"It is good wine." Lorenzo continued, "and you can drink your fill after we get it into the tent. The Tartars will not miss a few cupfuls."
Grumbling despite the promised reward, the guard helped Lorenzo manhandle the cask to the back of the cart, tip it, and roll it down to the ground. Then they unloaded the other one.
The guard stood back to let Lorenzo roll the first cask by himself through the loose flap into the Tartars' tent.
"Stay away from the girl," he growled at Lorenzo's back. "His Eminence the cardinal says she's under arrest."
Lorenzo stiffened, and a chill gripped him. What danger was Rachel in now?
As Lorenzo straightened up, he heard a gasp.
The tent was lit by a single candle and the daylight that filtered dimly through its silk walls. It was held up by two center poles and an oblong framework from which the sides were hung. Around the edges were camp beds. Between the center posts was a table. Charcoal glowed in a brazier, warming the interior of the tent.
A shadowy figure rushed toward him. Lorenzo backed away, his hand reaching inside his tunic for the sandbag.
"Lorenzo!"
"Rachel." His voice was choked.