The Saracen: The Holy War

by Robert Shea

  LXXI

  "Sophia!"

  She dropped a loose dart back into the bag and turned.

  Simon de Gobignon stood in the doorway, staring at her. The firelightmade his dirt-streaked face glow. His surcoat was ripped, showing themail underneath, and she saw dark stains on the purple and gold. He wassplashed with blood, she thought, her stomach churning. His head wasbare, his mail hood thrown back and his mail collar open. He held hishelmet, adorned with the figure of a winged heraldic beast, under hisarm.

  At first sight of him she felt a glow of joy. Simon lived. And she wassafe from Sordello. Triumphantly she glanced over at the bravo and felteven better at the sight of his scarlet color, his clenched jaw, theswollen veins throbbing in his temples.

  Then suddenly it came back to her that Simon was an enemy too.

  _It has always been too easy for me to forget that._

  She would have to face his questions, his accusations, his pain, hisrage. She felt like a bird in flight suddenly struck by an arrow andplummeting to earth.

  And a worse thought struck her, piercing her heart like a sword. Whatwas it that Sordello would have told her about Daoud? In God's name,what terrible thing had happened to him?

  Simon's being here meant he, too, must have learned where she was fromDaoud. Where, then, was Daoud?

  She saw figures in the shadows outside the door, one white-haired andwhite-bearded, the other a small woman wearing a mantle over her head.

  Simon took a few steps into the room, his mail clinking. She could tellby his movements that he was exhausted. She felt a surge of pity forhim, at what he must have done and suffered. She reminded herself he hadbeen fighting against Manfred and Daoud, on the side of Anjou. Still,she felt sorry for him.

  "What the devil are you doing here?" Simon said, glaring at Sordello,his voice crackling with anger.

  _Why so much hatred_, Sophia wondered.

  "You wanted me to be gone, Your Signory, and it seemed most useful forme to come here. It occurred to me that important followers of theinfidel Manfred might be here. And, indeed, on the floor below you willfind his agents Tilia Caballo and ex-Cardinal Ugolini, being questionedby my men."

  "And you were _questioning_ this lady. Before God, I do not know whatkeeps me from running you through." His mailed hand reached across hiswaist to grip the hilt of his sword.

  "Easy, Simon," said the white-haired man. He came into the room now, andSophia recognized Friar Mathieu, the Tartars' Franciscan companion.

  She looked past the elderly priest and saw who was with him.

  "Rachel!"

  In the midst of her fear and sorrow, Sophia felt an instant ofmiraculous happiness, as if the sun had come out at midnight.

  She rushed across the room holding out her arms, and the girl flew intothem.

  "Rachel, what a joy to see you!"

  "Oh, Sophia! Sophia!"

  Rachel was crying, but not for joy. She was sobbing heartbrokenly. Whathad happened to her?

  "How do you come to be with Count Simon?" Sophia asked, hoping thatanswering would calm Rachel.

  But Rachel went on weeping into Sophia's shoulder, and Friar Mathieuspoke for her. "Rachel and I fell in with Count Simon, and we thought itsafest to stay with him. And he chose to come here."

  "It's all right now," Sophia said, patting Rachel's back as she held herin her arms. "Everything will be all right."

  "No, Sophia, no." Rachel, it seemed, could not stop crying. Bewildered,Sophia looked up. Friar Mathieu and Simon were standing side by side inthe center of the room. Sordello, his face working with barelycontrolled fury, had moved to a far corner. His sword still lay on thebed, Sophia noticed, but his hand was on the hilt of his dagger.

  Simon and the Franciscan were looking, not at Rachel, but at Sophia.

  "David told you I was here," Sophia said. "He must have."

  In an instant, she understood why Daoud had told Simon where to findher. And why Rachel kept weeping and weeping.

  "Is he dead?" she asked.

  They answered her with silence.

  A wave of dizziness came over her. She reeled, and Rachel was holdingher up. Friar Mathieu took her arm, and they lowered her into thearmchair. She knocked the candle to the floor, putting it out. Now theonly light in the room was the red glow of the fire.

  She felt empty inside.

  _I am mortally wounded_, she thought. _I feel now only a shock, anumbness. The pain will come._

  The only reason Daoud would tell Simon where to find her had to be thathe was dying and wanted Simon to protect her. Daoud truly must be dead.

  Simon's anguished look, as if he were begging for something, confirmedit. But to be sure, she had to hear it.

  "Has David been killed?"

  Simon nodded slowly, his eyes huge with pain. "I was with him when hedied. I even know now that he is not David but--Daoud." He hesitated,pronouncing the unfamiliar name.

  _I was with him when he died._

  _Daoud!_

  She wanted to scream, but she hurt so much inside that she could noteven scream. She could not make a sound.

  Daoud was _gone_. She had seen him, she had spoken to him, she had lovedhim for the last time.

  But she _had_ to see him again. Her cold hand fumbled at her neck,pulled the locket up from her bosom by its silver chain. She turned thescrew that opened it and stared at the spirals and squares.

  Nothing happened. The pattern, to her eyes a jumble of shapesrepresenting nothing, remained inert.

  Even his likeness was gone.

  How had he died? She looked up at Simon to ask him.

  And then she did scream.

  Sordello crouched in the semidark behind Simon, his two-edged dagger,reflecting red firelight, poised horizontally to slash Simon'sunprotected throat. His eyes glittered. His mouth shaped a slack-lippedsmile, as if he were drunk, baring his gleaming, broken teeth.

  Sordello seemed not even to notice her scream. Without a sound, unseenby the other three, who were all staring at Sophia, he raised his leftarm to seize Simon and his right hand to strike with the dagger.

  Sophia's hand dove into the bag at her waist. The loose dart couldscratch her, and a scratch might be enough to kill her, but that did notmatter. Her fingers found the dart. She wrapped her fist around it andflung herself out of the chair, straight at Simon.

  Simon tried to fend her off, but she darted under his hands, twistedaround him, and drove the dart into Sordello's throat. Blood spurtedover her hand.

  Sordello seemed neither to see her nor to feel the dart. His eyes stayedfixed on Simon's neck. He slashed at Simon. But Sophia's lunge hadpushed the two men apart. Sordello's blade scratched Simon's neck justunder his right ear. Then it fell from the bravo's fingers.

  Sordello, the dart still hanging from his throat, staggered backward,his knees buckling. His body folded, and he lay sideways on the floor.

  The four living people in the room were as still as the dead one. ThenSimon touched his fingertips to his neck and winced. Sophia saw arivulet of blood running down into his mail collar.

  Friar Mathieu tore away a piece of the bedsheet and dabbed Simon's woundwith it. He took Simon's hand as if he were a puppet and pressed hisfingers against the rag to hold it in place. Then he knelt overSordello's body and whispered in Latin.

  Whimpering, Sophia stumbled back to the armchair where she had beensitting. A sob forced itself up from her chest into her throat. She feltRachel's gentle hands helping her to sit down. Another sob came up,shaking her body. Another followed it, and another. She lost touch witheverything around her for a time, buried in a black pit where neithersight nor sound nor even thought could penetrate. She was lost inwordless, mindless grief.

  Then, gradually, she began to hear murmurings, voices.

  Friar Mathieu said, "She saved your life."

  Simon said, "I know. David--Daoud--told me not to take Sordello with meif I went looking for Sophia. As if he knew this might happen. How couldthat be?"

  Ra
chel was sitting on the arm of the chair, gently stroking Sophia'sshoulder.

  Friar Mathieu said, "Why would Sordello try to kill you? Because he wasabout to rape Sophia when you interrupted? Or because he was afraid youwould punish him for killing--Daoud?"

  Amazement jolted Sophia's body. She opened her eyes and stared at FriarMathieu.

  "_Sordello_ killed Daoud?"

  Simon answered her. "I will tell you how he died. I must talk to you. Ihave waited more than a year, you know, to see you again."

  Sobs still shook her, but she nodded and wiped her face with the sleeveof her gown. He reached down. She took his arm, and he helped her up.She saw that he had a bloodstained strip of linen tied around his neck.

  "The balcony," she said.

  "Good."

  As she went to her chest to get her cloak, Sophia looked at the icon ofthe saint of the pillar and thought how much, even though it had Simon'sname, the expression looked like Daoud's.

