Daoud shook his head. "I am not needed. And I have an important matter to discuss with Ugolini."
"Which you just remembered," Lorenzo said, eyeing him sourly.
Daoud pressed his lips together. "Those three women know what to do. There is no need for anyone to intervene unless he starts to resist. And then you can kill him as easily as I can."
Lorenzo stood up and bowed formally. "Thank you for your trust, Messere."
If I am right in thinking that he hates this as much as I do, then he hates me for making him stay here.
The thump of Daoud's boots on the cobblestones echoed against the fronts of the huddled houses. Armed with sword and dagger, his head clear, and keeping to the wider streets, Daoud felt safe from attack, even though it was well past midnight. Besides, the Filippeschi had been won over, so he need no longer fear them. Fear, he thought, was the wrong word for it. Tonight he would welcome battle.
And he had the Scorpion with him tonight. He no longer ever made the mistake of going about in the streets of Orvieto at night without carrying the Scorpion in a concealed pocket in his cloak.
He walked past the cathedral church of San Giovenale, and once again from the open doors heard the pale voices of the priests of the cathedral chapter. A heavy odor of incense, carried on the moist night air, filled his nostrils.
Pain crushed his heart as he passed beyond the pool of light that spilled out the cathedral door. He seemed to feel a heavy hand on his shoulder, and looked up. Conjured up from memory, his blond father appeared to tower over him, a red cross on the shoulder of his white mantle. A warm hand gripped Daoud's, and his mother, her red-gold hair bound with pearls, smiled down at him. Her dress was blue, like the dress she had died in.