The bald man shut his eyes as if in pain. "It does not matter. Merce vos quier, forgive me, but I have a duty to those who have entrusted this ship to me. Surely there must be some other captain in this harbor who will let you make him wealthy."
"I have been to every other captain," said Simon. "All have refused me for one reason or another. Yours is the only ship left."
The captain of the Constanza spread his hands. "Ah, well, Pisa is only a little farther north, and there are many more ships docked at its quays along the Arno. You are bound to find one that will carry you. Or, failing that, this is the best time of the year to make the journey to France overland. The roads are good."
Simon knew that Pisa had been a Ghibellino city for generations. Word of his coming might even have reached enemies in Pisa. He was sure that he and Thierry had been followed along the road they had taken up the Tyrrhenean seacoast. The Pisans would be only too glad to put an end to his mission, and quite possibly to him. And following the endlessly winding coastal road—which would require him to pass dangerously close to Pisa—it would take him a month or more to get to French territory. He decided that this captain meant him nothing but ill. He broke off abruptly and made his way back to the rowboat.
A shout of laughter came floating across the water from the Constanza as the boatman rowed him back, putting Simon in an even fouler mood.
Looking toward shore, he saw a man in a short, dark cape standing on the dock with Thierry.
The boat tied up at a piling, and Simon gave the rower a second denaro and climbed up a short ladder to the quay. With a jolt of anger he recognized the man talking to Thierry as Sordello.
What the devil is he doing here?
Instantly Sordello was kneeling at Simon's feet, clutching at his hand and kissing it and weeping copiously.
"I followed you all the way from Orvieto, Your Signory. I did not make myself known to you before this because I feared you would send me away."