  Simon held the door to the balcony for her. The night was cold andmoonless. The bitter smell of burning floated on the freezing air. Theshouts of frenzied soldiers and the agonized screams of men and womenseemed to come from everywhere. Fires blazed in all parts of the town,their glow and smoke turning the night sky a cloudy reddish-gray. On theplain to the north, campfires twinkled. Somewhere out there Daoud laydead.

  She looked up at Simon. Darkness hid his face. The ruddy glow of burningBenevento haloed his head. In a quiet, even voice he told Sophia how hecame upon Daoud fighting side by side with Manfred, and how he foughtwith Daoud after Manfred was killed. How he lay helpless with Daoud'ssword pointed at his face.

  "He did not move for a long time," Simon said. "It was growing dark, butI saw the look on his face. A gentle look. He did not want to kill me. Iam sure of it."

  And then without any warning had come the treacherous crossbow bolt outof the circle around them, and Daoud had fallen.

  "It was Sordello. He could not understand my rage at him. He keptprotesting that he had saved my life. He had not."

  Sophia thought of Sordello's attempt to seduce her. She clutched thewooden railing, choking bile rising in her throat.

  "I am glad I killed him," she whispered. "I have never killed anyonebefore tonight. That I killed him was a gift from God."

  Simon did not answer at once.

  Then he said, "Tonight, before Daoud died, he told me that you wereinnocently drawn into his conspiracy against the alliance. He said hetook advantage of my love for you, and that you and he were never close.But now that you've heard he is dead, you are like a woman who has losta husband or a lover."

  He stopped. He needed to say no more. She knew what he was asking.

  The enormous aching void inside her made it almost impossible to think.Daoud, even as he lay dying, had tried to protect her. Simon might havesuspicions, but about who she was or what she had done, he knew nothing.Manfred was dead. Tilia, Ugolini and Lorenzo--wherever they might benow--would say nothing.

  She could, if she chose, become the person Simon thought she was--theperson who had given herself to Simon in love at the lake outsidePerugia. She need only seize the chance Daoud had given her.

  In all Italy there was no place for her now. Once again she belongednowhere and to no one. And she could be a wife to this good young man.She could be the Countess de Gobignon, with a station in life, withpower to accomplish things, to change the world.

  "You want to know what Daoud meant to me," she said. "Did you tell himwhat I meant to you?" She was amazed at how level her voice sounded.

  "I think he knew," Simon spoke just above a whisper. "I did not feel Ihad to tell him anything."

  Then Daoud had died not knowing that she and Simon had for a moment beenlovers. Did it matter? If Daoud had known, perhaps he would have killedSimon instead of just standing over him with his sword.

  His not knowing had not hurt Daoud. But it was hurting her.

  _There was a part of myself I withheld from him. And that was my loss,because much as he loved me, he did not know me fully._

  But if she regretted not telling Daoud the truth about that singlemoment, how could she ever bear to hide from Simon the truth about herwhole life?

  Could she pretend, forevermore, to be Sophia Orfali, the naive Siciliangirl, the cardinal's niece, with whom Simon had fallen in love? Couldshe pour all of herself into a mask? Could she live with Simon, enjoyingthe love and the wealth and power he offered her, knowing that it wasall founded on a lie?

  _No, never. Impossible._

  The pain of Daoud's death was nearly unbearable, but it was _her_ pain,true pain. Ever since that night of death in Constantinople--a nightmuch like this--she had not felt at home in the world. Now she saw herplace. All she owned in the world was the person she _really_ was, andwhat she _really_ had done. If she deceived Simon, she would have todeny her very existence.

  _And I would have to deny the greatest happiness I have ever known, mylove for Daoud._

  If she lied to Simon, it would be as if Daoud had never been. It wouldbe like killing him a second time. Her heart, screaming even now withher longing for Daoud, would scream forever in silence. Buried alive.

  Simon must already suspect the truth. He might try to believe whatevershe told him about herself. Still, some awareness of his self-deceptionwould remain with him, even if he refused to think about it. It wouldfester inside him, slowly poisoning him.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the sufferingin Simon's long, narrow face as he waited for her answer. Starlighttwinkled on the jeweled handle of the sword at his belt. What she toldhim might make him hate her so much that he would kill her.

  _I have never been more willing to die._

  "Simon, I promised you that when I saw you again I would tell you why Icould not marry you. I hoped I never would have to tell you."

  He said, "I had not wanted to fight in this war of Charles againstManfred, or to bring the men of Gobignon with me. When I found that youhad fled to Manfred's kingdom, I changed my mind."

  Her pain had been like a pile of rocks heaped upon her, and what he saidwas the final boulder crushing her. Her ribs seemed to splinter; herlungs labored for breath.

  _So I must bear the guilt for Simon's coming to the war. How many mendied today because of me?_

  She could hardly feel more sorrow, but the night around her seemed togrow blacker. Perhaps it would be best if he did kill her. She wouldtell him everything straight out, without trying to protect herself fromhis anger.

  "My name is Sophia Karaiannides. I worked as a spy in Constantinople forMichael Paleologos and helped him overthrow the Frankish usurper. I wasMichael's concubine for a time. Then he sent me to be his privatemessenger to Manfred's court here in Italy. Manfred chose to make me hismistress. But that became difficult for him and dangerous for me. WhenDaoud came to Manfred asking for help in thwarting the Tartar alliance,Manfred sent me along to Orvieto to help him. I fell in love withDaoud."

  Simon leaned his long body against the outer wall of the house. Havingto hear this all at once must be overwhelming.

  "So you went from one to bed to the next as you went from one country tothe next."

  It hurt her to hear his words, his voice tight with pain, but she hadexpected this.

  "Daoud and I did not come together as man and woman at first," she said."He did not want to be close to me."

  He staggered back to the edge of the balcony as if she had struck him,and she was afraid he might fall.

  He whispered, "Not at first! But you did--"

  "Yes, we did," she said, thinking, _Now he is going to draw thatscimitar and kill me_.

  But the only movement he made was a slight wave of his hand, telling herto go on.

  "I must tell you, Simon, that it was I who first fell in love withDaoud. There were moments when I hated him--when he killed your friend,for instance--but as I got to know him better and better I could nothelp loving him. I had been loved by an emperor and a king, but I ha
dnever met a man like Daoud. He had begun as a slave, and he becamewarrior, philosopher, poet, even a kind of priest, all in onemagnificent person. You probably have no idea what I am talking about.You knew him only as the merchant David of Trebizond."

  "I knew you only as Sophia Orfali."

  "You may despise me now that you have learned so much about me, but themore you knew of him, the more you would have had to admire him."

  "How insignificant I must have seemed to you beside such grandeur." Shecould hear him breathing heavily in the darkness, sounding like a manstruggling under a weight he could not bear.

  "I did love you, Simon. That was why I cried when you said you wanted tomarry me. The word love has many meanings. And your French troubadoursmay call it blasphemy, but it _is_ possible for a woman to love morethan one man."

  "Not blasphemy. Trahison. Treachery."

  "As you wish. But in that moment you and I shared by the lake nearPerugia, I was altogether yours. That, too, is why I fled from you. Icould not stand being torn in two."

  "Why torn in two, if you find you can love more than one man?" The hatein his voice made her want to throw herself from the balcony, but shetold herself it would ease his suffering for him to feel that way.

  "I said it was possible. I did not say it was easy. Especially when thetwo men are at war with each other."

  "And did Daoud know about me? Did you tell him what you and I did thatday?"

  "No," she said, finding it almost impossible to force the words throughher constricted throat. "I could never tell him."

  "So you could not admit to this _magnificent_ man, this philosopher,this priest, that you had betrayed him with me."

  "No," she whispered. "He was jealous, as you are. At first he wanted meto seduce you. But as he came to love me--I saw it happening and I sawhim fighting it--he came to hate the idea of letting you make love tome. He came to hate you, because of that, and because he envied you."

  "Envied me?"

  "Yes. He saw you as one who had all that he never had--a home, afamily."

  Simon stepped forward and brought his face close to hers. "Did you tellhim about my parentage?"

  "No, never."

  "Why not?" His voice was bitter. "Was that not the sort of thing youwere expected to find out? Could he not have found a way to use it? Wereyou not betraying your war against us--what do you Byzantines call us,Franks?--by withholding it?"

