by Robert Shea
XXXII
Simon remembered those kisses in the garden of the Palazzo Monaldeschias he looked again at Sophia, and his arms ached to hold her. But hemust keep himself in check. He was still not sure he could trust her.And even if he were certain of her honesty, courtly love commanded himnot to touch her until months, perhaps years, of worshipful wooing hadpassed.
Sophia said, "I must tell my uncle that his mansion is not as wellprotected as he thinks it is. His guards must have been asleep tonight."
Her oval face reflected the warm glow of the five or six small candlesshe had placed around her room. Her dark brown hair was unbound and fellin waves to her shoulders. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he looked ather.
"You did invite me here, Madonna." Simon felt rather proud of the way hehad scaled the wall by the courtyard gate, waited till the cardinal'sguards were out of sight, then climbed to the roof of the central wing.
"Yes, but I did nothing to help you, and I truly do not see how you gothere." She stood facing him, her hands at her sides. He was not surewhether the gown she wore was for bed, or for him, or both. It was atranslucent white tunic, sleeveless and cut deep in front, revealing theswelling of her breasts, pulled in at the waist by a cloth-of-gold belt.A large gold medallion stamped with a horse's head hung from a goldchain around her neck. His eyes kept traveling from her shoulders to herbosom to her narrow waist. The effort of holding himself back fromtouching her was agony. Sweet agony.
"I am trained in the art of stealing into castles."
"I thought the French were more given to marching up to a castello inbroad daylight, banners flying, and taking it by storm," she said. Herteeth flashed in the candlelight. He wished she would invite him to sitdown. But then he saw in what she said an opportunity to raise thesubject of trust.
"True, Madonna. We French excel at open warfare, whereas you Italiansseem more adept at intrigue."
"Intrigue? What do you mean?"
He tried to sound lighthearted. "Oh, for instance the clever way youdiverted my attention at the Palazzo Monaldeschi while David ofTrebizond had the Tartar ambassadors making fools of themselves."
For a moment she did not speak.
Then she said abruptly, "I bid you good night, Your Signory."
He drew back, shocked. "Madonna!"
"The same way you came will see you out."
"I but meant to praise your skill at diplomacy. I hope I have not givenoffense."
"A gentleman always _knows_ when he is giving offense."
"I--I merely wish to clear--to set my mind at rest," Simon stammered. Hecursed himself for his heavy-handed attempt to test her. It was true,the French were no good at intrigue.
"Rest your mind somewhere else." She went to the door and stood there,back to him. Was she going to call for help? How embarrassing it wouldbe if he were caught here.
The beautiful curve of her back distracted and confused him still more.
"If you do not leave, I will," said Sophia, grasping the black iron doorhandle. "You may stay in this room forever if you wish."
_What a brouillement I have made of this rendezvous._ Casting aboutfrantically in his mind, Simon wondered what his troubadour father,Roland, would have done.
_Or Sire Tristan or Sire Gawain, what would they do now?_
There was no more time to think. He must act. He threw himself to hisknees, arms outstretched, and waited. A long, silent moment passed.Finally Sophia turned her head. Her lips--those tender, rose-coloredlips--parted and her eyes widened. She turned all the way around.
She started to laugh.
"Laugh at me if you will, but do not cast me out." The sound of herlaughter was like the chiming of a bell. After a moment she stoppedlaughing and smiled. A lovely smile, he thought, a kindly smile. Hecould happily kneel here for as long as she went on smiling.
"I have never had a man kneel to me before." A faint vexation flickeredacross her face. "First you accuse me of kissing you only to further myuncle's plots against the Tartars. Then you kneel to me. What am I tomake of you?"
Relief swept over him as he realized she was no longer angry.
"Make me your slave."
"My slave? You are toying with me, Your Signory."
"Toying with you? Never. Call me Simon if it please you."
"You would be my friend?"
"I would be more than your friend, Madonna."
She came to him and held out her hands. Her smile was dazzling.
"Well then, Simon, you may call me Sophia. And you may rise."
