by Robert Shea
XIII
Simon stood shifting from foot to foot in the graveled yard before thepalace of Pope Urban. An Italian cardinal had just arrived with hisretinue of bishops, monsignori, priests, and monks, and Simon knew itwould be some time before the procession passed all the guards and themajordomo at the main door.
Alain de Pirenne, beside him, said in a low voice, "I still can'tbelieve it. We are about to attend a council called by the popehimself." His blue eyes were huge, and his fair skin was flushed withexcitement. He was dressed in his best, an azure tunic with silverembroidery at the sleeves and collar, and on his feet poulaines, blackdeerskin shoes whose elongated toes came to points. The hilt of thelongsword hanging at his waist was plain, but Simon knew it had been inthe Pirenne family for generations.
"Do not believe it yet, Alain," Simon said wryly. "We were not invited,and we have not yet been let in."
"Surely they would not keep out so great a seigneur as you," said Alain."Especially when you have been faithfully protecting the Tartars for amonth."
"Well, that is what I am counting on," Simon said.
They stood inside a high wall of cream-colored tufa, the same rock onwhich Orvieto stood. The wall, topped with square battlements,surrounded the papal palace. Simon's gaze swept beyond the wall towardthe bluish tops of nearby hills, wreathed in morning mist, then back tothe row of pine trees that stood between the wall and the palace, themassed green of the needles almost so dark as to appear black. Thepalace itself, fortified by six square turrets, was of white limestone.It must have cost the papal treasury a fortune, Simon thought, to haulall those big blocks up here. Within this solid edifice, surrounded bythis high wall, atop the impregnable mesa of Orvieto, the Holy Fatherwas certainly well protected.
The last monk in his gray gown had passed the guards at the door, andSimon saw more clergymen massing at the outer gate. He took a deepbreath and started up the stairs, de Pirenne hurrying behind him. Hereminded himself, _I am the Count de Gobignon_.
He said as much to the majordomo, who stood before him in white silktunic with the keys of Peter embroidered in black on the left breast.
"Ah, Your Signory, I saw your brave battle in the cathedral with thatheretic assassin." The majordomo had a prominent upper lip that made himlook like a horse. "A thousand welcomes to the palace of His Holiness. Iwill be happy to tell him that you are attending the council." He showedbig yellow teeth in an unctuous grin.
Then his face fell as he looked down at Simon's belt. "I regret, YourSignory, but you may not wear your sword in the palace of the pope. Eventhough you wielded it most gloriously in His Holiness's service. Onlythe papal guards may bear arms within. A thousand pardons, but you musttake it off. You may leave it with the capitano of the guard if youwish."
Simon's face burned with embarrassment as he realized he was going tohave to disappoint Alain. The scimitar was one of his most preciouspossessions, and he would not entrust it to a stranger, even a strangerin the service of the pope. With a sigh he unbuckled his belt and handedit, with his dagger and the jewel-handled scimitar, to de Pirenne.
"If only I had thought to bring Thierry with us," he said. "Forgive me,Alain, but would you be good enough to take these back to the PalazzoMonaldeschi? Then you can meet me back here."
"Forgive _me_, Your Signory!" the majordomo interjected. "I am desolate,but His Holiness himself has commanded that no one is to enter after thecouncil begins."
Simon felt angry words forcing their way to his lips. But he clamped hismouth shut. This was, after all, the court of the Vicar of Christ onearth, and he did not dare protest against its customs. He had thereputation of France to think of. These Italians already thought theFrench were all barbarians.
"I knew it was too good to be true," de Pirenne said with a rueful smileas he turned away. "I will be waiting for you in the yard outside,Monseigneur."
Simon shared his friend's unhappiness. This would have been somethingfor Alain to remember for the rest of his life.
"Bring our horses," Simon said. "We can go riding in the country afterthe council is over." Alain's downcast face brightened at that. Simonknew that Alain, born and reared in a country castle, hated being coopedup in town.
Simon turned away, feeling dread at having to go into the papal courtalone.
* * * * *
The great hall of the pope's palace was long, high, narrow, and shadowy.Even though it was a sunny day outside, the small windows of white glasson both sides of the room admitted insufficient light, and had to besupplemented by a double row of three-tiered chandeliers, each bearingdozens of candles. The pope could have saved himself the cost of a greatmany candles, Simon thought, if he had built his great hall in the newstyle, like the king's palace in Paris, with buttresses that allowed formuch larger windows.
But this was Italy, he reminded himself, where there was war in the citystreets, even war against the pope. Large glass windows would offer poorprotection. The King of France did not have such worries.
At the far end of the room a long flight of marble steps swept up to anenormous gilded throne, empty at present. Down the center of the stepsran a purple carpet, and over the carpet lay a wide strip of whitelinen.
Two rows of high-backed pews faced each other on either side of thethrone. Between them was a table laid with rolls of parchment, aninkstand, and a sheaf of quills. The pews were as yet empty, but aroundthem stood cardinals in bright red robes with flat, broad-brimmed redhats--some of them Simon remembered seeing at the cathedral two weeksbefore. Farther removed from the throne and more numerous were thepurple-robed archbishops and bishops. Scattered around the hall werepriests, monks, and friars in black, white, brown, and gray. There mustbe nearly a hundred men in the room, Simon guessed. The air was filledwith a buzz of conversation.
He felt the hollow in his stomach and the trembling in his knees thatdisturbed him whenever he entered a roomful of strangers. And thesestrangers were, most of them, the spiritual lords of the Church. Helooked for a place where he could stand inconspicuously. He dared notspeak to anyone. He felt as if a frown from one of these men would beenough to send him into disordered retreat.
And suddenly before him there was the frowning face of Cardinal Paulusde Verceuil. The wide red hat with its heavy tassels seemed precariouslybalanced on his head. His gold pectoral cross was set with emeralds andrubies. The buttons that ran down the front of his scarlet cassock,Simon noticed, were embroidered with gold thread.
"What the devil are you doing here?"
Simon cast about wildly in his mind for a sensible answer. Nothing hecould say, he was sure, would win this cardinal's approval.
"I--I feel it is important that I know what is decided here, YourEminence."
"These deliberations are no business of yours. Your duty is to protectthe ambassadors. You have deserted your post."
Stung, Simon wished de Verceuil were not an ordained priest and a princeof the Church, so that he could challenge him. That he could do nothingabout de Verceuil's accusation infuriated him.
"The Tartars are safely at the Monaldeschi palace guarded by all of ourknights and men-at-arms. When Count Charles d'Anjou laid this task uponme, I understood that I was to help advance the alliance with theTartars. I cannot do that if I am kept in ignorance." After a pause headded, "Your Eminence."
That was almost as good as a challenge. Simon felt light-headed, and hislimbs tingled. He wanted to raise his arms and shake his fists.
De Verceuil's face turned a deep maroon, but before he could speak, afigure also in cardinal's red appeared beside them.
"Paulus de Verceuil! Is this not the young Count de Gobignon, Peer ofthe Realm? You are remiss, mon ami. You should have realized that theFrench cardinals here in Orvieto would wish to meet one of France'sgreatest barons."
This cardinal had a long black beard, and eyes set in deep hollows. Hecould easily have presented a dour figure, but stood smiling with hishands clasped over a broad stomach.
Simon immediately dropped to one knee and bent his head toward the ringthe cardinal held out to him. The stone, as big as Cardinal le Gros'sknuckle, was a spherical, polished sapphire with a cross-shapedfour-pointed star glowing in its center. Holding the cardinal's cold,soft hand, Simon touched the gem lightly with his lips.
_I believe I am supposed to gain an indulgence from kissing this ring_,he thought. He rose to his feet. He tried to remember what he knew aboutGuy le Gros. He had heard a bit about each of the fourteen Frenchcardinals. Le Gros, he recalled, had been a knight and a prominentlawyer, ultimately a member of the king's cabinet. Then he had joinedthe clergy. He had been the first cardinal elevated by Pope Urban.
"Doubtless you knew Count Simon's late father," said de Verceuil to leGros. "Since you served as a counselor to the king."
Simon wanted to shrink out of sight at the reminder of Amalric deGobignon. De Verceuil had mentioned him out of deliberate cruelty, Simonwas certain. He felt even more crushed when he saw the pained look thatpassed briefly over Cardinal le Gros's features.
"Oh, yes, I met your father many years ago," said le Gros, his lighttone reassuring Simon a bit. "He was a tall man like you, but blond, asI recall."
The suggestion that he did not resemble Amalric de Gobignon chilledSimon.
"As a father of unmarried daughters, Cardinal le Gros," de Verceuilsaid, "you might be interested to know that the count has no wife."
Le Gros shrugged and smiled at Simon. "His Eminence never misses anopportunity to remind me that I was once a family man. Perhaps Paulusenvies my wider experience of life."
"Not at all!" de Verceuil protested.
"Or perhaps he thinks it a scandal that a cardinal should havedaughters," said le Gros, still addressing Simon. "At least mine arelegitimate, unlike the offspring of certain other princes of the Church.As for the high office, it was not my choice. His Holiness commandedme." He leaned confidentially toward Simon. "He needed more Frenchcardinals. He cannot trust the Italians to support him against theaccursed Manfred von Hohenstaufen."
"Even more than that, he was hoping you could persuade King Louis togive his brother Charles permission to fight Manfred," said de Verceuil."You failed him in that."
"That case is not closed," said le Gros. "Indeed, what we do here todaymay lead directly to the overthrow of the odious Manfred, as I am sureyou both understand." He smiled, first at Simon, then at de Verceuil."But should we not be speaking Latin, the mother tongue of the Church?Some lupus might be spying on us."
In Latin de Verceuil answered, "I fear Count Simon would be unable tofollow us."
"Not at all, domini mei," Simon cut in quickly, also in Latin. "I havehad some instruction in that language." His many and often quarrelingguardians had agreed at least that he should have an education farsuperior to that of most other great barons. Having studied for twoyears at the University of Paris, Simon had once been the victim of alupus, a wolf, an informer who reported students for breaking theuniversity rule that Latin must be spoken at all times. The fine he paidwas negligible, but his embarrassment was keen.
"Good for you, my boy," said le Gros, patting him lightly on theshoulder. De Verceuil's lips puckered as if he had been sucking on alemon.
A sudden blast of trumpets silenced the conversation in the hall.Servants swung open double doors near the papal throne, and two menentered. One was Pope Urban, whom Simon had not seen since the day ofthat ill-omened papal mass for the Tartar ambassadors. His white beardfanned in wispy locks over his chest. The mouth framed by his beard wascompressed, and his eyes were hard. Simon knew that he had been bornJacques Pantaleone at Troyes in France, not far from Gobignon, and was ashoemaker's son. Only in the Church could a man from such a humblebeginning rise to such high position. Urban had the face of a man whocould cut the toughest leather to his pattern.
Age had bent the pope somewhat, and he leaned on the shoulder of a manwho walked beside him. This man was so unusual a figure that he drewSimon's attention away from Pope Urban. Like the Holy Father, he waswearing white, but it was the white robe of a Dominican friar, and itcurved out around his belly like the sail of a galley with the windbehind it. He was partially bald, his face round as a full moon, and hiseyes, nose, and mouth were half buried in flesh the sallow color of newwheat. He nodded repeatedly in response to something the pope wasearnestly saying to him.
"Who is _that_?" Simon whispered, earning himself a black look from deVerceuil.
"Fra Tomasso d'Aquino," said Cardinal le Gros. "I am told he is thewisest man alive. Papa Pantaleone has appointed him to conduct thisinquiry, unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately, dominus meus?"
"Bad enough for us that d'Aquino is Italian, he is also a relative ofthe Hohenstaufens. His older brothers have served both Frederic andManfred."
"A relative of the Hohenstaufens!" de Verceuil exclaimed loud enough fortwo nearby bishops to turn and stare at him. "How can His Holiness trustsuch a man?"
"Fra Tomasso is not _that_ close a relative," said le Gros. "PapaPantaleone hates the Hohenstaufens more than anyone. Have they notforced him to immure himself here in the hills, when he should by rightsbe reigning in Rome? And yet he favors Aquino because Aquino is loyal tothe Church and well informed. Come, let us find our seats." They walkedtogether toward the pews near the papal throne.
And Simon was suddenly standing alone at the back of the congregation.
Standing at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne, Pope Urbanturned, smiled, and spread his hands in benediction. He intoned a prayerbeginning, "Dominus Deus," very rapidly in Latin and followed withgreetings to all present. He mentioned each cardinal, archbishop, andbishop by name, then several distinguished abbots and monsignori. Hiswhite beard fluttered as he spoke.
Then Simon heard, "And we greet with joy our countryman, Simon, Count deGobignon, who bears one of France's most ancient and honored names."
A stunning brightness blinded Simon, as if lightning had struck right infront of him. _Ancient and honored!_ In front of so many leaders of theChurch. If at this moment some hidden enemy were to shoot an arrow atthe pope, Simon would have leapt to take it in his own breast with joy.
_What magnanimity!_ Simon thought. He remembered the majordomo saying hewould tell the pope Simon was there. He looked to see how de Verceuilhad reacted to the pope's singling him out, but the cardinal was hiddensomewhere in the rows of red-hatted figures lined up in their pews oneither side of the pope. Simon noticed other prelates staring at him,then turning away as he looked at them, and his face went hot.
Meanwhile the pope was talking about the Tartars. "We must soon decidewhether it be God's will that Christian princes join with the Tartarsand aid them in their war against the Saracens, or whether we shouldforbid this alliance with pagans. We shall have a private audience laterthis week with the two ambassadors from Tartary. But today we ask yourcounsel. So that all may speak freely, we have expressly not invited theTartar emissaries. We ask God to help us make a wise decision." Heintroduced Fra Tomasso d'Aquino.
To Simon's surprise, Pope Urban did not then ascend to his throne butinstead came down, disappearing into the midst of his counselors. Thecardinals sat in their pews. The lesser dignitaries sat on smallerchairs in rows facing the throne. When everyone was in place, Simoncould see Pope Urban in a tall oaken chair at the foot of the steps.
There was no chair for Simon, even though the pope had greeted him byname. No matter, many of the lesser clergy also remained standing. Hepressed forward through the crowd until he was just behind the seatedmen so that he could see and hear better.
The corpulent Fra Tomasso took his place behind the table in a heavychair wider than the pope's, though its back was not as high. He calledfor Cardinal Adelberto Ugolini. The cardinal, a tiny man with flowingside whiskers and a
receding chin, stood up at his place in the pews. Hein turn summoned from the audience a knight called Sire Cosmas.
Sire Cosmas, an elderly man, walked stiffly to the pope and knelt beforehim. Ugolini told the assembly that Cosmas had seen and fought theTartar invaders in his native Hungary and was driven from his home bythem.
_The Tartars have long since withdrawn from Hungary_, Simon thought._Why did Sire Cosmas never go back there?_
Sire Cosmas was lean and dark, with gray hair that fell to hisshoulders. Over scarlet gloves he wore many rings that flashed as hegestured.
"They came without warning and all at once, like a summer cloudburst,"the Hungarian said. "One moment we were at peace, the next the lines ofTartar horsemen darkened the eastern horizon from the Baltic to theAdriatic."
Sire Cosmas's Latin was very good, fast and fluent.
Simon stood transfixed as Cosmas described the fall of one Russian cityafter another, how the Tartars leveled Riazan, Moscow, and Kiev andbutchered all their people. They would gather all the women, rape them,and cut their throats. The men they cut in two, impaled on stakes,roasted, flayed alive, used as archery targets, or suffocated bypounding dirt down their throats. The details of the atrocities sickenedSimon. On into Poland the Tartars came.
Cosmas's tale of the trumpeter of Krakow, who kept sounding the alarmfrom the cathedral tower until Tartar arrows struck him down, broughttears to Simon's eyes.
Simon found the Hungarian's recital spellbinding. Cosmas had undoubtedlyrepeated his account many times, polishing his storytelling skills alittle more with each occasion. It was probably easy and perhapsprofitable for him to remain in western Europe telling and retelling, ingreat halls and at dinner tables, his adventures with the Tartars.
_How much is Cardinal Ugolini paying him for this performance?_
The flower of European chivalry engaged the Tartars at Liegnitz inPoland, Sire Cosmas said, and when the battle was over, thousands ofknights from Hungary, Poland, Germany, Italy, France, England, and asfar away as Spain lay dead and dying on the field and the Tartars weretriumphant. They turned then to meet another mighty Christian army, thatof King Bela of Hungary, at Mohi.
"I fought in that battle," Cosmas declared. "The dog-faced Tartarsbombarded us with terrible weapons that burst into flame and gave offpoisonous smoke, so that men died of breathing it. We advanced againstthem and discovered that we were surrounded. Their pitiless volleys ofarrows slowly reduced our numbers all that long day. In the lateafternoon we saw their columns gathering for a charge, but we also saw agap in their line. Many of us, myself among them, rushed for that gap,throwing down our arms and armor so we could escape more quickly. It wasa devilish trick. The Tartar heavy cavalry fell upon those who remainedbehind, now few in number, and slaughtered all. The light cavalry rodealong the flanks of those who retreated, shooting them down till bodiesin their thousands littered the road. I was one of the few who, by God'sgrace and by feigning death, lived."
The Tartars advanced to the Danube, he went on, burning everything,killing all the people in towns and villages. They burned Pest to theground. On Christmas Day in the year 1241 the Danube froze hard. TheTartars crossed and destroyed Buda. They advanced into Austria. Tartarcolumns were sighted from the walls of Vienna. Europe lay helplessbefore them.
"Only the hand of God saved us. He willed that at that very moment theemperor of the Tartars in their far-off homeland should die," SireCosmas concluded. "All the kings and generals of the Tartars had todepart from Europe, with their armies, to choose their next emperor.Those parts of Poland and Hungary they had occupied, they left a dead,silent desert.
"Since then the Tartars have made war on the Saracens, which pleases us,of course. But is the enemy of our enemy truly our friend? Permit me todoubt it, good Fathers. We are no better able to fight the Tartars nowthan we were after Mohi. I urge you to let the Tartars and Saracens wearthemselves out fighting each other. Let us not help the Tartars withtheir distant wars, losing knights and men we might later need to defendEurope against those devils themselves."
Sire Cosmas's words chilled Simon. He felt himself almost persuaded thatthe Tartars were a menace to the world. It might be a grave error towork for an alliance with them. And yet, for the sake of his family hehad accepted this mission. He could not back down now. Uneasily herubbed his damp palms on his tunic.
There was a murmur of conversation as Sire Cosmas finished and bowed.
Fra Tomasso, scribbling notes on a parchment, looked up and asked, "Didyou say that the Tartar soldiers have the faces of dogs, Sire Cosmas?"
Cosmas shook his head, looking himself somewhat sheepish, Simon thought."We spoke of them so because their pointed fur caps made them look likedogs."
"I wondered, because Aristotle writes of men with animals' heads livingin remote regions," said the stout Dominican. He made a note.
Cosmas brightened. "They do eat the flesh of living prisoners. And Ihope I may not offend your chastity by telling you this, but they sliceoff the breasts of the women they rape and serve them as delicacies totheir princes. Raw."
Simon thought of John and Philip and wondered whether they had ever donesuch horrible things. He wished he had learned more about the Tartarsbefore agreeing to pursue this cause.
"To hear of such deeds is not likely to cause concupiscent movements innormal men," said Fra Tomasso dryly. "Have you seen such abominationswith your own eyes?"
"No," said Cosmas, "but I heard it from many people when the Tartarswere invading us."
"Thank you," said d'Aquino, making another note. He put his quill downand started to heave his bulk up from his chair. Cardinal Ugolini dartedpast him, resting his hand momentarily on d'Aquino's shoulder, and theDominican settled back down again.
That cardinal looks just like a fat little mouse, Simon thought. One ofthe Italians. And it was he who had brought this Sire Cosmas to speakagainst the Tartars. He might well be a key opponent of the alliance.What would it take to change his mind?
Ugolini beckoned toward the audience, and a tall blond man came forwardnow to stand beside him.
_I have seen him before_, Simon thought. _Where?_
"Holy Fathers," said Ugolini, "Providence sends us this man, David ofTrebizond, a trader in Cathayan silks. He has traveled in recent yearsamong the Tartars. David speaks Greek but not Latin. I will translatewhat he says."
Simon remembered at last where he had seen David of Trebizond. Standingon a balcony and looking pleased as the people rioted against the Tartarambassadors. And now here to speak against the alliance.
The back of his neck tingling, Simon thought, _This man is an enemy_.
