"We have not the means to treat your wounds here in this chamber," said d'Ucello. "But lower your legs over the side of the table and sit there for a moment. Then, if you can stand and walk, we will take you upstairs and my own physician, Fra Bernardino, will attend you."
Can it be? Am I to go free?
Joy burst up in him like a fountain in the desert. The candlelight seemed to flicker, and he nearly fainted. The sudden rush of emotion was unbearable.
Unless this was indeed a ruse, which seemed less and less likely with each passing moment, his suffering was over. The contessa had prevailed! But why? Why had she intervened to save him? Daoud remembered his vision of Sophia hurrying through the night to Tilia's house. Had Sophia done something that brought the contessa into it?
As he sat on the edge of the table, Daoud brought his eyes up to fix them on d'Ucello's. The dark eyes of the podesta, with the deep black rings under them, stared back. There was a look of defiance in d'Ucello's eyes, as if Daoud were the accuser and d'Ucello the one being interrogated.
Daoud's throat was tight and dry, and it ached when he tried to speak, but he forced words out.
"What are you going to do with me? Are you setting me free?"
The podesta nodded, his lips tight. "It seems that way."
"Why?"
"Be good enough to wait for an explanation until we are in private."