He let go of her arm. "Pardon my crudity, Madama." Tilia pointed her blade straight up and pressed another jewel in the cross. The blade dropped back into the shaft. "I do not mind crudity," she said, "but I do not like to be manhandled." She smiled slyly. "Unless I've invited it. I had already made my mind up, before you laid violent hands on me, that I would agree to your going at once to the cardinal. I have decided that you may be able to accomplish what you set out to do without getting us all killed. You are brave and intelligent, but you know how to bargain, too. You know when to yield and you know when to stand your ground." Daoud felt pleasure at her compliments, but even more pleasure that she was going to cooperate with him. "Then why did you just say we would not be going to the cardinal?" "I was about to add that first you _will_ feed me bread and cheese and the execrable wine of Bagnioregio. _Then_ I _will_ give you a message that will get you into Cardinal Ugolini's mansion." Daoud laughed. That Tilia had yielded was a great relief. And she was both witty and dangerous, a combination he admired. XI Simon was surprised at how young Cardinal Paulus de Verceuil looked. The man who stood with him in a vineyard on the road to Orvieto had a long, fine-skinned face and glossy black hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. If his scalp was shaved in a clerical tonsure, his red velvet cap covered it. His handsome violet silk tunic reminded Simon that his own surcoat was travel-stained and that Thierry had not polished his mail in days. De Verceuil tossed away the cluster of pale green grapes he had been nibbling and spoke suddenly. "Count, a report has reached me that you spoke rudely to the doge of Venice." His booming bass voice sounded as if it were emerging from the depths of a tomb. "You do realize that your actions reflect on the crown of France?" He thrust his face into Simon's as he spoke, which made Simon involuntarily draw back. De Verceuil was one of the few men Simon had ever met who matched his own unusual height. Simon felt his face grow hot. "Yes, Your Eminence." "And how could you dismiss the trovatore Sordello from the post to which Count Charles himself appointed him?" "If Sordello had stayed with us, the Tartars might have taken such offense as to go back to Outremer." "Do not be absurd. Would they abandon a mission of such importance because of a tavern brawl?" Simon felt shame, but, deeper than that, resentment. He was the Count de Gobignon, and not since he was a child had anyone chastised him like this. He heard a rustling as someone came down the row of vines where they were standing. He turned to see Friar Mathieu, and hoped he was about to be rescued.