Sophia felt an urge to cry out, to do something to protect Simon. And with that protective feeling she saw him again—the glossy, dark brown hair that hung in waves almost to his shoulders—the startling blue eyes in an angular, intelligent face. The tall, slender body.
And that name—Simon. Was there an omen of some sort in that? Did not this Simon even look somewhat like her painting of Saint Simon Stylites, carried with her all the way from Constantinople? As the saint might have looked when he was a young man?
As Sophia Orfali meeting the Count de Gobignon, she had felt almost half in love with Simon.
"How can you talk of killing him?" Ugolini cried, his voice almost cracking. "The French cardinals and their men-at-arms would tear the city apart. It might be enough to bring Charles d'Anjou or King Louis himself down here with an army. Sooner or later they would trace it back to us. And then, if you want to know your fate"—his finger moved in turn from David to Lorenzo to Sophia—"go see what they do in the Piazza del Cattedrale to that poor wretch this count captured."
Sophia felt a sickening, falling sensation in her stomach at this reminder of the danger she was in. Usually she managed to keep calm by refusing to think about what would happen if she were caught. She cursed Ugolini for taking her defenses by surprise.
Lorenzo whirled suddenly on Ugolini. "Get hold of yourself, Cardinal. How can a man think, with you shrieking away like a crazy old nonna?"
Good for you, Lorenzo, she thought.
"I am a prince of the Roman Catholic Church," Ugolini shouted. "You will show respect!"
Unabashed, Lorenzo turned to David. "Despite his hysterics, I do think the cardinal is right. If de Gobignon were murdered, the city would be in an uproar. We could not go on with our work."
"Dear God, why did You send these people into my life?" Ugolini groaned.