by Robert Shea
XV
Simon guided the black palfrey carefully down the road into the woodedvalley west of Orvieto. The path, like the streets of the city, wascarved from rock and slippery.
When he needed to think, Simon liked to get out of doors, beyond anywalls, and to feel a good horse moving under him. It was now a weeksince the day of the papal council, and its inconclusive outcometroubled him sorely. The pope had repeatedly postponed his audience withthe Tartar ambassadors, pleading a sudden excess of phlegm. The Tartarswere growing restless, pacing the courtyard of the Palazzo Monaldeschi,muttering to each other angrily and refusing to speak to anyone else.
The longer the negotiations were delayed, the greater the chance theywould fail. The Tartars might even die. Friar Mathieu had said that theTartars, coming from a land so distant and so different, were especiallyvulnerable to the diseases of Europe.
Charging de Pirenne and de Puys to keep careful watch over the twoemissaries, Simon had ridden out into the hills to think what he mightdo to help his cause along.
_But it is not my place to try to speed things up. My task is to guardthe ambassadors, nothing more. If I do only that, I have done my duty._
But, as he rode out into the valley under the deep shade of huge oldolive trees, he heard in his mind King Louis's voice.
_And you, too, Simon, must do whatever you can, seize any opportunity,to further the cause of the alliance._
* * * * *
King Louis lay prostrate on the floor of the Sainte Chapelle, his faceburied in his hands. Simon, impatient to speak to Louis about hismission to Italy, knelt on the stone a few paces away from the king'slong, black-draped form. The two of them were the entire congregationthis morning, far outnumbered by the twelve canons and fourteenchaplains chanting the royal mass.
Unable to keep his mind on the mass, Simon kept gazing up at the stainedglass windows. Since the age of eight, when he had become part of theking's household, he had spent hundreds of mornings here in the chapelattached to the royal palace, but the building still amazed him. Thewalls seemed to be all glass, filled with light, glowing with colorsbright as precious stones. What held the chapel up? Pierre de Montreuil,the king's master builder, had patiently explained the principles of thenew architecture to Simon, but though Simon understood the logic of it,the Sainte Chapelle, most beautiful of the twenty-three churches of theIle de la Cite, still looked miraculous to him.
The mass ended and the celebrants proceeded down the nave of the chapeltwo by two, dividing when they came to King Louis as the Seine dividesto flow around the Cite, each canon and chaplain bowing as he passed theprone figure.
When they were all gone, King Louis slowly began to push himself to hisfeet. Simon hurried to help him, gripping his right arm with both hands.The king's arm was thin, but Simon felt muscles like hard ropes movingunder his hands. Though almost fifty, the king still, Simon knew,practiced with his huge two-handed sword in his garden. Age had notweakened him, though a mysterious lifelong ailment sometimes forced himto take to his bed.
Louis looked pained. "This is not one of my good days for walking. Letme lean on you."
Simon was grateful for the chance to help King Louis. The vest of coarsehorsehair that Louis wore next to his body to torment his flesh--aspenance for what faults, Simon could not imagine--creaked as hestraightened up. He put his arm over Simon's shoulder, and Simon passedan arm around his narrow waist. He looked down at Simon with round, sadeyes. His nose was large, but blade-thin, his cheeks sunken in.
"Let us visit the Crown of Thorns," he said, pointing to the front ofthe chapel, the apse.
Louis was leaning all his weight on Simon as they walked slowly up tothe wooden gallery behind the altar where the Crown of Thorns reposed.Even so, the king felt light. How could a man be at once so strong andso fragile, Simon wondered.
There was barely room on the circular wooden stairway for them to climbside by side. As they stood before the sandalwood chest containing thereliquary, Louis took his arm from Simon's shoulders. He took two keysfrom the purse at his plain black belt and used one to open the doors ofthe chest. Inner doors of gold set with jewels blazed in the light fromthe stained glass windows.
Louis opened the second set of doors with the other key and, withSimon's help, knelt. Simon saw within the chest, lined with white satin,a gold reliquary that contained the Crown of Thorns. It was shaped likea king's crown and set with pearls and rubies and stood on a gold stemand base, like a chalice. Simon was icy-cold with awe, almost terror, atthe sight of it. To think that what lay within this gold case had beenworn by Jesus Christ Himself, twelve centuries ago, at the suprememoment of His life--His death.
