And life or death for hundreds of people depended on how this ape happened to choose in the next few moments, Daoud thought, as Lorenzo went to the door and called a servant. Why did God put such men in positions of power? Soon there was a knock at the door, and Lorenzo went to it and admitted d'Ucello. The podesta's face was hidden by the dark brown hood of his cloak. _For all this man knows, I plan to have him killed_, Daoud thought, admiring d'Ucello's courage in coming here. "You come recommended to us as a man who can keep order in this city," said Lapo as d'Ucello took a seat. "And we can think of no higher recommendation, since it comes from a man you have just been torturing," said Lorenzo. "This man has the strength of the old Romans," said d'Ucello, nodding toward Daoud. "He knows when to put a personal grievance aside for the greater good." Lapo said, "If we were willing to let you remain as podesta of this city, in return for your oath of allegiance to the Duke of Siena, how many men would you need to keep the city under control?" "With two hundred men I could match the Monaldeschi forces," said d'Ucello. "The Filippeschi have been crushed, and so badly that they may go over to the Ghibellino party." His dark eyes lit up. He was relishing the prospect of giving orders, Daoud thought, to the old houses that had treated him like a servant. _Can it be that my legacy to Orvieto may be an improved government? I certainly did not come here for that purpose._ But Daoud felt himself weakening. His overtaxed body would soon betray him into sleep if he did not go to bed of his own accord. "If you have no further need of me--" he said. Lorenzo helped him stand, and leaning on him, he limped to the door. "I owe you more than I can say," d'Ucello called after him. "Pray to God that I do not decide to repay my debt to _you_," Daoud answered. He did not look back, but he could imagine d'Ucello's small, grim smile. LVII Simon and King Louis stood side by side on the yellow, sandy west bank of the Rhone River opposite Avignon. They had just crossed over the Pont d'Avignon, a long, narrow bridge of twenty-two arches. Avignon was a compact city, encircled by butter-colored walls fortified with red cone-roofed towers. A prosperous city as well, Simon thought as he regarded the many church spires rising above the walls. Even during his brief glimpse of the city upon his arrival late the night before, he had seen many great houses. He looked at the tall, gaunt king, whose round eyes stared thoughtfully off into the cloudy sky.