  "I told you that loving you both was tearing me apart," she saidhelplessly.

  "But you loved him more--that is clear."

  "Yes. I loved him more because he knew me as I was, and loved me as Iwas. You loved me, and it broke my heart to see how much you loved me.But you loved the woman I was pretending to be. Now that you really knowme, you hate me."

  "Should I not? How can you tell me all this without shame?"

  "I am not ashamed. I am sorry. More sorry than I can ever say. But whathave I to be ashamed of? I am a woman of Byzantium. I was fighting formy people. Surely you know what your Franks did to Constantinople. Lookand listen to what Anjou's army is doing tonight to Benevento."

  "Daoud spoke that way as he lay dying," Simon said slowly.

  A sob convulsed Sophia. It was a moment before she could speak again.

  "I hope, at least, you understand us--Daoud and me--a little better,"said Sophia. "Kill me now, or hang me or burn me tomorrow. As I feelnow, death would be a relief."

  "I know how you feel," said Simon. "I, too, have lost the one I loved."

  "Oh, Simon." She felt herself starting to weep again, for Simon andDaoud both.

  "What do you want to do?" he asked.

  "What does it matter? I am your prisoner. And Rachel. And Tilia andUgolini. All of us."

  She remembered the hope she had been harboring these past few weeks. Ifshe died now, would another life within her die? If she lived, how wouldshe care for that life?

  He sighed. "For me this is all over. If I hurt you, what good would thatdo me now? It would be just one more unbearable memory to carry with methrough life. One more reason to hate myself. I want to know, if youwere free to do as you wish, what would you do?"

  Her mind, numbed with sorrow, was a blank. With Daoud dead, theremainder of her life seemed worthless to her. Even the thought that shemight be carrying Daoud's child seemed only added reason for sorrow.

  "Now that all of Italy is in the hands of Manfred's enemies, I suppose Iwould go back to Constantinople," she said. The thought of returninghome to the city she loved was a faint light in the blackness of herdespair.

  "For my part, I would not stop you from going," he said. The wearysadness in his voice stung her.

  If he meant it--and he seemed to--she should be relieved. Overjoyed,even. But all she felt was the weight of her grief, pressing pain intothe very marrow of her bones.

  "What do you mean to do about Tilia Caballo and Ugolini?" she asked.

  "I am sure King Charles wants them, but I do not care to be the one whodooms them by turning them over to him."

  _King Charles._ The title sounded so strange. That was how the ones whosupported him must speak of him, of course. And her heart wept a littlefor Manfred, whom she had not thought of in her agony over Daoud'sdeath.

  She heard the note of disdain toward Charles in Simon's voice andwondered at it.

  "You will not deliver Charles's enemies to him? After coming here andhelping him win his war? Have you turned against him?"

  "Gradually--too gradually, I am sorry to say--I have come to see thatCharles d'Anjou was not the great man I once thought him to be. When Ilearned that John and Philip were killed, that killed any remainingfeeling I have for Charles. So I will help you if I can. But where canyou all go? All of southern Italy and Sicily will be overrun withAnjou's men. I cannot keep you, and you cannot safely leave me."

  "Let us go back to the others," said Sophia. "It will be best if we talktogether about this."

  She could hardly believe he was serious about letting her escape. Herpain-wracked mind was unable to come to grips with what was happening toher. How she needed Daoud! He would know what to do. As she entered thefirelit room her eyes blurred with tears.

  But she saw at once that there were more people in the room than whenshe had gone out on the balcony with Simon.

  One of them was holding a crossbow leveled at Simon. Her heart stopped.Then she recognized him, and she let her breath out in relief. Black andwhite curly hair, graying mustache, broad shoulders. Lorenzo.

  She heard a growling. Scipio stood there, held tightly on a leash byTilia. Ugolini was beside her.

  Rachel hurried to Sophia and took her hand. "I'm glad you are back. Iwas frightened for you."

  "Simon wants to help us," said Sophia, taking Rachel's hand. She couldnot give up in despair, she thought, while she had Rachel to care for.

  "You took long enough to come in off that balcony, Count," Lorenzo said.

  "Put down your crossbow," Sophia said. "Count Simon has decided to be afriend to us."

  "I would not regret giving our new friend just what _my_ friend Daoudgot today from his man Sordello," Lorenzo said.

  Tilia said, "Do you--know, Sophia? About Daoud?"

  Holding herself rigid against this fresh reminder of her grief, Sophiasaid only, "Yes."

  Friar Mathieu said, "Lorenzo, the man who killed Daoud lies there--onthe floor. No need to talk about revenge." He pointed to a corner of theroom where Sordello's body lay.

  Needing a moment's relief from her pain, Sophia said, "Lorenzo, how didyou ever get here?"

  Still holding the crossbow pointed at Simon, Lorenzo spoke withoutlooking at her.

  "After I got Rachel and Friar Mathieu out of the French camp, I sawthis fellow's army charging down from the hills to attack Daoud and hisFalcons." Lorenzo shook the crossbow.

  Sophia prayed that he would put the crossbow down. What if by accidenthe unleashed a bolt at Simon? If Simon were to die before her eyes, thatwould surely be more than she could bear.

&nbs
p; "I had to try to warn Daoud," Lorenzo said. "I left Rachel and the friarthere and rode off. I never did reach Daoud." He hesitated a moment,eyeing Simon, then smiled, a hard smile without warmth or mirth.

  "I got your precious Tartars, though, Count Simon."

  Simon nodded, his eyes bitter. "Sordello told me it was you who killedthem." He took a step toward Lorenzo, who shook the crossbow at himagain.

  _Put it down!_ Sophia wanted to scream.

  "Yes. That worm-eaten spy of yours told you, eh?" Lorenzo jerked hishead in the direction of Sordello's body. "He was trying to guard themat the time. He did a bad job of it."

  "Mere de Dieu!" was all Simon said. Anger reddened his face, but he waslooking off into space, not at Lorenzo.

  "After that," Lorenzo went on, "I found the wagon, but Rachel and FriarMathieu were gone. I found another riderless horse and hitched it up,and I drove the wagon into the forest west of here. Rachel, I buriedyour chest. I hope I remember where.

  "By then it was nightfall. I used my forged safe conduct to get me backinto Benevento. Then I had to dodge the mobs of drunken Frenchmenrunning wild all over town. I knew where you were staying, Sophia, butit took me all night to get into this house past Count Simon's guards. Ispent hours in hiding and scrambling about on rooftops."

  "I thought I would die of fright," said Tilia, "when Lorenzo camethrough our window."

  _Thank God for Lorenzo! How I love him. Nothing can stop him. Nothingcan kill him._

  "What were you planning to do with these people when you came here,Count?" Lorenzo said. "Turn them over to your master, Anjou?"

  Sophia turned to look at Simon. He stood composed, his empty hands athis sides, his face, pink in the glow from the fire, calm as a statue's.

  "_Your_ master--Daoud the Mameluke--asked me to come here," Simon said.

  "_Please_ put your crossbow down, Lorenzo," Sophia said again.

  "Are you sure, Sophia? This crossbow might be the only thing that keepsus from getting dragged off to be hanged. This high-horse bastard hasfifty men outside."

  Greek Fire blazed in Sophia's brain.

  She screamed, "Do not call him a bastard!"

  "Sophia!" said Simon wonderingly. "Thank you!"

  She stood trembling, but almost as soon as the words flew from hermouth, the fit of rage passed.

  _I must be going mad._

  But she had done no harm. She seemed to have made things better.

  "Forgive me, Count." Lorenzo laid the crossbow on the bed. "It was rudeto call you that. But you did ruin our hope of victory today. Daoud hadthe battle won. He almost had his hands on your bloody Charles d'Anjou,when you charged out of the hills with your damned army. And now theking I served for twenty years and my good friend are both dead." Herubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "That was hard, Count. Veryhard."

  _So it was Simon's charge that turned the battle_, Sophia thought. _Andit was because of me that he entered this war._ Her grief grew heavierstill.

  "You may hold those things against me," said Simon, "and I might holdagainst you the deaths of John and Philip, whom I dedicated my life toprotecting."

  Listening to that grave, quiet voice, Sophia realized that Simon nolonger seemed young to her. It was as if he had aged many years sinceshe had seen him last.