Simon grasped her hands, feeling joy in his very fingertips. He vaultedto his feet and thought of taking her in his arms, but she freed herhands with a quick, unexpected motion and took a step backward.
_With just a movement of her hands she can lift me up or cast me down._
"For a man to kneel to a woman is not the custom in Sicily, Simon," shesaid softly.
It was as he suspected. She was not familiar with the ways of courtlylove.
"If I do anything that seems strange to you, Sophia"--he used her namefor the first time, and it thrilled him--"know that my actions are ruledby what we call l'amour courtois, which means that we know how to valuewomen, whose value is beyond price."
"I have heard of courtly love. It sounds blasphemous to me, almost as ifthe man worships the woman. I do not think your patron saint wouldapprove."
"My patron saint?"
"Him." She pointed to the small painting in a gilt wooden case thatstood open on a large black chest. Candles in heavy enamel sticks stoodon either side of the painting.
Sophia took his hand. At the touch of her cool fingers the muscles ofhis arms tensed. She led him across the room. Still holding his hand,she spread the wings of the case wider apart so he could see the image.
That it was a saint was apparent at once from the aureole of gold paintencircling the black hair. Simon saw a narrow face with huge, staringblue eyes painted with such bright paint they looked like sapphires.Compared with the saint's eyes the sky behind his head seemed pale.There were purplish shadows under the eyes, and the cheeks curved inwardlike those of a starving man. The beard and mustache hung straight butwere ragged at the ends, and what little could be seen of the saint'srobe was gray. To the left of the halo, in the background, stood afluted ivory pillar with a square base and a flaring top. The pillarconnected the azure sky and ochre ground. Simon felt admiration for theface; in that desolate scene the saint must have endured great privationand come through with holy wisdom.
"A wonderful face," he said, turning to Sophia with a smile. "And yousay this is my patron saint?"
"Simon of the Desert," she said. "Simon Stylites."
"Stylites? What does that mean? I do not know Greek."
"Neither do I," she said, "but a priest told me that his name means 'heof the pillar.' Saint Simon was a hermit who lived ages ago, when theChurch was young. He dwelt and prayed for thirty years on top of apillar that was all that was left of an ancient pagan temple. That isthe pillar behind him."
Live on top of a pillar for thirty years? Questions crowded into Simon'smind. How did he keep from falling off when he slept? Would not theburning desert sun have killed him? How did he get food and water? Afterthirty years the pillar ought to be surrounded by quite a pile of--
No, he put that thought firmly out of his mind. After all, the wholepoint about saints was that they were not subject to natural laws.
He asked only one question. "How high was the pillar?"
She shook her head. "I do not know. So high that he had to climb aladder to get to the top. Then his disciples took the ladder away." Shepointed at the pillar in the painting. "I tried to paint it so that itcould be any height you might imagine."
"_You_ painted this?"
"You find that hard to believe," she said with amused resignation. "Thatis why I hardly ever tell anyone. Many people would be sure I was lying.Others would think that a woman who paints is some kind of freak. Orthat it is somehow dishonorable for a
lady to paint, as if you, forinstance, were to engage in trade. What do you think?"
"I think God has given you a very great gift," said Simon solemnly.
She squeezed his hand, giving him exquisite pleasure, and then, to hissorrow, let it go. "I hoped you would understand." She put thecandlestick down, and Saint Simon Stylites receded into the shadows.
"I knew that you were going to be someone very important in my life whenI found out your name is Simon," she said. "I think my saint wished usto meet."
How sweetly innocent she was, Simon mused. He was ashamed of thethoughts he had been entertaining about her ever since they had kissedin the Contessa di Monaldeschi's garden. Over the days and nights he hadgradually grown more and more familiar with her--in his fancy.
He had thought about holding her breasts through her gown, then puttinghis hand on the warm, soft flesh, had thought about lying beside her inher bed, both of them nude. He had even, one cool night, allowed himselfto imagine entering her body and lying very still, clasped inside her.
The ultimate act of l'amour courtois, this had been quite beyond hispower of self-restraint with the women who played at courtly love withhim in Paris. The way Sophia excited him, it was even less likely thathe could hold himself back while remaining inside her for hours, as atrue courtly lover was expected to do.
