"All my watchmen together are not a tenth of the number of armed men the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi can put into the streets. I assure you that if the watch did try to stop the fight, the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi would join forces and annihilate my men before they went on to tear each other to pieces. Look, Your Signory, mine is a lifetime appointment, which means that how long I live depends on how well I please those who appointed me. The families wish me to prevent or punish fraud, theft, rape, and murder. But when the families have quarrels that can be settled only by bloodshed, they want no interference. Did the contessa send you here to appeal for my help?"
"No, she told me you could not stop the Filippeschi," said Simon, appalled at this glimpse of the chaos that lay under the pretty surface of this town.
D'Ucello nodded with a look of satisfaction. "Of course. No doubt she sees this as her chance to kill off Marco di Filippeschi, something she has longed to do for years. I cannot do what you ask. I know the limits of my power."
Power, thought Simon. Brute strength. That was what would decide this clash, and all he could do was make sure his side was stronger. He felt a resolve, at once grim and gleeful, growing inside him.
He stood up and inclined his head. The stout little man rose and bowed back.
"Then I cannot rely on you?" Simon said.
D'Ucello shrugged. "I am still trying to discover the murderer of your companion. I have learned that neither David of Trebizond nor his servant, Giancarlo, were in Cardinal Ugolini's palace when your friend was killed. I think tonight while the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi are at each other's throats, the best place for me would be at Ugolini's, asking those two worthies where they were that night. If I cannot find out, perhaps your informant in that household could help. Why not ask her?"
He thinks I was talking about Sophia.
Simon wished he could go to Sophia. What if he were killed tonight and never saw her again? He wished there was at least time to send her a poem.
D'Ucello had probably guessed that Simon was visiting Sophia when Alain was murdered. Simon felt his face grow hot with chagrin. He had failed to keep his secret—his and Sophia's.