by Robert Shea
XVII
The beauty of Orvieto, Simon thought, was that, isolated as it was onits great rock, it was as big as it ever could be--and a man could goanywhere in the city quickly on foot. Those of wealth and rank oftenrode, but a horse or a sedan chair was a mark of distinction rather thana necessity. A bird looking down on the city would see a roughly ovalshape, longer from east to west. One might get lost in the twisting sidestreets but otherwise could walk along the Corso from one end of Orvietoto the other while less than half the sand trickled through an hourglass. From Ugolini's mansion on the south side of the town, Simonreached the Palazzo Monaldeschi, near the northern wall, so quickly, hebarely had time to think over the events of the day.
David of Trebizond was a trader, after all, and traders needed armed mento protect their caravans. Why worry about the three men with swords andcrossbows he had seen with Giancarlo? They were far from being an army.
But was David actually sending out any caravans?
_If I could put someone in the enemy camp ..._
Before entering the Palazzo Monaldeschi, he surveyed it with a knight'seye. It was a three-story brown stone building with a flat roof crownedby square battlements. In each of the four corners of the palace therewere small turrets with slotted windows for archers. Above the thirdstory rose a block-shaped central tower.
Even as he looked up, he noticed a figure on the battlements, a helmetedman with a crossbow on his shoulder. He looked down at Simon, touchedhis hand to his helmet, and walked on.
It was good to know that the Monaldeschi family maintained a constantguard on their palace. The hidden enemy of the Tartars could get at themhere only by a full-scale siege.
Simon walked around the building. If there were two archers in eachturret, their overlapping fields of fire would cover every possibleapproach. He noted that the piazza in front of the palace and the broadstreets on the other three sides allowed attackers no cover. The citywall was nearby, though, he saw. Archers could fire on the Monaldeschiroof from there, and at least two of the city's defensive towers were soclose that stone casters set up in them could score hits on the palace.
What if the enemy were to attempt a siege?
_We must control that section of the city wall and make it our firstline of defense. The buildings around the palace would be our second,and the palace itself the third. To control all that, we really needanother forty crossbowmen. But how to pay and feed them and keep themunder discipline? I will have to make do with my knights, the Venetians,the Armenians, and the Monaldeschi retainers._
And he felt the weight of responsibility pressing on his back like aboulder. He had studied siege warfare under veterans. But how good, heasked himself, would he be in real combat?
His entire experience of battle consisted of one siege that ended assoon as the rebellious vassal saw the size of Simon's army, oneencounter in his private forest with poachers who ran away when he drewhis sword, and one tournament, two years ago, in Toulouse.
And yet, if the Monaldeschi palace were attacked, he would be expectedto assume command. The thought made his stomach knot with anxiety.
He scrutinized the palace itself. He saw no windows at all on the groundfloor, but there were cross-shaped slots for archers. The second storyhad narrow windows covered with heavy iron bars. On the highest levelthe windows were wider and the grills that protected them of a moredelicate construction. On that floor were the apartments of theMonaldeschi and their more distinguished guests. The darkness andcramped quarters one had to endure in the palace because it was sowell-fortified were a measure of the fierceness of the street fightingthat had been going on in Orvieto, as in most of the cities of northernand central Italy, for generations.
_We French are better off doing most of our fighting in the countryside.City fighting is a dirty business._
There were only two ways into the palace. On the west side a posterngate for horses and carts was protected by a gatehouse with twoportcullises and doors reinforced with iron. In front, facing thepiazza, a two-story gatehouse with a peaked roof and arrow slots juttedout from the center of the building. The doorway was in the side of thegatehouse on the second floor, and to reach it one climbed a flight ofnarrow stairs.
_Why plan for a siege that probably will never take place?_ Simon askedhimself.
_Because I have tried to go beyond my duty this day and accomplishednothing. I had better be sure I can do what I am expected to do._
The door swung open as Simon reached the top step.
"Oh, you look too serious, ragazzo caro. Don't frown so--it will putwrinkles in your smooth brow. Surely your life is not so melancholy asall that?" Fingernails stroked his forehead and then his cheek.
Simon recognized the voice, but after the bright sunlight of the streetit took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the doorwayand actually to see Donna Elvira, the Contessa di Monaldeschi.
She took him by the hand and led him through the inner door, which, inthe time-honored practice of fortified buildings, was set at rightangles to the outer one. The hallway that ran the length of the secondfloor was dimly illuminated through the barred windows. Unlit brass oillamps hung at intervals from the ceiling.