Still kneeling, Louis slowly drew the reliquary out of the chest,holding it with both hands. His eyes glowed with fervor, as bright asthe pearls. Simon prayed he would not open the reliquary. The sight ofthe actual thorns that pierced Jesus' head would surely be too much tobear.
Louis kissed the lid of the case and held it out to Simon.
"Kiss this relic of Christ's passion, Simon, and beg His blessing onyour mission."
Trembling, Simon touched his lips to the cool gold surface. Not oneChristian in a hundred thousand had been this close to the Crown ofThorns. He felt ashamed, privileged far beyond what he deserved.
As they walked together out of the chapel, Louis limping and leaning onSimon again, said, "Baldwin, the French emperor of Constantinople, soldus two crowns after Michael Paleologos drove him out. I bought the Crownof Thorns, and my brother Charles bought the title of emperor ofConstantinople. Which of us, I wonder, made the better bargain?"
Simon thought, did Count Charles actually hope to conquerConstantinople? And, if so, what did these dealings with the Tartarshave to do with it?
"Is it your wish, Sire, as your brother, Count Charles, has told me,that I should guard the ambassadors from Tartary when they arrive inItaly?" he asked.
Louis stopped walking. They were almost to the doorway of the chapel. Heturned his round eyes on Simon.
"Oh, yes, it is very much my wish." His thin fingers squeezed Simon'sshoulder. "For more than twenty years, ever since I took the crusadingvow, I have wanted one thing above all else, to win Jerusalem back forChristendom. I led an army into Egypt, and it was God's will that theMamelukes defeated me."
_God's will and Amalric de Gobignon's treachery_, thought Simon.
"Now, with the help of the Tartars, we could wrest the Holy Land fromthe Saracens' hands," Louis said.
"But if you wish to ally yourself with the Tartars, Sire, should I notbring the ambassadors directly to you instead of to the pope?"
"No, I cannot make a treaty with the Tartars without Pope Urban'spermission. Only the Holy Father can proclaim a crusade. If he refusesto do that, I cannot recruit an army to join with the Tartars to rescuethe Holy Land. Even if he does declare a crusade, raising an army willbe terribly hard. Many of those who went with me last time and enduredour terrible defeat and survived with God's help have told me they willnot go again--or send their sons. I must have His Holiness's fullsupport."
King Louis turned toward him fully now and put both hands on hisshoulders. "You must help me, Simon. I am asking Cardinal Paulus deVerceuil to represent the cause of the alliance at the court of thepope. And Friar Mathieu d'Alcon will be there to testify that theTartars may yet be won to Christianity. And you, too, Simon, must dowhatever you can, seize any opportunity, to further the cause of thealliance."
Simon looked into the king's eyes. Their blue was slightly faded, andage and care had etched red streaks in the whites. Simon's whole framewas shaken by an overwhelming love for the man.
"Sire, I will do anything--everything."
Louis nodded. "I know how you have suffered all your life because of theill deeds of--one I shall not name. I have tried to shield you frombeing unjustly punished. But even a king cannot control the hearts ofmen. In the end only you can win back for the house of Gobignon itsplace among the great n
ames of France. This alliance with the Tartars,and what follows from it, the liberation of Jerusalem, can help yourestore your honor."
Could a man have more than one father, Simon wondered. Surely King Louishad done more than anyone else to make him the man he was today.
"I will work for the alliance, Sire," he said. "Not for my family honoralone, but for you."
For King Louis he would guard the Tartars with his life. For King Louishe would do anything.
* * * * *
His horse slowed down to climb as the road rose along a steep slopeopposite Orvieto, green with vineyards. Friar Mathieu had made a betterwitness than David of Trebizond, Simon thought. But the Italiancardinals remained vociferous in their opposition to the alliance. Thepope might be French, but he had to live with the Italians.
Cardinal Ugolini was the key to it. He, it seemed, was the leader of theItalian party in the College of Cardinals. He was the cardinalcamerlengo, after all.
