by Robert Shea
LXI
Though the day was cold and damp, the sky an ugly, unwelcoming gray,Simon's first view of Rome brought tears to his eyes. He came out of asmall grove of cypresses on the east bank of the Tiber to see graywalls, punctuated by square towers, spread wide before him. Beyond thewalls, out of a haze of dust and wood smoke, above masses of peakedroofs, crenellated palace towers rose lordly, vying for ascendancy withthe bell towers of churches. Marble buildings adorned with white columnscrowned the hills.
The swift-moving brown river on his left bent around the walls anddisappeared beyond them.
Even though he did not want to be part of Charles d'Anjou's invasion ofItaly, the thrill of seeing Rome for the first time made up for hisdistress.
Rome was by no means as beautiful a sight as Orvieto, but it awed him tothink that this city had ruled the world when Jesus walked the earth.What must it have been like to be a Roman legionary, returning to thisplace from a victory in some far-off land? This dirt track would havebeen a well-paved road then. Looking off to his right, he saw fragmentsof wall bounding the edge of a field, and a broken, fluted column risingamong olive trees, quiet reminders that the city had once extended intothese fields and beyond.
Simon was mounted on a borrowed war-horse, a mare whose shiny coatreminded him of Sophia's hair--a brown so dark it might be taken forblack. After many hours of riding, the mare's rocking pace had chafedthe insides of his mail-clad legs.
He rode a few yards behind Count Charles d'Anjou and the three knightsCharles had appointed marshals of his army. When he looked back over hisshoulder, he saw a column of mailed knights riding three abreast strungout along the Tiber for nearly half a mile, and beyond them, almostobscured by clouds of yellow dust, clinking files of men-at-arms,crossbows and spears over their shoulders.
Unimpressed by the sight of Rome, Anjou and his commanders carried on anargument.
"You are a hard taskmaster, Monseigneur," said Gautier du Mont, whosebronze hair was cropped in the shape of a bowl, slightly tilted so thatthe back was lower than the front. "To make your knights ride half a dayin full armor when they have not seen a denier from your coffers sincewe sailed from Marseilles--you demand too much." The points of du Mont'smustache hung below his chin. Simon had heard he was little better thana routier, a highwayman, who had begun his knightly career by robbingtravelers who passed his castle in the Pyrenees.
What Simon had seen thus far of Charles's army made the enterprise lookdecidedly unsavory. Before reaching Ostia, Simon had expected that themen Charles commanded would be vassals, men who had received land fromhim and were bound by ancient oaths. He quickly realized that all ofthese men were adventurers with little or no holdings of their own, inthis enterprise with Charles for whatever they could gain. Charles couldcommand them only as long as they could hope to grow rich in hisservice.
Simon supposed this was the best Charles could do, since King Louis hadrefused to help him raise knights and men and insisted that he hire themhimself. Knights willing to go to war for hire could not be expected tobe the better sort. Not only did Simon not want to make war on theItalians, he wanted even less to be associated with men like the onesCharles had recruited.
Unlike his three marshals, who were all bareheaded, Charles wore ahelmet. A steel replica of his count's coronet ringed its pointed top.Beside him rode an equerry with his personal standard, the blacksilhouette of a lion rearing up on its hind legs against a flame-redbackground. Charles turned so that his big Capetian nose was outlinedagainst the iron-gray sky.
"You complain, du Mont, because I ordered our knights to wear fullarmor?" said Charles. "I did it for their own protection. I expect tomeet resistance."
_Only eight hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms_, Simonthought. _Hardly enough to take Rome, if the Romans do decide to fight.Nowhere near enough to beat Manfred._
He had been shocked when he arrived at Ostia last night and found outhow small Charles's invasion force was. Being a part of this war wasgoing to be downright dangerous.
"Time enough for us to don armor when the resistance appears," saidAlistair FitzTrinian, a knight from England whose face was a mass ofsmallpox scars. Simon had so far been unable to look at the man withouthaving to freeze the muscles of his face to keep from wincing.