"I saw you from my window and came down to let you in myself." Thecontessa's nose was sharp and hooked like a falcon's beak. It might havebeen handsome on a man, but it gave her an unpleasantly predatory look.Simon felt distaste at the short silky hairs on her upper lip anduneasiness at the bright black eyes that looked at him so greedily. Shegave off a strong smell of wine. How old was she, he wondered. At leasteighty.
He politely bowed over her bony knuckles and kissed them quickly. Sheheld his hand longer than necessary.
"Your greeting does me too much honor, Donna Elvira," Simon said, easinghis hand away from hers. "I was frowning because I was thinking of whatwe must do to protect the ambassadors from Tartary. I am happy to seethat you have a guard posted on the roof."
"Always." The contessa held up a clenched, bejeweled fist. "But surelyyou are not afraid for the emissaries. Who would want to hurt thoselittle brown men? No, I am ever on guard against my family's ancientenemies, the Filippeschi."
Simon felt the boulder on his back grow a little heavier.
_Something else to worry about._
"Is it possible that the Filippeschi family might attack us here?"
The contessa nodded grimly. "They have wanted blood ever since myretainers killed the three Filippeschi brothers--the father and theuncles of Marco di Filippeschi, who is now their capo della famiglia.They caught them on the road to Rome and cut off the heads of all three,to my eternal joy. Six years ago, that was."
"My God! Why did your retainers do that?"
There was more than a little madness, Simon thought, in the bright-eyed,toothless grin the contessa gave him. "Ah, that was to pay them back forthe death of my husband, Conte Ezzelino, twenty years ago, and my sonGaitano, who died fighting beside him, and my nephew Ermanno, whom theyshot with an arrow from ambush twelve years ago." She held up bonyfingers, totaling up the terrible score. "They cut out my husband'stongue and his heart."
"Horrible!" Simon exclaimed.
"Now there remain only myself and my grandnephew, Vittorio, a ragazzo oftwelve, to lead the Monaldeschi."
"What of Vittorio's mother?" Simon asked.
The contessa shrugged. "She went mad."
_Well she might_, thought Simon.
The contessa's face turned scarlet as she recounted her injuries. "Nowthat canaglia Marco would surely love to finish us by killing Vittorioand me. But he is not man enough. And one day I will cut out _his_tongue and _his_ heart."
"Might the Filippeschi attack John and Philip, thinking it would hurtyou?" Simon asked.
The contessa thought for a moment and nodded. "Ah, that is very cleverof you. Certainly, they would treat any guest of mine as an enemy oftheirs." She smiled. "At any rate, you need not worry about protectingthe Tartars today. They are not here."
; Simon felt as if a trapdoor had opened under his feet. "Where are they?"
The contessa shrugged. "Riding out in the hills. They left hours ago.They took their own guards and the old Franciscan with them. He told methey were restless."
_God's wounds!_
Simon remembered the bloody fight between the Venetians and theArmenians. He remembered Giancarlo and his bravos. He thought about whatthe contessa had just said about the enmity of the Filippeschi.
He pictured the mutilated bodies of the Tartars sprawled on a mountainroad.
"Did my French knights go with them?"
The contessa shrugged. "They are in the palazzo courtyard, practicingwith wooden swords."
Simon ground his teeth in rage.
_The idiots! Training themselves for some future battle while theircharges go off to face God knows what dangers!_
"Which road did the Tartars take? I must go after them."
The contessa was by now rather obviously annoyed at his lack of interestin her. "I do not know. Perhaps Cardinal Paulus knows. He spoke to thembefore they left."
Simon bade the contessa a polite good-bye. She insisted on embracinghim. He wondered if he had looked as foolish to Sophia as Donna Elviranow appeared to him.
* * * * *
For the second time that day Simon found himself sitting in a chair thatwas too small for him. The back of this one came to an abrupt stophalfway up his spine, and his shoulders ached even though he had beensitting for only a few moments. He had taken off his gloves and tuckedthem in his sword belt, and he sat with his fists clenched in his lap.
De Verceuil strode across the room and stood over Simon. "I may yetdemand that you be sent home. I cannot imagine why the Count of Anjouentrusted such a stripling with a mission of this importance."
"Your Eminence may not approve of my visiting Cardinal Ugolini," Simonsaid, keeping his voice firm, "but can you show me where I have donewrong?" He did not want to talk about Ugolini; he wanted to find outwhere the Tartars were. But de Verceuil had not even given him time toask.