And now Sophia went over to the very bed he had imagined, and perched onit. The frame of the canopied bed was high above the floor, and whenSophia sat on it her feet dangled prettily, reminding Simon how muchshorter than he she was. The sight of her on the bed made him tremble,frightened by his own passion. There was no one here to protect thisinnocent girl from him, except himself.
"Sit with me," she said, patting the coverlet beside her. He knew thatthe best way to protect her was to go nowhere near her. But he wanteddesperately to sit beside her, to feel her hand in his again, to put hisarms around her.
_But if I take her in my arms, on her very bed, how can I stop myself?_
Still, she had invited him to sit with her, and an invitation from hislady was a command.
He had intended to sing a love song to her. He had not the skill atmaking poetry to be a troubadour, but he had a good tenor voice, and hehad learned dozens of troubadour songs early in life from Roland. He hadsung them before he understood what they meant, because he liked thesound of them.
He bowed and went to the bed. He sat as far from her as possible.
"Will you let me sing for you?"
When she smiled, he noticed, dimples appeared in her cheeks. "Oh, thatwould be a pleasure. But softly, please. We do not want to rouse myuncle's servants."
Softly, then, he sang.
My love is the flower that opens at morning, That greets with her petals the radiant sun, Yet methinks 'tis not she who lives by the sun, But the sun gives its light so my lady may shine.
Sophia's smile was itself sunny as he finished the first verse. Sheleaned back, putting her hands out behind her on the bed, and closed hereyes as he sang the second and third. When he began the fourth verse,she drew closer to him till their legs were touching. Making himselfconcentrate on his music, he went on to the fifth verse. He resolvedthat at the end of it he would stand up and move away.
At sunset my love will close up her petals Till with the dawn she awakens again, And her beauty will blaze out to dazzle the day. To see her the sun will be eager to rise.
By the end of that verse she was leaning against him and had reachedaround behind him to stroke his neck. Without his consciously willingit, his arm stole around her waist and pulled her to him.
His song, he realized, was insidious in its power. He had thought onlyto entertain her with his music, but he was seducing her. Her headrested on his shoulder, her eyes closed. Her fingers crept slowly,delicately, across the back of his neck under his hair, sending thrillsdown his spine. He could not move away from her.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please stop."
"Are you afraid of me?" she asked softly.
"I am afraid for both of us. You do not know what a raging fire a lovelywoman like you can kindle in a man like me."
She withdrew her hand from his neck and let it rest on his thigh. That,he thought, made it even more difficult for him.
"I must tell you something," she said. "I am not--wholly innocent."
His heart felt a sudden chill. How could this dear creature be anythingbut innocent?
Now her hands were in her lap and her eyes were cast down. "As yousurely know, most women past twenty, unless they are nuns, have beenmarried for years. You must have wondered what I am doing in Orvieto,unmarried, living with my uncle."
"I never thought about it."
"Then _you_ are very innocent."
Simon felt himself wilt inwardly. How could he have been so blind as notto wonder why Sophia was not married? She had seemed timeless to him andattached to no one. Even her relation to the cardinal, except that itput her in the enemy camp, seemed unimportant.
"You have a husband?" His voice was heavy with sorrow. Foolish as itwas, he had dreamed that she might be virginal. But that made no sense,now that he considered it. The rule in courtly love was to fall in lovewith a lady who was married to someone else. His Parisian courtly lovershad been married women. If Sophia were already married, that should makeit better.
Then why did he feel so disappointed?
"I was married at fourteen. His name was Alessandro. He died two yearslater of the damned fever that takes so many of our good Sicilianpeople. He was very kind to me, and I was inconsolable."
"Ah. You are still in mourning for him?"
She turned her hands over, showing empty palms. "I loved him so muchthat I could not think of marrying another man in Siracusa. At length mymother and father decided to send me to live with my uncle in the hopethat I could forget Alessandro enough to consider marrying again."
"Do you wish to marry again?"
"I have met no one I am drawn to but you, Simon, and marriage betweenyou and me would be unthinkable. My family's station is so far beneathyours."
