by Robert Shea
LX
_Why did I ever make love to him?_
Sophia had asked herself the same question countless times since thatday by the wooded lake. For two months she had managed to keep away fromSimon. Now he was here, in Ugolini's mansion.
She stood before the door of Ugolini's audience room. The servant whohad come to fetch her was about to open it. Sophia's hands felt coatedwith frost. Terrified of being with Simon again, she hated herself forwhat she had done. To Daoud, to Simon. And to herself.
The servant opened the door. She stepped through quickly and he closedit behind her.
And there was Simon de Gobignon, tall and handsome as ever, looking downat her reproachfully. Tension made her heart beat so hard that shewanted to put her hand on her chest to still it. Instead, she held herhand out so that Simon could bend down from his towering height and kissit. She was so upset by his unexpected arrival that she did notcomprehend his murmured greeting.
Behind Simon's back Ugolini, sitting at a large writing desk, rolled hiseyes and stretched his mouth in a grimace at her. Simon was still bentover her hand, so she was able to shake her head slightly in answer tohis unspoken question. Simon must have come here as a last resort,because after yielding to him in secret she had tried to shut him out ofher life. She could hardly convey that to Ugolini now, even if shewanted to.
"The Count de Gobignon has come to call on you, my dear," said Ugolini,his smooth voice betraying none of his anxiety. "I have given mypermission, provided it is also your wish."
"Your Signory pays me too much honor," she said softly to Simon. Hermind spun. How could she talk to Simon, when she did not understandherself well enough to know what lies to tell him?
She wondered what Ugolini would think of her if he knew all of what hadhappened between her and Simon when they met that day. Would he beshocked? Contemptuous? Would he tell Daoud? All he knew of her meetingwith Simon in October was that Simon had again proposed marriage to her,and she had rejected him.
She said, "I find it hard to believe that Your Signory even remembersme. I do not believe we have seen each other since the reception for theTartar ambassadors at the Palazzo Monaldeschi last year. Is that notso?"
An appreciative smile replaced the somber expression on Simon's face.His eyes twinkled at her. Doubtless he thought they were conspiratorstogether.
_The poor, poor boy._
But she could not see that look warming his sharp-pointed featureswithout feeling it again--that surge of desire that had driven her togive herself to him two months ago.
_What is happening to me?_
"Many months have passed and much has happened, Madonna," he said,"but--forgive me if I am too forward--I have found it impossible toforget you. Now that we are together in a new city, I hoped to renewyour acquaintance."
"This endless moving about will be the death of me," said Ugoliniunhappily. "Papa le Gros no sooner arrives from England and isofficially elected than he tells us he will be crowned in Viterbo andmake that the new papal seat. I have hardly had time to unpack here inPerugia."
"Your furnishings seem in good order to me, Your Eminence," said Simonwith a smile, looking around the large room with its row of largewindows, its thick carpeting, and its heavy black chairs and tables. Alarge shield carved in stone over the fireplace behind Ugolini waspainted with five red bands on a white background.
"These are not mine," said Ugolini, waving a hand dismissively. "Not myidea of comfortable surroundings at all. No, I simply bought this houseand its furnishings from a Genoese merchant who was using it only partof the year. I would be ashamed to tell you how much I paid for it--youwould think me a fool. A typical Genoese, he took advantage of my need.And now I must sell all, probably to the same merchant and probably at aloss."
"That is another reason why I wanted to see you, Madonna Sophia," saidSimon. "I feared that you, like your good uncle, might find all thisuprooting tiresome and might return to Sicily, and I would be hard putto find you again."
With an inward shudder, Sophia realized the strength of Simon's resolveto possess her. Only the truth would kill that determination, and shewould never dare to tell him that. Besides, there was a part of herthat, mad as it was, delighted in seeing how powerfully he was drawn toher.
"I am thinking of going home myself," said Ugolini. "What need for me togo with the new pope on this tedious search for ever-safer safety?"
"If you returned to Sicily," said Simon to Sophia, "it might be agesbefore I see you again."
