"Sometime in June," Daoud said. "Forgive me, I did not think to bring my journal with me, and I cannot tell you the exact date." He tried a weak smile.
"Where is your man Giancarlo?"
On his way here from Siena with an army, Insh'Allah.
"I sent him on from Perugia," Daoud said. "He travels to Rimini, then Ravenna, eventually to Venice, looking for those who would be interested in receiving shipments of silks and spices from Trebizond. He had not been punctilious about writing to me, or perhaps his letters have been lost, so I do not know exactly where he is now."
"I thought you were in competition with the Venetians."
Daoud essayed another smile. "That is why I sent Giancarlo."
"And where were you the night the French cavaliere was murdered?" d'Ucello asked.
"I was with a woman."
"What was her name?"
"I do not think I ever knew it." He tried a flash of sarcasm. "If I had known there was to be a murder that night, I would have asked her name."