His heart leapt happily. She was free, yet, as she said, not whollyinnocent. He need not feel quite so guilty about the passionate thoughtshe had been having about her. And as for marriage between them beingunthinkable, she did not know that none of the great houses of Francewould consider a daughter of theirs taking the name de Gobignon. Hernonclerical family might be of low station, just as the pope's fatherhad been a shoemaker, but Sophia was the niece of a cardinal, a princeof the Church.
It was love, not thoughts of marriage, that had brought him heretonight. Still, he must respect her honorable widowhood. Since she hadloved her husband, she might be more susceptible to him, and he mustguard her virtue all the more steadfastly. Perhaps she thought that herespected her less as a widow. He must reassure her.
She was not holding him any longer. He could stand up without tearinghimself away from her. He sprang to his feet and strode to the center ofthe room.
"Believe me, I think you just as pure as if you had never been marriedat all."
She looked up at him, surprised, her hands still folded in her lap, herdark eyes wide.
"I am delighted to hear that. But"--she cast her eyes down and smiledfaintly--"does that mean there is to be nothing at all between us?"
"I love you!" Simon declared. "I will always love you. I think of younight and day. I beg you to love me in return."
"Oh, Simon. How beautiful." She held out her arms to him. But he stayedwhere he was and raised his hands warningly.
"I mean to love you according to the commandments of l'amour courtois.With every fiber of my being I yearn to be altogether yours, but youmust restrain me."
"I must?"
"You must be what the poets of old Languedoc called 'mi dons'--my lord.You must rule me. One day we will join together in body, but only afterI have been tested and found worthy."
"Is that what courtly love means?"
"Yes, and that is
why it is more beautiful than marriage. Husband andwife may embrace carnally the moment the priest says the words overthem. No, they are _required_ to. Courtly lovers know each other onlywhen love has fully prepared the way, so that their coming together maybe a moment of perfect beauty."
Sophia looked at him silently. Her face was suddenly unreadable.
"Do you understand?" he asked after he had stood awhile gazing into herlustrous brown eyes. "These ideas are perhaps new to you."
"The woman is ruler of the man?"
"Yes."
The corners of her mouth quirked. "Then what if I were to command you toget into this bed with me?"
He was certain from her sly smile that she was joking. But he couldthink of no clever answer. He considered what he had read, what he hadbeen told, what he had done with other women. None of it helped. Thewomen who fell into bed with him on the first tryst had not been seriousabout love, nor had he been. In all the lore of l'amour courtois thewoman made the man wait--sometimes for years, sometimes for his entirelife--and the man was happy to wait, and that was all there was to it.
Then he remembered something his mother had said, a secret so precioushe would never tell anyone, not even Sophia. Not even Friar Mathieuneeded to know it. But it guided Simon now.
_The first time your father and I were alone together I wanted him thenand there. But he was strong enough for both of us. It was a whole yearbefore we possessed each other in body. And you came of that union._
"You will not command me so," he said with cheerful confidence.
Her eyebrows rose--they were strong and dark, like a raven's wings."Indeed?"
"Because you know how much better it would be to wait. We both want eachother now. But if we restrain that hunger, it will grow. It will be notjust a desire of the flesh, but a longing of the spirit. It is said thatthe souls in paradise know no greater happiness than two lovers do, whoare united in soul as well as body."
"Prodigioso," she said. "But I am just a Sicilian girl, and I do notperhaps have the refined spiritual appetite of a French nobleman. Whatif I cannot wait?"
"It is natural," Simon said, thinking again of what his mother hadconfided to him. "Then I must be strong enough for both of us."
The thought of her powerful passions, which she restrained with suchdifficulty, excited him. Holding himself back from her was going to bepainful, but delightfully so. And think of the ecstasy when at last theywere united.
Sophia released a long sigh and brought the palms of her hands down onher knees with a slap of finality. "So be it, Simon. You will teach methe ways of courtly love, and I will do my best to be your--what did youcall it?"
"Mi dons. My lord."