His words frightened her. Was he about to ask Ugolini for her hand, andhow would the cardinal deal with that?
"Forgive me if I raise an unpleasant subject," said Ugolini, "but ifyour Count Charles d'Anjou accepts the pope's offer of the crown ofsouthern Italy and Sicily, it may be a long time before any Frenchnobleman will be welcome in my homeland."
There was no "if" about what Charles d'Anjou would do, Sophia thought.That was just Ugolini's courtesy.
"I know, Your Eminence," said Simon, looking grim. "I hope you willstill think of me as your friend, despite events. Just as we have beenfriends while we disagreed over this matter of the Tartar alliance."
Ugolini clapped his hands suddenly. "Well, it is a happy occasion whenmy niece has such a distinguished visitor. Count, this house has asecond-story loggia overlooking the atrium. It is private enough toshield you from prying eyes, yet not so private as to place you lovelyyoung people in peril of temptation. Sophia will show you the way."
Bowing and thanking Ugolini, Simon followed Sophia out of the room.
She turned to Simon as soon as the door of Ugolini's audience chamberhad closed behind them and said, "I need my cloak for the cold. Waithere, and I will go to my room and get it." Without giving him a chanceto answer, she hurried down the corridor, desperately trying to makesense of her thoughts and feelings.
Their lovemaking had been a terrible mistake. And yet, there had beentimes in those two months when the recollection of the two of them,wrapped in his cloak, lying on a bed of leaves, the depth of his passionfor her and the wildness of her answering feelings, crept up on herunexpectedly and sent thrills of pleasure coursing through her.
As she rummaged in her chest for a warm cloak, her eyes met those of hericon of Saint Simon Stylites, and she felt shame wash over her.
_How can I think that I truly love Daoud, when I gave myself so freelyto his enemy?_
But had that not been what Daoud had expected her to do all along? Hehad always been jealous, had always made it obvious that he hated theidea of her letting Simon court her. And yet, from the time he firstencountered Simon, he had made it equally obvious that he expectedSophia to do whatever was necessary to make Simon fall in love with her.And from the moment Simon had kissed her in the Contessa diMonaldeschi's atrium, he had loved her, and never stopped loving her.
But to make him love her, she had pretended to be an innocent youngSicilian woman who could be overwhelmed by her love for a Frenchnobleman. Sadly enough, she felt more joy and peace of mind as thatSicilian girl than she ever had known as a woman of Byzantium. And theconfusion about who she really was had become much worse after shedecided to keep secret from Daoud Simon's destination when he leftOrvieto.
She felt a pounding pain inside her skull, and she pressed her handsagainst her bound-up hair. She shut her eyes so tight that she forcedtears from them, and a little groan escaped her.
She was sure of one thing: If she had much more to do with Simon deGobignon, the confusion she felt would probably drive her mad.
She fumbled through her chest and found a rose-colored winter cloaklined with red squirrel fur. She threw it over her shoulders and claspedit around her neck, the fur collar gently brushing her chin.
Simon was waiting where she had left him. He had allowed his bright bluecloak to fall closed around his lanky frame, so that he looked like apillar. She wrapped her own cloak around herself, and side by side theywalked to the stairs at the end of the corridor.
They said
nothing to each other until they were out on the loggia undera gray sky. A chill wind stung Sophia's cheeks. She looked down at therows of fruit trees in the atrium below. Their bare branches reached upat her like long, slender fingers.
"I cannot understand you," he said. "Why have you been so cruel to me?"
That sounded like typical courtly lover's talk, but she knew he meantthe words literally. She looked at his face and saw the whiteness, thestrain around his mouth, the slight tremor of his lips. He looked like amortally wounded man.
"I, cruel to you? Did I not beg you to stay away from my uncle? Lookwhat you have done today. He will send me to Siracusa for certain."
