She and David had entered the city through a gate on the east side of the Tiber without difficulty. Evidently news of the incident at the inn had not reached the Roman watch. In the city she rode beside David along the river's east bank.
She touched David's shoulder and pointed to a hilltop.
"That hill is called the Capitoline," she said. "At one time the whole world was ruled from there."
She supposed David would find that hard to believe, though the hill was still impressive, with a cluster of marble palaces at its top.
They were passing through one of the most crowded parts of Rome. On their left, fishermen hauled their nets out of the river, throwing flopping fish into baskets. On their right, shops in the ground floors of overhanging houses offered fruits and flowers and vegetables, fish, shoes, straw, rosaries, icons, relics, candles. Even at this early hour the street was crowded. Romans jostled the horses David and Sophia rode, but they gave Scipio plenty of room. Lorenzo had given the great boarhound a stern lecture, after which Scipio docilely allowed David to lead him on a leash.
"I have seen two other great imperial cities," said David. "One was Baghdad, before the Tartars destroyed it. It was then much like this city is now—its glory shrunken and faded, but still the center of our faith, as Rome is the center of Christendom."
Sophia was taken aback at his casual error.
"Rome is the center of Latin Christendom," she said sharply.
"Ah, how could I have neglected Constantinople and the Greek Church?" He smiled. The smile lit his deeply tanned face in a way that surprised her, held her gaze. She felt a warmth.
How smooth and brown his skin is.