  As long as she had known him, she had thought of him as a boy. And yet,from what she was hearing, if Charles d'Anjou was now king of southernItaly and Sicily, it was to Simon that he owed the crown.

  "But I know who really killed the Tartars," Simon went on. "It wasCharles, Count Charles, now King Charles, who no more wants to make waron Islam than your friend Daoud did. Charles kept the Tartars withhimself and away from King Louis, and he let them go out on the fieldwhile the battle was raging, no doubt hoping they would die."

  Lorenzo frowned. "You mean Charles used me to get rid of the Tartars?"

  Simon nodded. "He could not have known it would be you, but he made surethey would be in harm's way. Charles is very good at using people. Mymother warned me about him long before I let him persuade me to come toItaly to guard the Tartars, but I did not listen. But now, how are wegoing to get all of you safely out of Benevento?"

  He kept coming back to that, Sophia thought. He seemed determined tosave them from Charles d'Anjou's vengeance.

  "We may still have the wagon I hid out in the forest," Lorenzo said."And if you truly mean to help us, you might appropriate a horse or two.There are many horses hereabouts whose owners will never need themagain."

  "I can write you a genuine safe-conduct that will get you past Charles'sofficials and agents," Simon said. "If you travel quickly enough, youmay get ahead of them into territory still friendly to you. There may beno army left to oppose Charles, but it will take him some time to getcontrol of all the territory he has won. Where might you go?"

  Sophia took Rachel's hand again, and they sat on the bed. Rememberingthat she and Daoud had shared this bed last night, Sophia felt theheaped stones of sorrow weigh heavier still.

  _I will never hold him again._

  To distract herself from her pain, she tried to listen to what peoplearound her were saying.

  "To Palermo first," said Lorenzo decisively. "At a time like this, withthe king gone, every family must fend for itself. I want to get to mineat once." He turned to Rachel, and his mustache stretched in one of thesmiles Sophia had seen all too rarely. "My wife, Fiorela, and I would behonored to have you as a member of our family, Rachel."

  Rachel gave a little gasp. "Truly?"

  "Truly. I have been wanting to propose it for a long time."

  Again Sophia thanked God for Lorenzo. She almost wished he would offerto take her into his family too.

  Simon stared at Lorenzo. "You are--were--an official at Manfred's court,and your wife's name is Fiorela?"

  Lorenzo frowned. "Yes, Count. What of it?"

  Simon's interest puzzled Sophia. Could there be some connection betweenhim and Lorenzo?

  "We must speak more about her later." Simon flexed his mail-clad arms."It will not be safe for you to try to leave Benevento until morning. Iwill see to it that my men guard this house from the looters till then.They will not, of course, know who is in here with me. Meanwhile, youall had better sleep, if you can."

  Weary and broken by sorrow though she was, Sophia knew that to try tolie down in the dark would mean nothing but hours of suffering. Shewould sleep only when she fainted from exhaustion. And she dreaded theagony she would feel when she woke again and remembered what hadhappened this day.

  Tilia cleared her throat politely. "Your Signory, it will be hard tosleep in the same room with dead bodies."

  Simon frowned. "Dead bodies?"

  "Well--I hope you will not hold it against myself and the cardinal--butbesides Sordello here, there are two of his henchmen in the room we havebeen occupying."

  "Also dead?"

  "Also dead. They were trying to rob us."

  Now Sophia remembered that Sordello had brought two Venetians with him,and she remembered the barks and growls that had come up through thefloorboards while she was alone with Sordello. What had happened downthere between Ugolini and Tilia and Sordello's men? And Scipio?

  Sophia looked at Tilia and noticed that she wore a small smile ofsatisfaction and was fingering her jeweled pectoral cross.

  _I need not worry about Tilia_, she thought grimly.

  Simon sighed. "There must be a basement in this house, a root cellar,something of the kind. Lorenzo, you and I will find a place to take thebodies."

  The room grew cold with Sophia and Rachel alone in it, and Sophia putmore logs on the fire, thankful that the merchant who had hurriedlyvacated this place had left plenty of wood. She lay down in the big bedbeside Rachel.

  Hesitantly, Rachel told Sophia that she, with Friar Mathieu, had beenpresent at Daoud's death. She showed Sophia the little leather capsule,and Sophia, remembering the many times she had seen it around Daoud'sneck, broke into a fresh storm of weeping.


  Rachel held it out to her. "I think perhaps you should be the one tohave it."

  "No. He gave it to you." Sophia wiped her eyes, drew out the locket andopened it, looked sadly at the meaningless tracery of lines on itsrock-crystal surface, barely visible in the light from the low fire.

  "This locket is what he gave me. It seems the magic in it died with him,but it is a precious keepsake." She remembered that she had been lookingat the locket when Sordello tried to kill Simon. Why had he tried to dothat? It made no sense, but because of it she had killed Sordello, andof that she was glad. She had avenged Daoud.

  Desperately needing to know every detail of Daoud's death, Sophiaquestioned Rachel until, in the middle of a sentence, the girl fellasleep.

  Sophia lay wide awake in the dark, crying silently. Lying there washell, as she had expected it would be. After what seemed like hours, thefire on the hearth died. She got up and piled three bed carpets overRachel.

  She wrapped herself in her winter cloak and slipped out of the room.Going, she knew not where, but unable to remain still. Wanting only todistract herself from her pain with a little movement.

  She went down the stairs, passing the silent second-floor room wereUgolini and Tilia lay. She heard men's voices from a room on the groundfloor.

  The cabinet of the merchant who owned this house was just inside thefront door. There Sophia found Simon and Lorenzo seated facing eachother at a long black table. Scipio, lying on the floor near thedoorway, opened one eye, twitched an ear at her, and went back to sleep.With a quill Simon was writing out a document, while Lorenzo used acandle flame to melt sealing wax in a small brass pitcher on a tripod.

  Simon gave her a brief, sad smile. He had taken off his mail, and woreonly his quilted white under-tunic.

  Lorenzo stood up, went to a sideboard, and poured a cup of wine. Silent,he handed it to Sophia. It was sweeter than she liked, but it warmedher.

  She took a chair at the end of the table. The two men sat there socompanionably that it was hard to believe that for more than two yearsthey had been enemies. She recalled with a pang how Daoud had said he nolonger hated Simon. If only he could be here to be part of this.

  "One cannot predict these things," Lorenzo said, continuing theconversation that had begun before Sophia arrived, "and I certainly donot believe in trying to make them happen, but my son, Orlando, is at agood age for marriage. And so is Rachel."

  Simon looked up from his writing. "You would let your son marry a womanwho had spent over a year in a brothel?"

  Lorenzo gave Simon a level look. "Yes. Do you disapprove?"

  Simon shook his head. "From what I know of Rachel, not at all. But thereare many who would."

  Knowing Lorenzo Celino, Sophia thought warmly, she was not surprisedthat he did not feel as many other people would.

  "Rachel is brave, intelligent, and beautiful," said Lorenzo. "Whathappened to her was not her fault. And now she knows infinitely more ofthe world than most women. If she should take an interest in Orlando,he would be lucky to have her. And then Rachel will be your cousin,Count Simon. She will surely be the only Jewish girl in all Europe whois related--if only by marriage--to a great baron of France."

  Sophia frowned at Lorenzo. Cousin? What was the man talking about?

  Raising his head from his scroll, Simon saw her look and smiled. "I havejust discovered, Sophia, that Lorenzo Celino here is my uncle."

  Sophia felt somewhat irritated. Were the two of them playing a sort ofjoke on her?

  "No, it's true, Sophia," said Lorenzo. "My wife came from Languedocyears ago as a refugee from the war that was being fought there at thetime. Her maiden name was Fiorela de Vency. And her older brother,Roland de Vency, went back to France and eventually married Simon'smother, making him Simon's stepfather. So you see, I am Simon's uncle bymarriage."

  Simon smiled broadly. "Roland told me long ago that he had a sisterFiorela who was married to a high official of Manfred's. I would far,far rather have you for an uncle, Lorenzo, than Charles d'Anjou, whom Ihave often called Uncle." He gave Sophia a meaningful look.