Count Charles sighed, and held out his arm in the direction of Rome."Look there, gentlemen," he said in a patient tone, as if instructingschoolchildren. "The Romans are not waiting for us to put on our armor."
Simon followed his pointing finger and saw a gray mass spreading outinto the field near one of the city's gates, flowing around cottages andgroves of trees. It appeared to be a great crowd of several thousandcitizens. Fully alert now, Simon heard a dull roar, like the hum of aswarm of bees, that sounded decidedly hostile. He felt a twinge of fear.
"Get your helmets on, the three of you," Charles snapped. "Set anexample for the rest, or may the devil carry you away!"
The three commanders slowly and sullenly pulled on their helmets, whichhad been hanging down their backs from straps under their chins. Themanner of the three marshals toward Count Charles shocked Simon. Ifthese were the leaders, what In God's name could the rank and file belike?
_Any one of my Venetian archers or the Tartars' Armenian guards would beworth a dozen of these._
As the army of Anjou, with Charles and Simon and the three marshals inthe lead, advanced slowly, Simon noticed that six or so men, severalhundred paces in front of the shouting citizens, were walking to meetthem.
In a short time the small delegation stood before Count Charles,blocking his path.
Charles raised his arm, and the knights behind him shouted the order tohalt down the line. How would Count Charles deal with therepresentatives of an unfriendly populace, Simon wondered. This shouldbe interesting. He might learn something.
The count turned to Dietrich von Regensburg, his third commander. "Iwant a troop of the Burgundian pikemen up here now. Surround thesefellows." Von Regensburg, a knight with hard blue eyes, a flattenednose, and a huge jaw, saluted and swung his dun horse around to rideback to the long line of men-at-arms following Charles and his knights.
Anjou's order made Simon uneasy. Why try to frighten these Romans? Wouldit not be better if he could enter the city with their approval?
Then he beckoned Simon to bring his horse up beside him. "No doubt youspeak Italian better than any of us. Translate for me." He glowered downhis long nose at the Romans who had approached him. "I am Count Charlesd'Anjou. I have come here as protector of the city of Rome, at therequest of His Holiness, the pope."
Simon repeated this.
"Rome needs protection only from you!" one of the men shouted.
"There is no pope," another called out. "The old one is dead and the newone has not been crowned."
Simon could hardly believe his ears. He had heard that Roman citizenswere unruly; that was why the pope had moved away from Rome. But the waythese men addressed the Count of Anjou, the brother of the king ofFrance--it was unthinkable. It was madness. The count might notunderstand their words, but the disrespectful tone was unmistakable.
Hesitantly, he translated. Charles stared at the six Romans, his swarthyface expressionless.
Charles's great black and white war-horse shifted his legs restlessly,and Charles stilled him with a jerk of the reins. Even the horse sensedthe Romans' anger.
"Silencio!" ordered a Roman somewhat taller than the others, with ashock of iron-gray hair and an angular jaw. He wore a mantle of deepmaroon velvet trimmed with white fur, and a longsword hung from hisjeweled belt. He bowed courteously to Count Charles and Simon.
"Your Signory, I am Leone Pedulla, secretary of the Senate of Rome. Wecome, with all respect, to pray you to turn back. The city of Rome rulesherself. We are most distressed to see a foreign army, a French army,approaching our walls. If you wish to visit us and confer with ourleading citizens, leave this army behind. Come to us as a guest,bringing a few of your barons with you. We will then o
ffer you ourhospitality. We ask you to leave us in peace."
Simon wished himself far away as he translated for Anjou. These Romansdid not know Count Charles.
As Simon was conveying Leone Pedulla's speech, a line of big, beardedfoot soldiers carrying spears taller than a man, wearing leathercuirasses and wide-brimmed helmets of polished steel, marched forward,boots crunching on the stubble of the harvested field. At vonRegensburg's command, the pikemen formed a ring around the Romandelegation. The Romans' eyes darted anxiously from side to side.