But she felt something break inside her at the sight of his pain. Shehad done this to him. She had hoped to give him something by letting himpossess her one time, to make up for all that she could never give him.Instead, with the gift of her body she had bound him to her more tightlythan ever. And then, haunted by her own feelings and the memory of whatthey had done together, she had simply tried to have nothing further todo with him. And now her effort to break with him was hurting both ofthem far more than if she had refused him that day.
"You drove me to this," he said, his eyes wide with anger. "You did notanswer my letters or acknowledge my poems. When I tried to speak to youin the street and in church, you avoided me. I sent you gifts, and yousent them back."
She really would have to get out of Perugia. Back to Daoud. This wouldtear her to pieces.
_But what about Rachel?_
If she left Perugia, that would be as good as abandoning Rachel. She hadsworn to herself never to do that.
_Simon guards the Tartars. He must know what has happened to Rachel.Perhaps he can help her._
She stopped walking and leaned against the stone railing of the loggia.The leafless branches in the atrium below them rattled in the wind.
"There are many reasons that I did not want to see you. I do not knowwhether you would understand all of them. But one is that I have heardsomething very ugly about those Tartars of yours." She had decided notto admit that she knew Rachel. That would take too much explaining andtoo many more lies, and the lies would be like hidden holes in aleaf-strewn path, to trip her up.
"One of the Tartars, those men you guard so carefully, kidnapped a younggirl from Orvieto and is holding her a prisoner now, here in Perugia atthe Baglioni palace. It makes me unhappy to know that you are theprotector of men who would do such things."
Down below, two of Ugolini's servants brought out baskets of newlywashed tablecloths and bedlinens and began spreading them on thebranches of the trees to dry. Sophia spoke in a lower voice, givingdetails of the attack on Tilia's house by de Verceuil and the Tartars asif it were something she knew about only through hearsay, while Simonlooked more and more unhappy.
He frowned at her. "I know of this girl. It is John Chagan who keepsher. But what is she to you? She is not even a Christian. I am surprisedthat a woman of good family like you should worry about a prostitute."
How easy for a count to look down on a girl like Rachel. She felt herback stiffen with anger.
_How he would despise me if he knew what I was._
_But what am I?_
"Does it lower me in your eyes that I worry about such a girl?"
He waved his hands placatingly. "No, no. Such charitable feelings do youcredit. I _would_ like to help her, and I know Friar Mathieu has alreadytried. I just wondered how _you_ came to know and care about this girl'scase." He looked earnestly into her eyes. His eyes were a blue as clearand bright as that lake where they had lain together.
"The story is talked about by all the servants and common folk of thetown. I feel very sorry for her. She is just a child. I find myselfimagining how she feels--kidnapped, helpless, raped by this barbarian, aprisoner. Have you not seen her yourself?"
Simon nodded reluctantly, looking away. "Yes, glimpses. She stays in herroom."
"She is forced to stay in her room." Sophia sensed that Simon knew morethan he admitted about what the Tartar had done to Rachel and wasashamed to be connected with it.
"What has this to do with you and me?" he demanded.
"You are close to the Tartars. You might be able to help her."
Simon glowered. "If I had been there that day in Orvieto, you may besure they would not have raided that brothel."
He might be on the enemy side, she thought, but he was not a savage likethe Franks of her childhood. He was a genuinely good man, and that waswhat made the hopeless dream of marrying him so painful.
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. "Will you try to get theTartar to release the girl? Cardinal Ugolini will take her in."
When she laid her hand on the hard, wiry muscle in his arm, she did notwant to let go.
_I still want him! My God, what is the matter with me?_
"De Verceuil would oppose me if I tried to take the girl away from John.Incredible, is it not? A cardinal involved in kidnapping a young girlfor the pleasure of a barbarian?"
Sophia, taught by her Greek Orthodox priests that the Roman Church was afountainhead of wickedness, did not think the cardinal's actions allthat incredible. Besides, was she not in league with another cardinalwho was helping the Muslims?
"There _must_ be a way to help Rachel," she said.