  She understood. Simon might like Lorenzo, but not well enough to tellhim that Roland de Vency was more than a stepfather to him, andtherefore Lorenzo's wife more than an aunt by marriage.

  _Only his mother and father and his confessor know that, he once said._

  _And I._

  Weighed down with grief though she was, she managed to smile back.

  Simon put down his quill, closed the lid on the ink pot, and blew on theparchment to dry it. He poured red wax at the bottom of the sheet, tooka heavy ring off his finger, and pressed it into the blob. He handed thedocument to Lorenzo to read.

  "You have been well educated," said Lorenzo. "You write as handsomely asa monk."

  "Charles will have his men out looking for you, as one of Manfred'sministers," said Simon. "I advise you not to wait for them to catch upwith you in Palermo. Of course, Charles may offer you a chance to workfor him. The help of men acquainted with Manfred's regime will make itmuch easier for him to take over."

  Lorenzo's mustache twitched as he smiled sourly. "Work for him? I knowyou do not know me well, but I hope you jest. Otherwise I would have toconsider myself insulted. Manfred and his father, Emperor Frederic,built a fair and civilized land here. Learning and the arts of peaceflourished, unchecked by superstition. Charles will doubtless destroyall that. I propose to make it very hard for him to hold on to what hehas conquered this day. Anjou will not thank you if he learns it was youwho turned me loose."

  "See that he does not learn it, then."

  Lorenzo frowned. "You won the battle for Charles. Now you seem willingto do him all sorts of mischief." He leaned across the table and fixedSimon with his piercing, dark eyes. "Why?"

  Sophia leaned forward, too, eager to hear Simon's answer.

  Simon sighed and smiled. "Because today at last I saw through Charles'sdouble-dealing with me in the matter of the Tartars." His smile was avery sad one. "And I want to help you, out of what I still feel forSophia."

  Sophia felt the tide of sorrow rise again within her. Her mouth trembledand her eyes burned. Simon was looking down at the table now, to herrelief, and did not see her response to his words. He might have beenlooking away, she thought, to hide the tears in his own eyes.

  Lorenzo stood up briskly. "I am going to try to find an empty bed or asoft carpet for a few hours' sleep. Tomorrow we leave early, and wetravel far."

  After he and Scipio had gone, Simon said, "I loved you. At least, Iloved a woman who had your face and form, but did not really exist.Against my will, I have asked myself, since I saw you again tonight, ifthere is any way that dream of mine could be salvaged. Have you thoughtabout that?"

  Sophia shook her head. In her heart there was room for nothing but pain.

  She said, "Just as you wish you had not been the cause of Daoud's death,so I wish I had not hurt you so. But that is all I can say. Simon, adream may be very beautiful, but it is still only a dream."

  "I suppose we are lucky that we can sit here and talk about it, you andI, and that we are not trying to kill each other."

  "That is not luck, that is because of who we are. Simon, one thing hurtsme very much. I do not know what happened to Daoud after he died. Isthere any way I could--see him?"

  His eyes big and dark with sadness, he shook his head. "Even if youcould, the body of a man dead many hours, of wounds, is a terriblesight. And then that would be your last memory of him. You would notwant that. _He_ would not want that. And if you went near the bodies ofManfred's dead, you would be in great danger. Someone might recognizeyou. Remember that many who served Manfred will be eager to get intoCharles's good graces. You must protect yourself."

  She did not care about protecting herself.

  "What will happen to Daoud? What will they do to him?"

  She realized she was still talking of Daoud as if he were alive. Shecould not bear to speak of "Daoud's body."

  "The men who died fighting for Manf
red will be buried on thebattlefield," said Simon. "They cannot be buried in consecrated groundbecause those who were Christians were excommunicated under the pope'sinterdict. And many, like Daoud, were Saracens. I believe King Charlesis planning some special honor for Manfred's body."

  Manfred's body. Hearing those words, the enormity of what had been lost,beyond her own sorrow, came home to her.

  And what of Daoud's spirit, she wondered. Did she believe that a part ofhim was still alive? Had he gone to his Muslim warrior's paradise? Ifshe were carrying his child, would he want her to raise it as her own?She realized that she was crying again. How could her eyes produce sogreat a flood of tears?

  She heard footsteps and felt Simon's hand resting lightly but firmly onher shoulder. She dropped her head to her arms, folded on the table, andgave herself up to sobbing.

  LXXII

  Simon, carrying the heaviest rock he could hold, walked in processiondirectly behind Charles d'Anjou. They came to the low wooden platformwhere the body of Manfred von Hohenstaufen lay, covered by his greatyellow banner with its black double-headed eagle. Charles set his foot,in a handsome purple boot, on the banner, and leaned over the body witha large stone.

  "Requiescat in pace. May you rest in peace, Manfred von Hohenstaufen."

  Carefully Charles set the rock down on the banner-draped figure andstepped back with a small smile of satisfaction.

  "Now you, Simon."

  Simon stepped onto the platform. His arms, stiff and sore fromyesterday's fighting, ached as he lifted the stone to place it. He laidit next to Charles's rock on the inert, hidden form and stepped back.

  Gautier du Mont of the bowl-shaped haircut was next. He bowed to Charlesand Simon and put his rock beside theirs.

  "Simon, come with me," said Charles. "We have had no chance to talksince yesterday." He led Simon to a small nearby hill, where they couldwatch the long line of Charles's army winding single file through thegray valley of Benevento under an overcast sky. Each man, by Charles'sorder, carried a stone to lay on Manfred's cairn.

  "If not for you, Manfred would be burying me today, Simon," saidCharles, his large eyes solemn. "I am in your debt forever, for mykingdom and my life."

  _That should make this a bit easier for me._

  "Thank you--Sire."

  Du Mont and FitzTrinian, Fourre and de Marion, laid their stones asCharles and Simon watched. The Burgundian, von Regensburg, had beenkilled yesterday, impaled on a Saracen foot soldier's spear. Simon feltlittle regret at his passing.

  "We are burying Manfred as our pagan ancestors were buried," saidCharles, "but I hope this gesture of respect helps reconcile his formersubjects to me. I fear trouble with them. It has already started. Lastnight, after the battle, several men died mysteriously."

  "Oh?" said Simon.

  "The death that shocked me most was de Verceuil's."

  Simon was amazed. "The cardinal?" He could hardly believe it. Heremembered de Verceuil's departure just after the cardinal had killedManfred, as Simon and Daoud were beginning their final combat.

  "Poisoned," said Charles. "I do not know if it was done by Manfred'sfollowers or by an enemy of his in our own ranks. You had not heard?"

  "No."

  Even though one expected to hear, after a battle, of untimely deaths,Simon's blood ran cold with shock. De Verceuil did not seem the sort tooblige his fellow men by dying unexpectedly.

  A cold wind blew across Simon's neck and whipped the bright purplewoolen cloak Charles was wearing. Charles touched his hand to his goldcrown, larger than the count's coronet he had worn on state occasions inthe past, as if fearing that it might blow away.

  "He went to the Tartars' tent looking for them before we learned theyhad been killed," Charles said. "Saw a jar of wine on the table. He wasthirsty after the fighting, and took a long drink straight out of thejar. Those who saw him said that in an instant his skin turned hot andred. First he cried out that he was blind, then he raved about terriblevisions and began laying about wildly with his mace, so that hisattendants were forced to flee. Then he went into convulsions, andwithin the hour he was dead."

  Simon remembered Lorenzo saying something about having gone to theTartars' tent.

  _He was going to make doubly sure he killed them this time. Instead, hekilled Manfred's killer._

  "A tragedy," Simon said, sorry that, despite the duty of Christiancharity, he could feel no sorrow.

  "Then there was Sordello, your captain of archers who guarded theTartars. Did you not hear about him?"

  "He has not been under my command since I left the Tartars with you inRome," said Simon. He kept trying to think about de Verceuil and prayedthat his face would not give away his knowledge of how Sordello died.

  "He and two of his men were found this morning in a building in town.Sordello had a small puncture in his throat, and one of the others hadbeen stabbed in the chest with a very thin blade. One of mypriest-physicians looked at the bodies and believes both of them werekilled with poisoned implements. And it appeared the throat of the thirdhad been torn out by the fangs of some enormous beast."

  "Perhaps a watchdog," said Simon. "After all, when troops are turnedloose on a town, one must expect that a few of the citizens will fightback."

