"I do not understand that either," said Simon. "Or why he brought this man David to Orvieto to cause so much trouble."
She shrugged. "I hardly ever see the man from Trebizond. My uncle's mansion is so big, people can come and go without ever meeting." She hoped the suggestion would take root. It was vital for him to think there was no connection between David and herself.
"This is a God-given opportunity for us to rescue the Holy Land," he said.
"Perhaps I can help you," she said.
"Would you?" His face brightened.
"I could try to find out why my uncle opposes your cause. If you will tell me why we Christians should ally ourselves with the Tartars, I will repeat your reasons to him. I will not say they came from you. Hearing the arguments in private, coming from a loved niece, he might open his mind to them."
Simon's eyes opened wide in amazement. "You would do all that? But why are you so willing to help me, Madonna, when your uncle is so opposed to my cause?"
"Because I would like"—she hesitated just for a breath, then put her hand on his arm—"I would like to see more of you."
She was on dangerous ground. The tradition of courtly love, in which he had doubtless been reared, called for the woman to be aloof and for the man to beg for meetings. But Daoud had told her she did not have the time to allow this inexperienced young man to proceed at his own pace.
He appeared overwhelmed with happiness. Her answer had just the effect she had hoped for.