He brought his face close to hers. "Sophia, I will speak to FriarMathieu. But, as I said, he has already tried to persuade John to letthe girl go free. With no success. And I am sure there is nothing moreFriar Mathieu can do before tomorrow, when I leave Perugia."
She loved that serious, intent look. It was as if light were coming fromhis eyes.
But what he had just said took her by surprise.
"Leave Perugia? Where are you going?"
He shook his head. "No one is supposed to know."
"Simon!" She put anger into her voice, knowing he was vulnerable. If shecould get some information of use to Daoud from him, she would have anexcuse for having let Simon make love to her. And with Daoud far away inManfred's kingdom, there was no chance this time that he could hurtSimon.
He touched her cheek with the tips of his long fingers, and she couldfeel him struggling with himself.
"Swear you will tell no one."
"Of course."
_He really thinks I can be depended upon to keep an oath._
"All right. I had a message from Count Charles--he who gave me this taskof guarding the Tartars. He calls me to meet him at Ostia. That is why Icame here today, even though I knew you would not want me to. Knowing Iwould be leaving here and might not see you for months made medesperate."
Charles d'Anjou at Ostia--the seaport of Rome!
As she realized what Simon's words meant, terror raced through Sophia.She was going to fall from the loggia and break into a thousand pieces,like an icicle.
Anjou was going to take Rome and cut Italy in half. Instead of trying tocross the Alps and then fight his way through the Ghibellino cities ofnorthern Italy, Charles must have come by sea. Now he would be able tostrike directly at the heart of Manfred's kingdom.
_What will Daoud do? What will happen to Manfred? If only we had Tiliahere, with her carrier pigeons._
Despite her fur-lined cloak, a chill seized her.
She had feared for Daoud, that he might have to fight a great Frencharmy. And though she had long since ceased to love Manfred, she hadfeared for him and his kingdom. But the thought of the many obstaclesbetween France and southern Italy had comforted her. Now, knowing thatCharles d'Anjou was so close to Manfred's kingdom, she felt herselfactually trembling.
He put his hand on hers. "You're frightened."
Staring down at the bare trees, she whispered, "Yes, for my people."
His hand gripped hers tightly. He bent down so that he was speakingsoftly into her ear.
"I know you cannot forget your people, but you could escape this war. Myservice is done, now that the new pope has confirmed the alliance withthe Tartars. I do not have to stay in Italy."
She was glad he did not want to fight for Charles. The thought of himand Daoud meeting on a battlefield was horrible. But surely this brotherof King Louis would make every effort to draw Simon into the war.
"Count Charles will want you to fight."
"If you will marry me and come to Gobignon, nothing else will matter tome. We will live content in my castle in the heart of my domain. We willshut out the world and its wars."
She turned to look at him, and the longing on his face was painful tosee.
She felt the tears coming, hot, blurring her vision.
"Simon, I cannot!"
His grip on her hand was painful. "Again and again you say that to me.And you never tell me _why_. Are you secretly a nun? Have you takenvows? Does your husband still live? I demand that you tell me! Stoptormenting me like this." His usually pale face was suddenly scarletwith rage.
His anger dried up her tears.
_I know how I can put an end to this._
"I will, Simon. But I am not ready to speak of it today."
"Then _when_?"
"Go now and meet your Count Charles at Ostia. By the time you come backto the papal court we will probably have moved to Viterbo. And when Isee you again, I will tell you why I cannot marry you."
The shadow cleared from his face. "Do you promise with all your heart?And if I can persuade you that your reason is not good enough, then willyou marry me?"
For a moment she hesitated. Even though her life depended on deceivinghim, she could not bear to make such a promise. But then she saw thatshe could honestly agree to what he asked.
"If you still want me to marry you--yes."
_I can say that because if you ever come to know my true reason for notmarrying you, you will hate me more than you have ever hated anyone inyour life._
He left her soon afterward. She went back to her room and cried for mostof the afternoon. Every so often she looked up to see the icon of thedesert saint staring at her. She saw the same reproach in SimonStylites's eyes that she had seen in Simon de Gobignon's.