  "I am sorry to lose Sordello," said Charles. "A despicable man, butoften useful."

  The rocks covered Manfred's body completely now. Only the edges of theyellow banner were still showing. Those who had placed their stonesstood around in groups to watch the cairn grow.

  "These Sicilians will not settle down until the remaining Hohenstaufensare out of the way," said Charles. "Manfred has three sons and adaughter. I have to find them and lock them up. Too bad I cannot havethem executed, but they are just children."

  _Children!_

  Simon prayed that Manfred's children escaped from Charles.

  He stood facing Charles, knowing that he was as tall as the new king ofsouthern Italy and Sicily and that he no longer felt afraid of him.Fighting in this battle, his near-death at Daoud's hands, the shock andpain of what Sophia had told him--all together, these things had changedhim. He no longer doubted that he deserved to be the Count de Gobignon.It did not matter who his real father was. What mattered was that therewas no one else in the world who could rule Gobignon as well as he. Inthe past two years he had become the Count de Gobignon in truth as wellas in title. And now all he wanted was to go back to his domain.

  To bring up the subject, Simon said, "Friar Mathieu is most grieved atthe deaths of the Tartar ambassadors, but it means you no longer needhim here. He has asked me to take him back to France with me. He haspermission from his order to go. He wants to tell King Louis in personabout his journey among the Tartars. And he wants to spend his remainingyears in France. As for me, I am eager to see my mother and stepfatherin Provence."

  _Now that I can face them with a clear conscience._

  Charles frowned, throwing his head back and staring down his long noseat Simon. "You want to go back to France now? But our work here has onlybegun."

  "If you wish to offer any of my vassals fiefdoms or positions in yournew kingdom, they have my leave to accept. I promised them that whenthey came with me."

  "But you cannot leave before taking possession of your own dukedom."

  "Thank you, Sire. But I have decided that for myself I want nothing."

  He had rehearsed that sentence in his mind a hundred times. He wasdelighted at the sound of it and even more delighted at the stupefiedexpression on Charles's face. It was not often one surprised a man likeCharles d'Anjou.

  "_Nothing?_ But that is preposterous. You have come all this way, wonthis great victory--has your head been addled by chivalrous romances?This is not the world of Arthur and Lancelot."

  Simon recalled Manfred's last stand on the field yesterday and thought,_Perhaps that world ended with him_.

  Surely Charles, keeping himself well out of the battle and threatenedonly when Daoud desperately tried to reach him, had been no figure outof ch
ivalric romance. This was a man he could not trust, could notadmire, and especially could not like.

  "Too true, Sire. But it is a world in which people need decent rulers. Ido not need more land, and the land I already have needs me. If I dividemyself between a domain in northern France and another one here inItaly, I cannot govern either well. And, frankly, I do not want to livein the midst of a strange people as a foreign conqueror."

  _Giving up this dukedom, too, gives me a better right to be Count deGobignon._

  "You overestimate the difficulty of governing," said Charles.

  _No, you underestimate it_, thought Simon. For Charles governing was asimple matter of squeezing the people and their land for all they wereworth. And killing anyone who protested, as he had those citizensoutside Rome. If the people were strange to him, all the easier tooppress them.

  "Perhaps what comes easily to you is difficult for me, Sire," he said.

  Charles shook his head, then quickly reached up to steady the heavycrown. "I do not understand you. But that province is too valuable forme to press it on someone who does not want it. I can use it to rewardothers who have served me, not as well as you have, but well enough."

  "I hoped you might see it that way."

  "But think, since I asked you to guard the Tartars--it has been nearlythree years--you have taken part in great affairs and you have added toyour reputation and restored luster to your family name. You have ledyour Gobignon vassals to a victory that has brought them glory andriches. You have, I tell you again, won my lifelong gratitude. Whyseparate yourself from all that now? By what you did yesterday you wipedout the stain on your family name. Your father betrayed his king and hiscrusader comrades, but now you have won a victory for a crusade andsaved the life of a king."

  _Yes, but how different those crusades, and how different those kings._

  He kept reminding himself that Manfred was an enemy of the pope andDaoud an enemy of Christendom, but the thought haunted him that throughhim great men and a noble kingdom had fallen. Again and again he triedto push out of his mind the idea that he had been wrong to come here andfight on the side of Anjou. But he knew it would remain with him,troubling him, for the rest of his life.

  "If you want to show gratitude to me, Sire, the one favor I ask is thatyou not press me to stay."

  Charles fumbled in a heavy purse at his belt and drew out a long silverchain. He held it out to Simon.

  "Here. I want you to have this, at least."

  Simon bowed gravely and held out his hand. Attached to the chain was afive-pointed star with a large, round ruby in its center.

  "Beautiful. Thank you very much, Sire."

  "It was Manfred's. He prized it highly, I am told. Called it his 'starof destiny.' You earned it, I think, by giving me victory yesterday. Ihope it brings you a better destiny than it did him."

  Uneasily, feeling that the star was property stolen from a dead man,Simon took it. He unbuckled the purse at his belt to drop it in.

  "Put it on," Charles urged.

  Reluctantly, Simon hung the star around his neck.

  "I will treasure it," he said tonelessly.

  "It is little enough. If you will only consider staying with me, youwill share in spoils that will make that look like a trinket. City bycity I am going to take over not just this kingdom but northern Italytoo. I will unite all of Italy. The Papacy will be solidly under Frenchcontrol. And then Constantinople. I bought the title of Emperor ofConstantinople from Baldwin II when he fled to Paris after MichaelPaleologos deposed him."

  The name of Michael Paleologos was like a blow to Simon's stomach.Probably it was no more than a name to Charles, but Simon could hearSophia saying she had been that same Michael's concubine for a time. Hesuffered again as he had last night when he stood with her on thebalcony of that house and she told him at last the truth about herself.He had felt then as if he were drowning in a lake of fire. And added tohis own anguish had been the realization that her pain, the pain of thewoman he had loved and still loved, had been worse than the worst ofwhat he felt.

  Charles was still going on about his accursed ambitions.

  "I mean to make that title a reality. Not since Rome will so many landsaround the Middle Sea have been united in one--empire."

  The vision moved Simon, but not as Charles evidently hoped. It sickenedhim, and he felt himself in the presence of a monster. Had Charlesforgotten already the heaps of corpses strewn on this battlefield atdawn, that only now were being hauled away by the wagonload?

  Simon remembered the long list of the Gobignon dead that Thierry hadhanded him this morning on his return to camp. He thought of thehorribly wounded knights and men he had visited, men who, if God waskind to them, would be dead in a day or two. His eyes still burned fromall the weeping he had done this barely begun day.

  And this man, who had made the rescue of the Holy Land, the defeat ofIslam, and the alliance of Christians and Tartars seem all-important tohim, now spoke of sacrificing thousands and thousands more livesentrusted to him so that he could realize his dream of being anotherCaesar.

  _God grant that he does not get what he wants._

  The wind from the north blew steadily down the length of the valley. Thepile of rocks over Manfred's body had grown so high the men now had tothrow their stones to reach the top.

  "What of our plans to liberate the Holy Land, Sire? What about thealliance of Tartars and Christians? That is what I gave the last threeyears of my life to. Surely that is not dead because John and Philip hadthe ill luck to get killed on this battlefield."

  Charles pulled his purple cloak tighter around him against the wind."The timing is wrong for an attempt to retake the Holy Land. I have nointention of taking part in a crusade against the Egyptians, with orwithout the Tartars."

  There it was. Charles had confirmed what Simon suspected about him. Hefelt indignation boiling within him, but he tried not to let it sound inhis voice.

  "Sire, why did you let the Tartars go into the battle yesterday and losetheir lives?"

  Charles's eyes narrowed. "I know what grief you must feel, havingguarded them so carefully for so long. But they insisted. They hadfought against Christians. So now they wanted to see how a battle looksfrom our side. They knew the risks. They had been warriors all theirlives. They were my guests, and I had to let them do what they wanted."

  Simon looked out at the valley. The line of men carrying rocks toManfred's cairn stretched far into the distance, disappearing finallybeyond the crests of rolling fields. The line still looked as long asever. It wound past a long, narrow mound of freshly turned brownearth--the mass grave dug at dawn by prisoners for the dead of Manfred'sarmy. The man called Daoud--Simon still thought of him as David--who formore than two years had fought Simon relentlessly, lay somewhere underthat mound of earth. The man Sophia had loved.

