"What is that?" Tilia asked.
"A keepsake Daoud gave me." She closed the hammered silver case and slid it back inside the top of her gown.
"We cannot just sit here," Tilia said. "We are like mice waiting for the cat to come and eat us."
"I don't like depending on someone else to save me any more than you, Tilia," Sophia said, "but all we can do is wait. Someone will come for us. Daoud or Lorenzo. Someone."
"We should have left long ago, when the men-at-arms ran away," said Ugolini. "Then we would have had horses." He looked reproachfully at Sophia. Sophia felt he had a right to. She had persuaded them to stay here. How could she have been so sure that the news that the battle was lost, which had thrown the men-at-arms into a panic, was merely a baseless rumor? It was her faith in Daoud, she thought, her certainty that no matter what happened on the battlefield he would come for her and take her to safety.
"Adelberto, you cannot ride very well," said Tilia. "And I cannot ride a horse at all. You may be sure those poltroons would not have carried us on litters. We could not have left then."
"You could ride if your life depended on it," said Sophia. "You may still have to."
"My life depends on never getting on a horse," said Tilia. "I would surely break my neck."
There were more anguished shrieks from somewhere nearby, and they looked at each other and the pool of terror rose higher.
Sophia heard hoofbeats and men's voices, loud, in the street outside. She went to the door that led out to the balcony and pushed it open a crack. With a clattering of hooves on cobblestones, three mounted men rode down the street, looking up at buildings. They carried no torches, but their drawn swords gave off pale glints. There was no way she could tell who they were or which side they were on.