"You could have gone wrong in a thousand ways," said de Verceuil,staring down at Simon. "Both the king and Count Charles have confided inyou. Rashly, I believe. You might have revealed more about theirintentions than you should have."
Simon remembered how Ugolini had reacted at once to the idea that thepurpose of the alliance was to conquer Islam completely. Saying thatmight indeed have been a blunder. He felt his face grow hot.
Discomfort and anger pushed Simon to his feet. De Verceuil had to take astep backward.
"Why have you allowed the ambassadors to go riding in the hills withonly six men to escort them?" Simon demanded. "That is negligence, YourEminence. A good deal more dangerous than my visit to Cardinal Ugolini.Where have they gone?"
De Verceuil whirled, the heavy gold cross on his chest swinging, andpaced to the mullioned window, then turned to face Simon again. Hisface, a deep crimson, seemed to glow in the light that came in throughthe translucent glass.
"Guarding the ambassadors is your responsibility, Count." He spoke in alow, relentless tone. "I did not bother to inquire where they weregoing. If you think they should not have gone out into the countryside,you should have been here to stop them." His voice rose to a shout. "Notwaiting upon Cardinal Ugolini!"
Simon's face grew hot with shame. De Verceuil had him.
Even if he had not done anything wrong by visiting Ugolini, he shouldhave first made sure the ambassadors would be safe while he was gone. Hecould have left explicit orders with Henri de Puys or with Alain dePirenne.
"I will go after them now." Simon started for the door.
"I have not dismissed you."
Rage boiled up within Simon. "I am the Count de Gobignon. Only the kingcan command me."
De Verceuil crossed the room to thrust his face into Simon's once again."God can command you, young man, and the Cardinal-Archbishop of Verceuilis God's spokesman. Have a care, or I doubt not God will show you howfleeting is worldly rank."
_Is he trying to use God to threaten me?_ Simon thought, dumbfounded.
"If you overstep your bounds again," de Verceuil went on, "I promise youmy messenger will fly to the Count d'Anjou, demanding that you beremoved from this post. If the count must choose between you and me, Ihave no doubt he will choose the more experienced head and the one moreinfluential with the pope."
"Do that," said Simon, his voice trembling with fury. "And I will makemy own report to the count."
He turned on his heel, and de Verceuil's shout of "What do you mean bythat?" was cut off by the slam of the heavy oak door.
* * * * *
It seemed to Simon as if the air were filled with motes of gold. He, hisequerry, Thierry, and de Pirenne and de Puys were riding high on thewestern slope of a mountain thickly clad with pines. Shadow drowned thevalley below. The horizon to the west was an undulating blacksilhouette. From beyond that range, the platinum glow of the setting sundazzled his eyes.
"Look ahead, Monseigneur," said Alain, gripping Simon's shoulder andpointing toward a dark green hill with a rounded top to the north.Simon's stomach tightened as he saw a party of riders strung out alongthe road. They rode in sunlight, and he recognized the flame-coloredtunics of the Armenians.
_At last_, he thought, sighing and smiling. The Tartars' party hadridden far. He had followed their trail most of the afternoon, and foundthem only now because they were coming back.
He squinted, trying to see the Tartars. He clucked to his palfrey andspurred her lightly from a walk to a trot. His three companions did thesame.
Two carts with high sides lurched down the road behind the Armenians. Asingle mule pulled the cart in front, two drew the second. A man in ared tunic drove each cart. Where the devil were the Tartars? Bringing upthe rear of the party on the back of a donkey, he saw a figure in brown.Friar Mathieu. Simon began to feel panic again.
"Do you see the Tartars?" he asked his men.
De Puys snorted. "They are probably too lazy to ride. They are sittingin one of those carts, fancying themselves lords of the earth."
"Tartars think it unmanly to be carried when they can ride," Simon toldde Puys, annoyed at the old knight's ignorance.
"But I see horses without riders," Alain de Pirenne said. "Four ofthem."
Simon squinted again and saw that each of four Armenians on horsebackwas leading a riderless horse.
Even though it was a warm evening, he felt as if a sudden blast of coldwind were blowing right through him. He sat frozen in the saddle.
_Dear God, are we too late?_
"Follow me," he snapped, kicking his palfrey hard.