  Near at hand the soldiers who had added their rocks to the pile weredismantling Manfred's camp. Tents collapsed in flurries of coloredcloth.

  _All these fighting men. And King Louis could have added twice as manyto these. What could they not have accomplished if they had invadedPalestine at the same time a Tartar army struck at the Saracens from theeast?_

  He decided to probe further. "Now there can be no planning for acrusade--until the next ambassadors come from Tartary. Is that yourwish?"

  Charles smiled. "Oh, eventually we will want to make war on theSaracens. After Italy is united, after the Byzantine Empire is ours oncemore. Toward that day, we want to maintain the bonds of friendship withthe Tartars. If they send us more ambassadors, we will treat themroyally and shower them with fair words."

  "And send them home with nothing," Simon added.

  "For now," Charles agreed. "For now, instead of planning war with Egypt,I believe it is more in my interest to do as the Hohenstaufens did whenthey ruled Sicily--cultivate friendly relations with the Sultan ofCairo."

  Simon was silent for a moment, amazed that Anjou could be so open abouthis lack of principle. He felt his face
grow hot and his voice quiver ashis anger forced its way to the surface.

  "Everything you have done and said has been for one purpose only, tomake yourself king of Sicily. I guessed as much, and now I know. Andthat is why I do not want a dukedom in your kingdom. Because I do notwant to be used by you anymore."

  Charles drew himself up and fixed Simon with an angry stare. "Curb yourtongue, Messire! You may be the Count de Gobignon, but you owe me therespect due a king."

  "You are not my king, thank God," Simon retorted. "My king, yourbrother, King Louis, taught me that each and every man and woman onearth is precious to God. That a king's duty is to care for his people,not use them as if they were cattle."

  "A good philosophy for the next world," said Charles scornfully.

  "It is the philosophy by which your brother rules in this world," saidSimon fiercely. "And that is why everyone loves him. Not just his ownFrench subjects, but all Christians."

  Charles's olive skin darkened to a purple shade. "Consider this,Messire--when Louis last went to war he led a whole army to destructionin Egypt. When I go to war, I lead my army to victory and the spoils ofa fair and prosperous kingdom. Louis was born a king. I made myself aking. Now. Which of us is the better ruler? Answer me that."

  Simon stared at Charles's engorged face and felt dizzy with triumph. Notonly had he lost all fear of Charles d'Anjou, but he had broken throughCharles's mask of regal authority and had provoked him to reveal hisnaked envy of his brother.

  He answered quietly, "You might conquer this whole world, and mysovereign seigneur, King Louis, would still be a better king than youare. And a better man."

  Charles stared at Simon, his eyes huge and thick veins standing out inhis temples. Simon stared back, keeping himself outwardly calm, butinwardly exulting in his new freedom.

  _There is nothing I need prove to this man or to anyone else. I ammyself._

  The last bond of loyalty between himself and Charles d'Anjou was broken.

  The silence stretched on, until it seemed to Simon that this was thelongest moment of his life.

  Charles blinked and let out several long breaths. "Ah, well. As God ismy witness, you and my brother are two of a kind. You deserve eachother." He shook his arms, which he had been holding rigid at his sides,and reached up and tapped the crown down more firmly on his head.

  _He lumps me with King Louis. He does not know the great honor he doesme._

  Charles said, "I hope, for the sake of what we have been to each other,that you will be discreet about what I have said to you. If you visit mybrother when you go back to France, you must not cause ill will betweenhim and me."

  "I doubt that even if I wished to I could cause bad feeling betweenyou," Simon said. "He has known you all your life, and if he has notbroken with you by now, it must be because he loves you too much."

  He turned abruptly and left Charles standing alone on his little hill.

  The star swung at his neck, and he thought of going back and throwing itat Charles's feet. But, no, he decided he would keep it, and honorManfred's memory.

  The grief of these two days still darkened his world, but there was onesmall brightness. He might not have accomplished anything to liberatethe Holy Land, but he had freed himself from Charles d'Anjou.

  * * * * *

  It hurt Simon to see Sophia's face. Her eyelids were red and puffed. Hercheeks were hollow and her lips pale. She was still beautiful, but itwas a sorrowful beauty, like that of a grieving Madonna.

  "I see you are wearing Manfred's star," Sophia said.

  "Forgive me." He felt a flash of hatred for himself. How stupid of him!She must think he was wearing it like a captured trophy.

  He said, "Charles gave it to me. I swear to you, I mean no disrespect toManfred. Just the opposite. It must hurt you to see it. How thoughtlessof me! Anjou insisted on my putting it around my neck just now. I amonly going to keep it safe in memory of Manfred, not wear it. Let metake it off."

  _You are babbling_, he told himself. _Be still._

  "No," she said, touching his hand lightly, briefly. "No one has a betterright to wear it than you."

  Simon said, "I want you to know this--Daoud succeeded."

  "What do you mean--succeeded how?"

  They stood just outside the walls of Benevento by the side of the roadleading to the south. A group of Charles's men-at-arms, past whom Simonhad just escorted Sophia and her friends, lounged before the gate.

  "Last night I suspected it, but this morning I talked to Anjou, and nowI am certain. There will never be an alliance of Christians and Tartars.Anjou never wanted it, and he will do everything in his power to preventit. It would interfere with his own ambitions."

  Her amber eyes looked into his, and he felt the pain she was holdingrigidly at bay within herself.

  Oh, God, those eyes! How he had dreamed of spending the rest of his lifein their gaze. Now, after today, he would never look into them again.

  She said, "Does it disappoint you that there will be no alliance?"

  "Once it would have. After all, I gave everything I had to trying tomake the alliance succeed. But I did that for King Louis and for my ownhonor more than because I believed the alliance was a good thing.Indeed, I often had doubts. I pray my people will never take part insuch horrors as the Tartars have committed."

  Sophia shook her head. "If you are right, then I only wish Daoud couldhave known before he died that his purpose was accomplished."

  The thought came to Simon that Daoud might be aware of that, in the nextworld, but it seemed a childish fancy in the face of her sorrow, and hesaid nothing.

  Even now, she thought only of Daoud.

  Oh, why could not everything be different? Why could she not be thecardinal's niece, the lovely woman he had fallen in love with? Why mustshe be a stranger with a Greek name he had already forgotten because hehad heard it only once, a plotter, a spy, an enemy?

  He looked at the jagged blue mountains, mostly bare rock, that rosebehind Sophia, and in despair thought of climbing up there and throwinghimself off a cliff. The road she would be taking led into thosemountains.

  Celino, mounted on a sturdy brown mare, held Sophia's chestnut horse forher. Ugolini and Tilia Caballo, dressed in dark peasants' clothes, sattogether on the driver's seat of Celino's cart, Tilia holding the reins.Where were those two going, Simon wondered. When he said good-bye tothem he had not thought to ask. No place in Sicily would be safe forthem. Well, they probably would not have wanted to tell him.

  Rachel, sitting on a powerful-looking black mule, gave Simon a littlesmile and a nod when he glanced her way. He smiled back.

  _May you find a good man, Celino's son or another. And may the rest ofyour life be entirely happy._

  "You are going back to Constantinople, then?" he said to Sophia. He hadto drag the words out of himself.

  She nodded. "I can get a ship from Palermo. Rachel has kindly offered topay my passage. Lorenzo found the chest full of gold she got from theTartar, right where he buried it out in the woods. So Rachel is stillrich. As for me, I am quite destitute."

  _God's mantle! That never occurred to me. What an idiot I am._

  "Would you--"

  She raised a hand to silence him and shook her head. "I would not."

  He shrugged and nodded. "Take this from me at least--a warning to youremperor. Charles wants Constantinople. He has a claim to the crown ofByzantium. He told me just today that he means to do to Michael what hedid to Manfred."

  Sophia gave him a crooked little smile. "Michael will never let him evenget near Constantinople. I hope I can help with that."

  "If ever I can do anything for you--"

  Her smile grew wider. "Do not be too quick to promise that, Simon. If weever meet again, we may be on opposite sides." In a softer, sadder toneshe added, "Again."

