"I am surprised to hear you pay such tribute to the power of religion, Lorenzo," said Manfred with that bright grin of his.
The grim lines of Lorenzo's face were accentuated by the droop of his black and white mustache. "I have never in my life doubted the power of religion, Sire."
Having used up all their lances, the Sons of the Falcon were now shooting arrows from horseback, riding toward lines of stationary targets that had been set up at the far end of the valley.
"Do you have a proposal, Daoud?" said Manfred with a sour look. "Let me hear it."
Daoud felt an overwhelming sense of relief. This was the moment he had been hoping for all day.
"Sire, do not wait for Charles to come out of Rome," he said. "In January, February at the latest, assemble your army and march north."
There, he had made his cast. Would it pierce the target?
"I could go all the way to the Papal States only to find Charles lurking behind the walls of Rome. I cannot besiege Rome. That would take ten times as many men as I have."
"No," said Daoud. "His army will not let him stay in Rome. By the end of winter they will have stolen everything in Rome that can be stolen. Charles will have to promise them more spoils and lead them to battle, or they will desert him."
Manfred nodded thoughtfully. "In truth, greed is what drives them."