The old priest might still have a protective feeling toward the Tartars, Lorenzo thought. Best not to tell him the real reason.
"I guessed that right now there would be less of a guard on her," said Lorenzo. "And if you are as ashamed of your part in what has happened to her as I am of mine, you will help me. You really should come with me."
"Willingly," said Friar Mathieu. "I have no great confidence in your ability to protect Rachel."
"You seem to have done little enough for her yourself," said Lorenzo gruffly. Friar Mathieu appeared angry as he opened his mouth, but then he closed it again, without speaking.
A good Christian. Turning the other cheek.
Trying to see in all directions at once, Lorenzo carried blankets from the tent and threw them into the back of the cart. He took the long-necked jar of poisoned wine from under the driver's seat. Looking around for guards and seeing them all gazing southward toward the battle, he went back into the tent and put the wine on the table.
"This wine was my disguise," he said. "I am bringing a gift of wine for the Tartars from the Bishop of Agnani." Much better to tell them no more than that.
"My chest, my treasures," Rachel said. Lorenzo sprang at the box she pointed out and gripped it by both handles. He was shocked at its weight.
"My God! I do not know if I can—"
A sudden fear came over him. There was no time for this! If he were caught now, with the dead Venetian, Rachel would surely be executed, and he along with her.