Her teeth flashed white in the candlelight, and her lips glistened.Simon's own lips burned to taste hers.
"How strange. As if I were the man. Ah, but you are very much a man,Simon, and you make me feel very much a maiden."
Simon turned and went to the window. The night air blew through thegauze curtains, and he felt a wonderful aliveness all over his body. Hewondered whether Alain, out there in the dark somewhere, could see himhere in the window. He pushed the curtain aside so Alain, if he wasthere, could get a good look and know that his seigneur was safe andhappy.
Dawn must still be hours away. What would he tell Alain about whattranspired this night? The truth, assuredly. But would Alain believehim? And if he did, would he mock Simon for not bedding Sophia?
No, Alain would understand. He respected the good in men and women asmuch as Simon did. Which was why they were friends as well as lord andvassal.
Sophia stood beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"You cannot stand there all night, Simon. Come back and sit down."
He bowed. "As mi dons commands." He let her take his hand and draw himaway from the window.
There was one chair in the room, and he took it. Foolish to exposehimself to temptation by sitting beside her on the bed again. The chairwas straight, with a tall back and no arms. The only touch of comfort inits rectilinear shape was a cushion laid upon its seat. Sophia smiledand shrugged and sat again on her bed.
Would she let him spend the night? Whenever he had been all night with awoman, they had made love. Should he sing to her again? Would she wantto sleep? He pictured himself watching over her while she slept, perhapskneeling by her bedside, and the beauty of it thrilled him.
Now he remembered something she had said earlier, that he had accusedher of kissing him _only to further my uncle's plots against theTartars_. She was aware, then, of what Ugolini was doing.
_She has no idea how much she revealed to me._
He sang another troubadour song, "White Hands." She let him draw off herred silk slippers, and he almost cast away all his promises to himselfas she curled her toes against the palm of his hand. He forced himselfto stand up and pace the room while she lounged back on her bed, herhead propped up on her elbow, watching him with that delicious smile ofhers.
She questioned him about his life, and he offered her a simple versionof it, telling her nothing about his secret illegitimacy and thedishonor of the man whose name he bore. It struck him while talking toher that perhaps these two sins that had shaped his life--Amalric deGobignon's treason and Nicolette de Gobignon's adultery--had given himthe strength to resist the temptation to assail Sophia's virtue. He toldher how he had spent much of his youth in the household of the King ofFrance and how this had led to Count Charles d'Anjou's giving him thetask of protecting the Tartar ambassadors.
And thus, inevitably, their talk got around to the Tartars.
"Why did you accept this task from the Count of Anjou?" she asked. "Youhave a lofty title, huge estates, everything you could want. Why troubleyourself with all this intrigue?"
Having decided not to tell her the truth about his past, Simon now couldnot answer her question both honestly and fully. He could not say thathe had committed himself to this mission to clear the stain of treasonfrom the name of de Gobignon and to prove that he had a right to thetitle.
So he told her of another reason, equally true.
"I am in part an orphan, and the king was like a second father to me. Itis his wish that Christians and Tartars join together to liberate theHoly Land. And I would do anything for him."
Sophia frowned. "I find that hard to understand. As for me, I hate theTartars."
Simon's mind pounced on that. Could she be more involved in Ugolini'sscheming than she had admitted?
"Why do you hate the Tartars? You know so little about them."
"I know that they almost made enemies of us because you thought I waskissing you just to help my uncle."
_Walk carefully, Simon._
Again she was hinting at her uncle's involvement in all that had gonewrong for the alliance. But if he asked her about it outright, she mightthink--as he had thought of her--that he was courting her only tofurther his cause.
"Well, I am sure your uncle is following his conscience, as we all are,"said Simon. Actually, he believed nothing of the kind. But he did notwant to offend Sophia, and perhaps l'amour courtois would permit a smalllapse in one bound to be truthful to his lady.
"And your conscience tells you to guard those savages?"
"I want to see Jerusalem liberated and the Saracens conquered," Simonsaid. "Every good Christian does."
She sat up in bed, looking at him earnestly. "Do you not fear that theTartars are worse than the Saracens? That is what my uncle says."
