The sky over the mountains was a blue washed clean, vast as the deep surface of the sea, reflecting all the myriad sights of the mortal world. Beneath Granada's firmament, the young knight Giovanni trembled all over. He pointed at the blank-faced Moorish noble captive, his own face filled with disbelief.
"Three hundred thousand, three hundred thousand gold ducats!"
"That's right! Giovanni, you counted very quickly, and very accurately. You will be old Sylvester's outstanding heir, and you will become an excellent Venetian senator as well. Perhaps even the Republic's Council of Ten—depending on your ties with the Holy Roman Emperor—you may not be without a chance."
The old knight Lorenzo's lips curled up, his voice soft and coaxing. Then, with a clang, he drew the knightly longsword at his waist and stuffed it into Giovanni's hands.
"Go! Child! For the interests of the Republic of Venice, go kill him. Kill this infidel messenger!"
"Ah! Kill him!"
The young knight Giovanni took the longsword almost by instinct and walked up to the Moorish noble captive. He slowly set the blade against the captive's neck, watching the man's terrified expression, listening to his urgent shouts, and his whole body began to shudder.
His hand trembled faintly, and the scales in his heart swayed left and right. On one side were faith in the Lord, the honor of crusade, the spirit of a knight. On the other side were the interests of the Republic, the interests of his family, and his own interests too.
"O Lord! Three hundred thousand gold ducats..."
The young knight Giovanni murmured under his breath, his eyes gradually changing. The old knight Lorenzo sat there calm and unruffled, already knowing the answer in his heart.
After a moment of dead silence, a shrill scream rang out, and the