Riding as quickly as they dared down the rocky, unfamiliar road, theyheard church bells chiming out the Angelus. The shadow cast by the hillsto the west rose to engulf them as they descended.
The Armenians had gathered on the other side of a meandering river atthe very bottom of the valley and seemed to be trying to decide where tocross. Simon still saw no sign of the Tartars, but it was too dark tomake anyone out clearly.
In his dread he rode his horse straight into the river. She stumbled onthe rocky bed a time or two, and once plunged into a deep place whereshe had to swim. It being the end of August, all the streams hereaboutwere at their lowest level. Even so, when Simon got across he was soakedup to his waist.
He saw the Armenians unslinging their bows and nocking arrows. "It is I,de Gobignon!" he shouted. He heard Friar Mathieu call something to themen, and they lowered their bows. Good that they were alert, he thought,but what might have happened to them on the road to make them so?
He rode in among the Armenians, and felt a hollow pit in his stomach ashe saw the rich saddles on two of the riderless horses, silver andmother-of-pearl inlays glistening even in the darkness of the forest.
"Simon!" Friar Mathieu, on donkeyback, called.
Simon turned to the nearest cart and looked in over the shoulder of thedriver,
one of the Armenians, who stared at him from under heavy brows.
There, on a bed of straw, lay two bodies. They had the short, broadbuild of the Tartar ambassadors. Simon's heart stopped beating.
"Mary, Mother of God!" Simon whispered. He got down from his horse.
Mathieu was beside him, gripping his arm. "Did you come looking for us,Simon?"
Simon was sick with despair. He gestured feebly at the two bodies.
"What happened to them?"
"You might call it a mischance due to their inexperience. I tried towarn them, but they would not heed me."
"Mischance? What sort of mischance?" Did it matter, Simon wondered, howthis had happened? He had failed utterly and absolutely, that was allthat counted. His foolish decision to go to Ugolini had led to thisdisaster. Another stain on the house of Gobignon.
He put his hands to his face. "If only I had stayed with them thismorning."
Mathieu patted his arm. "Do not reproach yourself. No one will blameyou. It would probably have happened just the same even if you werethere."
Simon felt the old friar's words like a blow in the face. What shame, tobe thought so useless that even his presence would not have saved theTartars. But, he told himself, turning the knife in his own guts, it wastrue. Anyone stupid enough to let something like this happen _would_surely be useless in a moment of danger.
"Did you not know how dangerous these hills could be?" he asked.
"They were determined on a long ride," said Friar Mathieu. "Tartars areused to vast distances and great spaces. You cannot imagine howmiserable they were feeling, cooped up in a hill town surrounded by awall on top of a rock. I felt sorry for them. In fact, I even feared fortheir health."
Simon was indignant. "Feared for their health! The devil you say! Nowlook at them."
Friar Mathieu squeezed Simon's arm. "Do not mention the devil. He maycome when you call. As for them"--he waved a hand at the two inertforms in the cart--"this is embarrassing, to be sure, but we need notblame ourselves."
"Embarrassing? Embarrassing! Is that all you call it?"
One of the bodies on the straw moved. As Simon stared, it lurched to itsknees. He heard a few slurred words in the guttural speech of theTartars. The figure crawled on hands and knees to the side of the cart,lifted its head, and vomited loudly and copiously.
"They are not dead!" Simon cried.
"Dead drunk," said Friar Mathieu.
Relief was so sudden and stunning that for a moment Simon could notbreathe. He caught his breath and gasped. The gasp was followed by aroar of laughter. Simon stood, his head thrown back, helpless withlaughter. He pressed his hands against his aching stomach.
Friar Mathieu had gone to attend the sick Tartar. He wiped the man'sface with the sleeve of his robe, went to the stream and washed thesleeve, then came back and pressed the wet wool to the Tartar's brow.
"Can you not stop laughing?" he said on his second trip to the stream."The Armenians do not like you laughing at their masters."
"Dead drunk!" Simon shouted, and went into another spasm of laughter.
* * * * *
It started innocently enough, Friar Mathieu explained as they rode backtogether. He himself had proposed to take the road to Montefiascone,along which he had heard there was a particularly impressive view ofOrvieto. Simon remembered the spot. He had been enjoying that same viewwhen David of Trebizond's servant--what was his name?--Giancarlo, camealong with those three heavily armed men.
The Tartars had been pleased enough with the view, but they wanted toride on. Friar Mathieu felt some trepidation that they might encounterhighwaymen in the hills. But he had confidence in the Armenians, too,and so they pressed on along the mountain road.