Step by step, as if he were defending a philosophical proposition at theUniversity of Paris, Simon explained to her what he believed. Yes, theTartars were barbarians and had committed unspeakable atrocities. Butthe Saracens, united under the Mameluke Sultan of Egypt, were morepowerful now than they had been in hundreds of years. If not stoppednow, they would sweep all the crusaders out of Outremer, the land beyondthe sea.
And a wave of Mohammedan conquests might well not end there. To this daythe Moors were a power in Spain, and it was not that long ago
that therewere Saracens in France and here in Italy. Surely she remembered thather own island of Sicily had been conquered for a time by the Saracens.Indeed, King Manfred von Hohenstaufen's army was made up partly ofSaracens, and he himself was an infidel.
With their belief in spreading their religion by the sword, the Saracenswere a far greater danger to Christendom than the Tartars. The Tartarswere simple pagans, easily converted to Christianity. Friar Mathieu hadpersonally baptized over a dozen high-ranking Tartars.
She listened intently, her golden-brown eyes so fixed on his that hefeared more than once to lose his train of thought. But he persevered tothe end. When he finished, she nodded thoughtfully.
Now, he thought, he could turn the conversation to her uncle.
"All this is so obvious," he said, "it is hard to understand why youruncle should have formed a party to oppose the alliance."
She touched her fingertips to her mouth in surprise. That mouth--it waslike a blooming rose.
"You mean my uncle is the _leader_ of those who are against thealliance?"
This reminded him of mornings he had tiptoed through his forest atGobignon, longbow drawn, catching a glimpse of a stag's brown coat andthen losing sight of it again in the thick broussailles, trying to staydownwind and draw close enough for a good shot without frightening thedeer into headlong flight.
"But I thought you already knew that," he said. If she denied that sheknew any such thing, then his quarry had escaped him.
"So, he put David of Trebizond up to baiting the Tartars while you and Iwere so delightfully engaged? Wicked uncle! To think I almost lost youon his account." She clenched a pretty fist that looked as if it hadbeen chiseled in marble. On one finger her small garnet ring glitteredin the candlelight.
"I believe he brought David of Trebizond and his servant Giancarlo hereto Orvieto, as well as that Hungarian knight, Sire Cosmas, who spoke atthe pope's council, to discredit the Tartars." Simon wondered whether heshould tell Sophia about the bravos Giancarlo was recruiting. No, if hetold her what he knew about them, he would have to require her to keepit a secret, and that might make her feel disloyal to Ugolini.
She nodded. "Now I understand why he spends so much time closeted withthat silk merchant, talking about--who is Fra Tomasso di--di--?"
_God's robe!_
"Fra Tomasso d'Aquino?"
She nodded. "That was the name. He sent David to see this Fra Tomasso,and when David came back I overheard my uncle joyfully shouting, 'FraTomasso is with us!' over and over again. Is he an important man, thisFra Tomasso?"
Simon tried to keep his face calm, but he was horrified. Simon recallednow that the d'Aquino family were from southern Italy, the kingdom ofManfred the unbeliever, as was Ugolini. And were not the d'Aquinos evenrelated to the Hohenstaufens? Something must be done about this at once.How far had the plotters--that was what they were, plotters--gotten withd'Aquino?
How much further dare he pursue this subject before Sophia grewsuspicious of him? And how much further before he began to feel that hewas degrading their love?
_Our love? But she has not said she loves me._
The realization was like a thunderclap in his mind.
What he really wanted to know was whether she loved him or not. To comeright out and ask her was not the way of courtly love. He must wait forher to say. But she would never speak of love as long as they went onabout the Tartars and Ugolini.
_To the devil with Ugolini and David of Trebizond and Fra Tomasso andthe Tartars!_
He had learned enough anyway, he decided. She had confirmed hissuspicion that Ugolini was the ringleader of the forces in Orvietoarrayed against the Tartars. She had let him know that they had drawnFra Tomasso d'Aquino into their conspiracy.
Of one thing he felt certain. If she were working with her uncle toblock the alliance, she would not have let him learn so much.