  He took a step closer to her. "If so, I will not be so easily deceived.Now I know the real Sophia, the one who did not love me."

  Her smile f
ell away. "I think the real Sophia did love you, Simon. Everytime you told me how you loved me, it was as if you were taking me up toa mountaintop and showing me a beautiful land I could never enter. Andthe worst of it was that because I could not enter, neither could you.We were both barred forever from happiness."

  The look on her face made him want to burst out weeping. He held hisbreath and pressed his lips together hard to stifle the sob.

  When he was able to speak, he said, "I think I would have loved the realSophia if I could have known her."

  She shut her eyes as if in terrible pain and pressed the palms of herhands against her stomach.

  He reached out to take Sophia in his arms, but she stepped back fromhim, and he saw that the tears were streaming down her pale cheeks. Sheheld out her hand.

  He clasped her cold hand in both of his and said, "I will never forgetyou."

  * * * * *

  The sun was setting in the desert to the west of El Kahira, the GuardedOne, giving a red tint to the white dust that drifted above the manyroads that led to this city. Tilia Caballo sat on a silk cushion by thepool in the vast interior garden of the palace of the sultan, known asthe Multicolored Palace because its walls and floors were inlaid withmany different kinds of marble and its ceilings painted in azure andgold. Tilia dabbled her hand in the pool and breathed deep of the scentof jasmine. A fountain threw white water high in the air, and orange andblack fish circled in the rippling pool. In the shadows nearby a peacockscreamed.

  She heard footsteps behind her. The merest glance over her shoulder toldher who it was, and she swiftly turned and knelt, pressing her foreheadand the palms of her hands against the cool blue tiles.

  She saw the pointed toes of scarlet boots before her. She raised herhead a bit and saw the boots themselves, gem-encrusted leather.

  "Tilia." The voice made her shiver.

  "El Malik Dahir," she addressed him. _Victorious King._

  "God blesses our meeting, Tilia."

  She sat back, and he lowered himself to a cross-legged position facingher. In the ten years since she had last seen him, he had aged little.He had won the battle of the Well of Goliath, had made himself sultan,and had reigned over a kingdom threatened from East and West. Yet hisyellow face was unlined, and there was no gray in his drooping redmustache. She looked at the white scar that ran vertically down hisblind right eye; then she looked at his good left eye, and saw that itwas still bright blue and clear.

  "Forgive me, Tilia, for not being able to greet you when you arrived inEl Kahira. I was inspecting the crusaders' defenses at Antioch--from theinside."

  She laughed. Amazing that such a striking-looking man should manageagain and again to move among his enemies in disguise. But he had beendoing it most of his life.

  "My lord travels far and fast, as always."

  "You have traveled farther. You are comfortable?"

  "Who could fail to be comfortable, under Baibars's tent?"

  "And Cardinal Ugolini? Will he be happy here?"

  "The happiest he has ever been. He spends his days in your Zahiriya,reading ancient manuscripts, talking to the scholars, working with thephilosophical instruments. He hardly sleeps, the sooner he might returnto the house of learning you built."

  "Ah, we must find a strong young slave to comfort you if your cardinaldoes not spend enough time in your bed."

  "I am not the voracious woman you bought from a brothel so many yearsago, my lord. Adelberto can satisfy my waning desires."

  Baibars laughed, a rumbling sound. "Anything you want, Tilia, in all thesultanate of El Kahira, is yours. You have served me well."

  "You took a prisoner and a slave and trusted her. You sent her jewelsand gold in a steady stream. You helped her to achieve riches and powerin the very heart of Christendom. Why should I not serve you with all mymight? Since you sent me from here long ago I have not had the chance tosee you with my own eyes and speak aloud my gratitude to you. And nowthat I am face-to-face with you, words fail me. If I spoke for athousand and one nights I could not say enough to thank you. To praiseyou."

  Baibars shrugged. "Do you not regret losing it all? You cannot open abrothel here in El Kahira, Tilia. I have closed all the brothels." Hiseyelids crinkled humorously. "I am a very strict Muslim these days."

  "I am ready to retire, my lord. Ready to drop all pretense and come backhere, just to be myself."

  Baibars's wide mouth drew down, the lips so thin that the line they drewseemed just a slash across the bottom of his face.

  "Now that you are here, Tilia, now that we are face-to-face, I want tohear from you the story of Daoud. I want to hear all of it, all that youhad no room to tell me in your carrier-pigeon messages. Take as long asyou like. Ask for anything that will make you comfortable. My ears arefor you and for no one else."

  "I am my lord's slave. I shall tell it to you as it happened to me." Shesettled herself on the cushion. "I first met Daoud ibn Abdallah in thehills outside Orvieto on an afternoon in late summer, three yearsago--"

  Tilia stopped her tale twice, so that she and Baibars could pray whenthe muezzins called the faithful to prayer at Maghrib, after the red ofsunset had left the sky, and again at 'Isha, when it was dark enoughthat a white thread could not be told from a black thread.

  After the final prayer of the day, a servant brought an oil lamp.Baibars waved the lamp away, then called the servant back and asked forkaviyeh. Tilia drank the sweet, strong kaviyeh of El Kahira with Baibarsand devoured a tray of sticky sweets, and then went on with her story.

  By the time she was finished, the moon had risen above the courtyard.She sat back and looked at the Victorious King.

  "He was to me like my firstborn son." Baibars took a dagger from hissash, held open his shimmering silk kaftan, a costly robe of honor, andslashed a great rent in it.

  Tilia wondered what to say. How could she comfort him?

  _Comfort him? How can anyone offer comfort to a man like Baibars?_

  "We are Mamelukes," he said. "Slaves. We are slaves of God. We are Hisinstruments. His weapons. I shaped Daoud to be a fine weapon against theenemies of the faith. And it is even as this Simon de Gobignon told theGreek woman Sophia--Daoud succeeded. Abagha Khan still seeks an alliancewith the Christians, as his father Hulagu did. But many Tartars havealready converted to Islam, and the next Tartar khan of Persia may be aMuslim. I am working to make that possibility a certainty. As for theChristians, my informant at the court of Charles d'Anjou, a certaindwarf named Erculio, tells me that now Charles desires to extend hisempire across the Middle Sea into Africa. King Louis is alreadygathering ships and men for a crusade. But Charles is trying to divertLouis's crusade to Tunisia, which would make it harmless to us. He is avery persuasive man, and I think he will succeed. Truly, this Charles isGod's gift to me. He does just what I want. And I do not have to payhim."

  Tilia heard no mirth in Baibars's deep laughter.

  "And so," Baibars said, "Daoud has won for us the time we needed andchanged the fate of nations. And he will be avenged."

  "I do not think he would feel a need to be avenged, my lord. He would behappy just to know that he saved his people from destruction."

  Baibars nodded. "True. But I, too, am a sword in the hands of God. Andif it pleases God to wield me, then in a generation there will not be acrusader left anywhere on the sacred soil of al-Islam. That will beDaoud's vengeance and his monument. Hear me, O God."

  By the light of the crescent moon hanging over the Multicolored Palace,Tilia watched the Mameluke sultan raise his right hand to heaven. Tearsran down his jutting cheeks. Baibars's tears, she saw, ran as freelyfrom his blind eye as from the eye that could see.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Robert Shea is co-author of the famous ILLUMINATUS! trilogy (Dell). Hisother works include SHIKE and ALL THINGS ARE LIGHTS. He lives inGlencoe, Illinois.

  A TIME OF UNCONSTRAINED PASSION, INCREDIBLE MAGIC, AND, ABOVE ALL, HEROES WITHOUT EQUAL
IN THE CENTURIES TO COME....

  Destiny will not wait. At last, the final confrontation between East and West, Saracen and Crusader, is about to take place. The awesome magic of one civilization will be pitted against the unslaked thirst for conquest of its rival.

  Daoud ibn Abdallah, the fair-haired spy and assassin known as the White Emir from the palaces of Cairo, will have his long-anticipated duel with Simon de Gobignon, the young French count entrusted with the guardianship of King and Pope. And Sophia, the beautiful courtesan richly trained in the arts of both love and treachery, must make her agonizing choice between the two warriors, a choice whose consequences will go dangerously beyond the hungers of the heart, or of life and death itself....