He raised his head, and through the tears that clouded his vision he recognized a face. Last night's innkeeper. A short, balding man with large eyes and a generous nose. "We have sent for the watch, Your Signory," said the man. "Did anyone see or hear anything?" "My wife heard your friend go out before dawn. He never came back." _Jesus, have mercy on me_, thought Simon. _This is my fault. He went out to await the dawn so he could warn me. And someone killed him._ Tears were pouring from his eyes. He was sobbing convulsively. "Poverello," he heard someone mutter sympathetically. Here he was a knight, a count, kneeling in the street weeping in front of a crowd of strangers. He did not care. Guilt crushed him. He wanted to lie beside his friend's body and be dead with him. But how could he? No, he had to find and kill Alain's murderer. Still kneeling beside Alain, he wiped his face with the edge of his cape and surveyed the crowd. To keep his identity a secret seemed unimportant now. "I am the Count de Gobignon of France. I will pay handsomely anyone who helps me find the man who did this. If anyone can name the murderer, I will pay"--he thought a moment--"a thousand florins." A murmuring ran through the crowd. A fortune! Foolish, perhaps, Simon thought, to offer such a reward. A man would accuse his own brother to get that much money. _I may hear many names. I will have to be sure._ He looked down at poor Alain. The flies were crawling on his face, and he brushed them away. Alain's lips had turned blue. He looked for Alain's purse and saw none on his belt. Stabbed to death for the few coins he carried. Dead at twenty years of age. Tears overflowed his eyes again. Oddly, Alain still wore his sword and dagger. Alain's weapons were still both sheathed. Whoever had stabbed him had not given him time to defend himself. Yet, there were no recessed doorways or alley openings where an armed robber might hide himself. The spot was unpleasantly familiar. This was where Simon's archers, at de Verceuil's orders, had shot two Orvietans. Had Alain been tricked by someone pretending to be a friend? Was the killer someone Alain knew? _Ah, my poor friend, what a shame it is when a young knight dies without sword in hand._ Simon clenched his fist, the tears falling unceasingly. _By the wounds in Christ's body I swear I will avenge the wounds that killed you, Alain._ Simon remembered now that the watch was on the way. When they got here they would ask him questions about what he and Alain were doing here, questions he did not want to answer until he had time to think. _A scandal would give de Verceuil a chance to eat me alive. And I must get Friar Mathieu to help me._ "Send someone to the Palazzo Monaldeschi for my horse," he said to the innkeeper, standing suddenly. "As you wish, Your Signory." The innkeeper hurried off.