Charles said, "Simon, tell this impertinent fellow who calls himselfsecretary of the Senate just this: I order him to clear away that rabbleblocking the city gates."
Simon repeated the count's command in Italian. His heart began to beatmore rapidly as he sensed an evil moment coming closer and closer.
"The people standing before the walls are citizens of Rome, YourSignory, acting legally to protect the city from what seems to us aforeign invader," Pedulla answered. "I cannot tell them to go away."
Simon wished he could soften this when he translated it. Charles's mouthdrew down in a harsh, inverted V.
"Very well." He turned to von Regensburg and pointed. "I would prefer tohang them, but it would take too long. Use your spears on them."
_Dear, merciful God, do not let this happen!_ Simon prayed.
"No!" Pedulla cried, his voice shrill with horror as the German knightshouted a command and the Burgundians leveled their spears. It was thegray-haired Roman's last word. His hand had not quite reached the hiltof his sword when a bearlike foot soldier lunged at him, driving a spearthrough his embroidered tunic into his chest. The pikeman thrust thesteel point in low enough to miss the breastbone but high enough topierce the heart. Pedulla did not even have time enough to finish hisscream.
"Clemenza, per favore!" cried another Roman who a moment ago had beenshouting defiance. A spear point caught him in the throat.
Simon wished he could turn his eyes away, but he did not want Charlesand his marshals to think him squeamish. His heart thundered and hisstomach churned, and he feared that his body would betray him. The otherpikemen moved in quickly, taking long steps as if performing speardrill, holding their pikes near the points for close work. A momentlater they stepped back from a heap of sprawled, dead bodies.
_God! How little time it takes to kill a man!_
Now Simon did look away. The blood, the staring, dead faces, the twistedarms and legs, were too pitiful a sight to bear.
Simon remembered de Verceuil's ordering the archers to shoot into thecrowd at Orvieto. This was worse. These men had been discourteous,perhaps, but they were officials of the city, on an embassy. And CountCharles had ordered them killed as calmly as he might order his army tobreak camp.
This was the man whose wishes had governed Simon's life for over a year.Simon felt his bond to Charles as a terrible chain and he longed to befree.
_This is a taste of what will happen to Sophia's people if Charlesconquers Manfred. If only she will let me take her to Gobignon, so shewill not have to see such things._
Count Charles raised a hand encased in a gleaming mail glove. "Forward."
"One moment, Monseigneur," said Gautier du Mont, his sharp voice cuttingthrough the sounds of the army resuming its march.
Charles turned to him impatiently. "What now, du Mont?"
"Monseigneur, we have just killed the emissaries of the Romans. I fearwe will now have to fight that mob. Look. They are coming at us."
Simon looked over toward the city. The mass that had emerged from thecity, a long line of people stretching eastward from the Tiber to adistant forest, was moving through the fields and olive groves. ToSimon's eye they appeared to vastly outnumber Charles's army. Simoncould see swords gleaming and spears waving. They formed no ranks andfiles as a professional army would, but they came on inexorably like thewaves of the sea, and their shouts were angry.
Simon felt cold fear sweep away the sick pity he had felt for theexecuted Roman delegation. That huge mob was a formidable sight.
"Of course we will fight them, du Mont," Charles answered, his voicerising. "One charge and we will scatter them to the winds."
True, thought Simon. Crowds of villeins or peasants were no match fordisciplined fighting men. But just how disciplined was the force behindCharles?
"I think, Monseigneur," said du Mont, "that before we do any fighting,it is appropriate to discuss the terms of our payment."
_Oh, by God's white beard!_ Simon swore to himself. They were about tobe attacked by five or more times their number, and these bastards werearguing about money. They ought to be stripped of their knighthoods.
"I have told you my gold shipment was late getting from Marseilles toOstia," said Charles in a placating tone. "You will be paid. Tonight,tomorrow, or the next day it will catch up to us."