Someone must try to reach Ugolini. It could not be de Verceuil, either,with his arrogance and bad manners. Even if the man were to try to talkto Ugolini, which was unlikely, he would doubtless make an even greaterenemy of him.
Friar Mathieu should do it. He could speak to Ugolini as one churchmanto another. But then Simon shook his head. So many of these princes ofthe Church looked down on the mendicant friars.
_Seize any opportunity._
Simon rode up the hillside, debating with himself. Just before the roadpassed between two rounded, green-covered peaks, it widened so thatcarters could pass each other. Simon swung his leg over the saddle andstepped down from his horse to enjoy the view. Against the hillside,under a peaked roof, a statue of Saint Sebastian writhed, his bodypierced by arrows. The agony depicted on the saint's face made thecountryside look all the more serene.
_Oh, patron saint of archers, let no more harm come to innocent peoplefrom my crossbowmen._
Simon turned to look at Orvieto. It was like a city from some tale offaeries, a fantastic island on its huge rock. What was it the Italianscalled that gray-yellow stone? Tufa. Most of the churches and palacesand houses of Orvieto were also built of tufa. Beautiful.
The clatter of hooves interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see fourhorsemen approaching from the north, followed by two heavily ladenbaggage mules.
Simon's mood changed at once from contemplation to tense alertness. Hishands moved to check the position of his sword and dagger, making surehe could draw them quickly. You had to be careful of strangers in astrange country. As the men rode closer he saw that they also had shortswords and daggers hanging at their sides. Closer still, and he sawlong swords slung over their backs, and crossbows hanging from theirsaddles.
Annoyed with himself for feeling afraid, he yet followed the dictate ofprudence and mounted his own horse. He kept his hand near, but not on,the jeweled hilt of his scimitar as the men rode closer. Highwaymenwould be willing to kill him just for that precious sword.
The man in the lead wore a soft velvet cap that draped down one side ofhis head. Under it, Simon saw, was curly black hair shot through withwhite. The stranger's grizzled mustache was so thick as to hide hismouth. But, courteously enough, he touched his hand to his cap where hisvisor would be if he were wearing a helmet.
"Buon giorno, Signore," he said in a deep but neutral voice.
Simon returned his salutation and the muttered greetings of the others,thinking he really should ask who they were, where bound, and on whatbusiness. In France, especially in his own domains, he would not havehesitated. But then, in France he rarely traveled alone. These menseemed not bent on troubling him, and it seemed wiser not to troublethem.
The other three men in the party looked younger than the leader, andthere was insolence, almost a challenge in their dark eyes as theylooked him over and rode on. It took an effort of will on Simon's partnot to move his hand closer to his sword. But he sat stock-still untilthey were past and on their way down into the valley.
What business would bravos like that have in Orvieto? Perhaps they hadcome to join the Monaldeschi or the Filippeschi in their feuding.
Simon felt beleaguered at the thought of more bravos coming into town.Orvieto was already full of armed men serving the local families, aswell as others in the retinues of the churchmen who had come here withthe pope. Uneasiness made his spine tingle. Anything that added todisorder in Orvieto made it a more dangerous place for the Tartarambassadors.
_We must get this question of the alliance settled quickly._
Someone should speak to Cardinal Ugolini and find out if anything wouldpersuade him to withdraw his objections. Simon wondered why de Verceuilhad not already attempted it.
_I could meet with Ugolini. He knows who I am. They all do, since thepope greeted me publicly. All I have to do is send Thierry around with anote asking for an audience._
At once he began trying to persuade himself to forget the idea. Howcould he talk a cardinal into changing his mind about such a greatmatter? Ridiculous! What could he possibly do or say? And what if thiscardinal were one who knew of the shame of the house of Gobignon?
_Seize any opportunity._
* * * * *
Cardinal Ugolini shrugged with his bushy gray eyebrows as well as withhis shoulders. "The question had been thoroughly discussed, Count. Nowit is up to His Holiness. I am delighted to meet you, but what have youand I to say to each other?"
The solar, the large-windowed room on the third floor of the cardinal'spalace, was bright with light that streamed in through white glass. Thefloor was covered with a thick red and black rug, the walls decoratedwith frescoes of angels and saints lavishly bedecked with gold leaf.Simon's eye kept returning to a voluptuous Eve, no part of her nude bodyhidden by the leaves or branches artists usually deployed for modesty'ssake. She was handing a golden fruit--it might have been an orange or alemon rather than an apple--to a muscular and also fully displayed Adam.Simon found them disturbingly sensual though they dealt with a religioussubject, and he was surprised that a cardinal should have such pictureson his walls.
Ugolini's small, elaborately carved oak table, set beside a window, waspolished and quite bare. There were no books or parchments anywhere inthe large room. Simon suspected that the cardinal used this room toreceive visitors but did little work in it. A five-pointed star wascarved in the back of the cardinal's chair above his head. Simon sat ina small, armless chair made somewhat comfortable by the cushion on itsseat.
"I have come in the hope of presenting to you our French point of viewon this proposed alliance," said Simon. That sounded impressive enough.
"And do you speak for France, young man?"
"Not officially, Your Eminence," said Simon, flustered. "I mean onlythat I _am_ French, and that both King Louis and his brother CountCharles d'Anjou have deigned to share their views with me."
Ugolini leaned forward. His expression was earnest enough, but there wasa twinkle in his eye that gave Simon the uneasy feeling that thecardinal was laughing at him.
"I am eager to hear what you have learned from the king and hisbrother."
"Quite simply," Simon said, "they look on the advent of the Tartars as agolden opportunity--one might say a God-given opportunity--to do awaywith the threat of the Saracens once and for all."
Ugolini nodded thoughtfully. "So it is not just a question of rescuingthe holy places."
_Am I giving away something I should not?_ Simon asked himself, suddenlypanic-stricken. It was Count Charles, he now recalled, who had said thatthe alliance might make possible the complete destruction of Islam.
_I am in this over my head._
But he had to go on.
"The Saracens believe they are called upon to spread their religion bythe sword. They will continue to make war on us unless we conquer them."
Ugolini lifted a finger like a master admonishing a poorly preparedstudent. "The prophet Muhammad calls upon his followers to _defend_their faith with the
sword, but he explicitly states that conversionsmade at sword's point are worthless and commands that Christians andJews who remain devoted to their own worship be left in peace." He satback and gazed as happily at Simon as at some well-fed mouse who had thewhole granary to himself.
"I cannot dispute you, Your Eminence. Truly, I am quite ignorant of theMohammedan faith." Why study false religions?--that had been theattitude of his teachers.
Ugolini nodded, his side whiskers quivering. "You and most of Europe."
"But Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth--those precious places we hear aboutin the Gospel," Simon argued. "We cannot leave them in the hands ofChrist's enemies."
The cardinal shook his head. "Christ's enemies! Indeed, you know littleof them, Count. The Muslim holy book, the Koran, reveres Jesus and Hismother, Mary. Our sacred places are sacred to them also. EmperorFrederic von Hohenstaufen had the right idea. He made a treaty with theSaracens. If the crusaders in Syria had not broken it, pilgrims would behappily walking in the footsteps of Our Lord to this day."
_Von Hohenstaufen._ Simon remembered the hatred in the voices of deVerceuil and le Gros when they spoke of the house of Hohenstaufen.
"The crusades were a mistake from the very beginning," Ugolini went on.
Having heard harrowing tales from men who had been there of King Louis'sdisastrous defeat fourteen years before in Egypt, Simon found it hard tochallenge Ugolini's assertion.
But history could not be undone, and with the help of the Tartars, mightthis not be the one great crusade that would make any more crusadesunnecessary?
"We still hold Acre and Tripoli and Antioch and Cyprus," Simon said."The Templars and the Hospitallers have their castles along the coast.Think of all the men who have died just to get and keep that much. Andif we do not beat the Saracens now, they will surely choose their momentand take those last footholds of ours."
Ugolini stood up and walked slowly, red satin robe whispering, to asmall door behind his table. The door was slightly ajar, and Ugolinilooked into the next room. Was there someone in there, Simon wondered,listening to this conversation?
_I am getting in deeper and deeper. What if my words could somehow beused against me, or against the alliance? I should never have comehere._
Whatever he saw beyond the door seemed to satisfy Ugolini. He turned,smiling.
"Count, I am going to suggest something to you that I am sure will shockyou at first: Perhaps we should leave the Holy Land in peace."
Simon felt troubled, but, having heard much the same thing from hisparents--and, indeed, from some of the knights at the royal palace whenKing Louis was out of hearing--he was not shocked. But for himself hehad never been able to reconcile such views with his sense of hisobligations as a Christian.
Even so, he began to see why de Verceuil had spoken of Ugolini as if hewere a heretic. How could a man with such opinions get to be a cardinal?
"To leave the Holy Land in the hands of the infidels, Your Eminence?Would it not betray Our Lord Himself?"
Ugolini, unperturbed, continued to smile as he walked toward Simon. "Thewhole world belongs to God. If Our Savior wished the places where He wasborn, died, buried, and rose again to be occupied by Christian knightsfrom Europe, He would have permitted it to happen. As it is, I trulybelieve that if we sent every able-bodied man in Christendom to fight inOutremer, we could not take Jerusalem back and we could not prevent thecrusader strongholds from falling to the Muslims. The infidels, as youcall them, are defending their own lands, and a people fighting fortheir homeland is always stronger than an invader. Another crusade, evenwith Tartar help, would be a tragic waste."
Ugolini stood before the seated Simon, and such was the difference intheir heights that their eyes were almost on a level. Simon wanted tostand, but somehow he dared not move. He was beginning to feeldesperate. He had walked into a trap that he had not anticipated. He hadfeared that he would not persuade the cardinal. He had not imagined thatthe cardinal might persuade him.
"But you would abandon the Christians who are there now to be overrunand slaughtered by the Turks?" Simon asked.
He reproached himself. It almost sounded as if he were conceding thatthere should be no more crusades.
The cardinal shook his head. "I would do everything in my power to bringthem home."
He sighed and turned away. "You are a most impressive young man, CountSimon. I am glad we have had this chance to hear each other out."
Simon felt deeply shaken, as if he had been galloping in a tournamentand had been ignominiously unhorsed. He had been foolish to think hecould sway a man of Ugolini's eminence and intelligence.
Courtesy demanded, he supposed, that he take his leave. He could onlyhope that some of what he said would sink in and influence thecardinal's thinking in the future.
Ugolini, standing before him, thrust his small hand suddenly underSimon's nose, causing Simon to sit back, startled, in his chair. ThenSimon realized the cardinal was offering him his ring to kiss. He slidout of the chair and dropped to one knee. He touched his lips to theround, blue sapphire which betokened Ugolini's rank as a cardinal.
While he still knelt, the door behind Ugolini swung open. Feelingawkward, Simon started to scramble to his feet.
As he did so, he saw the woman. Her features were delicate, her lipsfull, her eyes dark and challenging. She wore a yellow gown tied underher bosom by an orange ribbon. Simon stared at her, open-mouthed, untilhe realized he was in a half-crouching position that must lookperfectly ridiculous. He shut his mouth. He slowly straightened.
"Buon giorno, my dear Sophia!" said Cardinal Ugolini. "Let me introduceour distinguished visitor."
He first presented Simon to the young woman and then presented her tohim. "My niece, Sophia Orfali, daughter of my sister who lives atSiracusa, in Sicily."
It registered somewhere in Simon's mind that Sicily was part of theHohenstaufen kingdom, and it occurred to him to wonder whether Sophiawas of gentle birth. It struck him with much greater impact that she wasan extraordinarily beautiful woman. Swallowing hard, he bowed over herhand. His fingertips pressing into her palm felt as if they wereburning. His lips touched the back of her hand lightly; his eyes filledwith smooth, cream-colored skin and the pale blue tint of delicateveins. As he stepped back he noticed that she gave off a faint scent oforanges.
She stood looking at him with a small, self-possessed smile, waiting forhim to speak. All sorts of absurd phrases and sentences flooded into hismind--outrageous compliments, declarations of love. The upper part ofher gown was pulled tight, and he had to make an effort to keep his eyesfrom her breasts. His face burned and his throat felt parched.
"Buon giorno, Signora," he choked out. "It is a great honor to meetyou."
Her fine arched eyebrows lifted slightly and she answered him in French."Why do you not speak your native language, Monseigneur?"
Simon's cheeks burned hotter. "I assumed you would prefer Italian,Madame."
She smiled, and Simon felt there was a shade of scorn in the smile. "Iwould prefer French, Monseigneur, to Italian as _you_ speak it."
"Forgive me, Madame," Simon whispered.
"There is nothing to forgive," she said airily. Simon thought surely thecardinal would reprove his niece for her unkindness, but he stood therebeaming like a master showing off a remarkably gifted scholar.
_Ah, lady!_ thought Simon, _I pray you be merciful to me_.
Ringing a small bell that stood on his desk, much like the one FriarTomasso d'Aquino had used to keep order at the pope's court, Ugolinisummoned one of the priests on his household staff, and Simon, his headstill spinning from his unexpected encounter with Sophia, found himselfbeing escorted out of the cardinal's mansion.
As Simon and the priest were walking through the gallery that led to themain entrance, the outer door swung open and a large gray boarhoundtrotted in. It was deep-chested, with long ears, a pointed, aristocraticmuzzle, and intelligent brown eyes. The dog jumped at Simon, resting hisforepaws on Simon's chest and looking
up at him as if studying his face.
Simon, who had played and hunted with hounds all his life, took animmediate liking to the dog. He scratched the back of the animal's head.
"Down, Scipio," said a deep voice, and Simon saw the hound's master--thesame swarthy man with grizzled, curly hair and thick mustache he had meton the road from the north three days before. The one leading the littlecompany of bravos.
Again that tense, besieged feeling came over Simon, the same as when hemet this man on the road. There was too much going on in Orvieto, almostall of it surprising and much of it seemingly dangerous. If he wanted tobe sure the Tartars were safe, he would have to give up sleeping.
The dog dropped to all fours and stood beside his master.
The other did not acknowledge having seen Simon before. "Forgive us,Signore. I fear Scipio has gotten dust on your tunic."
"There is nothing to forgive," said Simon. He brushed off hisplum-colored tunic. "Do you serve Cardinal Ugolini?" This time he wouldnot let the man pass without questioning him.
"I am Giancarlo, Signore, a servant of Messer David of Trebizond." Hebowed deeply.
Feeling angry because he was sure he was being lied to, Simon wanted toask about the men with Giancarlo on the road, but decided it was betternot to appear too suspicious.
_Let them think I am a naive young nobleman, easily gulled. Not so farfrom the truth, anyway._
"Are you also from Trebizond, Messer Giancarlo?"
The dark brown eyes were watchful. "I am a Neapolitan, Signore. MesserDavid hired me when he arrived in Italy."
_So it is David of Trebizond who is bringing bravos into the city. Whatfor?_
* * * * *
Out on the street, Simon looked at the spot where the crossbowmen hadspilled two men's blood. He felt a weary anger. Two lives cut offbecause of that fool de Verceuil and his vanity.
Where the men had been shot there now stood rows of bowls and pots, fromsmall to large. They were painted white, with pretty floral designs inred, blue, and green. A woman sat on the ground beside the display,painting a freshly baked jug. She looked up at Simon, then scrambled toher feet and stood, bowing deeply.
"Fine vases and plates, Your Signory? The earthenware of Orvieto is themost beautiful in the world."
Simon smiled. "No doubt, but not today, thank you." He must remember tobring some samples back to Gobignon, though, he thought. It wasfine-looking ware, and it might give the potters of Gobignon-la-Villesome good ideas.
He turned and stared back at the mansion, a great cream-colored cube ofthe same tufa as the rock on which Orvieto stood.
From that rooftop, David of Trebizond had watched the heckling, thethrowing of garbage and dung, the sudden killings.
Simon almost expected to see David appear on the roof now, but itremained empty. The cardinal's mansion remained flat and featureless,revealing nothing.
Simon sighed longingly. _Oh, for another glimpse of the cardinal'sniece._
But there was no sign of her, and he could not stand here any longer.Sighing again, he walked away.