"They observed everything and talked to each other in such low voices Icould not hear them." Mathieu turned to give Simon a pained look. "Ithink they were discussing how an army might be brought through thesehills."
Simon was appalled. He pictured a Tartar army, tens of thousands offur-clad savages on horseback, sweeping through Umbria on its way toRome, burning the towns and the farms and slaughtering the people. Simonshook his head in perplexity. If such a thing happened, he would havehelped to bring it about.
By the time the Tartars and their entourage reached the little town ofMontefiascone, Mathieu went on, in the heart of vineyard-covered hills,they were all hungry and thirsty. They took over the inn--the blacklooks cast by the Armenians were enough to drive out the otherpatrons--and proceeded to drink up the host's considerable supply ofwine.
"The wine of Montefiascone is a great gift from God," Mathieu said."Very clear, almost as light as spring water, just a touch sweet, just atouch tart. And the host brought it up from a stone cellar that kept itdeliciously cold. Not strong wine, actually, but the Tartars drank _allthere was_."
Friar Mathieu pointed to the young Armenian leader, Prince Hethum, whowas now riding beside Alain de Pirenne, at the head of their processionback to Orvieto. The prince was carrying the Tartars' purse, nowsomewhat less fat with gold florins. The host at the inn had beendelighted to serve his thirsty guests, but when his supply of wine wasgone, the Tartars turned ugly. Philip Uzbek, the younger Tartar, grabbedthe host by the throat. The Armenians, who were careful to drinksparingly, fingered their bows. The innkeeper left his wife as a hostageand went out to the nearby farms, and after a tense hour arrived backwith a cartload of wine barrels. This time the wine outlasted theTartars.
"They have no head for wine, you see," Mathieu said. "Poor innocentworld conquerors. They drink a beverage called kumiss, which isfermented mare's milk. Very mild, but it satisfies their desire to getdrunk. When they conquered the civilized lands, for the first time theycould have as much wine as they wanted. They have an ungodly appetitefor it."
When the Tartar ambassadors collapsed, unconscious, Mathieu and the hosthad both sighed with relief. With the Tartars' gold, Mathieu bought twocarts and three mules, and they loaded John Chagan and Philip Uzbek inone and the remaining barrels of Montefiascone wine in the other.
"Montefiascone may be the only town in the world that can say it hasbeen invaded by Tartars and profited," said Mathieu. Simon laughed.
He had thought to bring flint, tinder, a lantern, and a supply ofcandles with him, and now Thierry rode at the head of the party with thelantern raised on the end of a long tree branch, giving them a littlelight to follow. At least this way the Tartars would not go over a cliffin their cart in the dark.
"If I could have found you this morning, I would have asked you to comealong and bring some of your Frenchmen," the old friar said. "But youwere meeting with Cardinal Ugolini, were you not?"
When Mathieu mentioned Ugolini, Simon immediately found himself thinkingof the cardinal's beautiful niece. He wondered, was she older than he?How would she react if he tried to see her again? He wished he couldforget Tartars and crusaders and Saracens and devote himself to payingcourt to Sophia. Of course, if he went anywhere near Ugolini'sestablishment again, de Verceuil would undoubtedly think he was tryingto continue the forbidden negotiations.
"My efforts went badly," he told Friar Mathieu. Before going on, hepeered as far along the road ahead as he could see. De Pirenne and dePuys were both riding at the head of the party, just behind Thierry withhis lantern. Hethum and the other Armenians came next, and theyunderstood no French. Simon and Friar Mathieu were at the end of theline, behind the two carts. There was no risk in talking.
"Cardinal Ugolini nearly convinced me that our efforts to liberate theHoly Land are futile. And then de Verceuil knew that I had gone toUgolini, and he was furious. How did he know where I had been?"
Friar Mathieu smiled. "He had you followed."
"That snake!"
The Franciscan reached over and laid his fragile hand lightly onSimon's. "Hush, Simon. The cardinal will answer to God one day for hisworldly ways."
Simon shook his head. "I tell you, Friar Mathieu, between Ugolini'spersuasion and de Verceuil's bullying
, I was nearly ready to leaveOrvieto today."
But he would not have left under any circumstances, he knew. Especiallynot after meeting Sophia. He recalled her smoldering eyes and full redlips. And her splendid breasts. Ah, no, he must stay in Orvieto andbecome better acquainted with Sophia Orfali.