"Then tonight, tomorrow, or the next day, Monseigneur," said thepock-marked FitzTrinian, "you can command us to charge that rabble."
The Roman mob was close enough now for Simon to make out what they wereshouting.
"Muorire alla Francia!" _Death to the French!_
The cry sent a bolt of fear through Simon. They would have to dosomething at once.
Were Charles's lieutenants actually going to sit on their motionlesshorses and haggle with him until these infuriated Romans fell upon them?Not just Charles's venture was at stake, but their own lives. Could theybe stupid--or greedy--enough to let themselves be overwhelmed while theyargued about money?
_Yes, they could be. That stupid and that greedy._
Simon's fear transmuted itself to anger. These men were a disgrace tochivalry. Worse, as marshals of an army commanded by King Louis'sbrother, they dishonored France. He almost wanted to draw his swordagainst them, his disgust was so great.
"You speak of dishonor when you are refusing to attack an enemy in thefield at the order of your seigneur?" Charles shouted.
"We are not refusing, Monseigneur--" Alistair FitzTrinian began.
Simon had heard enough. If Charles's hired commanders would not command,he would.
"Follow me, Thierry." Simon swung his horse around to ride toward therear of the column. His face was hot with anger.
Simon felt little sympathy for Charles; he had chosen these men. ButSimon de Gobignon, at least, was not going to let himself be set uponand murdered by a crowd of commoners, even if those commoners had amplejustification. Nor was he going to allow French arms--if theseblackguards Charles d'Anjou had hired could be said to represent Frencharms--to be disgraced. He had learned somewhat about leading fightingmen in the last year. He could do what was needful, since no one elseseemed about to.
He galloped past the files of mounted knights who crowded the roadbeside the Tiber. Beyond them were the foot soldiers. If thoseBurgundians who executed the Roman delegation were any example, themen-at-arms might be more reliable than the knights. Simon searched thecolumn for the sort of men he needed.
He saw, just past the end of the line of mounted men, two score or moreof archers in blue tunics with longbows slung over their backs. He wasnot experienced with the use of the longbow in battle, but what he hadheard about its long range suggested that it might be very useful justnow.
"Suivez-moi!" he shouted. The archers stared at him and drew themselvesup straighter, but looked puzzled. Of course, Simon thought. The longbowwas a weapon favored by the English. He beckoned with his hand, and theEnglishmen ran to him. Good.
"My lord, I speak un peu Francais," said one of them, whose crestedhelmet marked him as a sergeant. "If you give your orders to me, veryslowly--"
"Good," said Simon, pleased with the man's readiness to cooperate. Heexplained what he wanted.
"Suivez-moi," Simon called again to the longbowmen, and their sergeantrepeated, "Follow me," in English. He trotted off, keeping the darkbrown mare to a pace that would allow running men to follow him.
When they came to Charles and his three mutinous lieutenants, stillarguing, the Roman mob
had advanced close enough for Simon to be able tomake out individuals. They were almost all men, as far as he could see,with a shouting, fist-shaking woman here and there, and mostly dressedin the plain browns and grays, whites and blacks, of common folk. Menwith swords and spears made up the forefront. A few men on horsebackwith lances and banners rode on the flanks of the mob. Someone wascarrying a red and white banner, a design of keys and towers.
For a moment Simon hesitated. He did not want to kill these people.
But there was no way of stopping the Romans, and no one else was able orwilling to act. If he did nothing, Charles's army would be destroyed andSimon would probably be killed along with everyone else.
He remembered something Roland, his true father, had told him many yearsago: _No one who wants to live through a battle can afford to feel sorryfor the men he is trying to kill. Make sure you kill them first, andthen you can mourn for them afterward._
Putting his sympathy for the Romans out of his mind, Simon began to giveorders to his archers. He deployed them in a line stretching from theTiber to a thick grove of trees to the east. