anyone can see your master is a Frenchman. Too many damned French in Italy. The Monaldeschi are toadies of the French. Death to the Monaldeschi, and death to the French!"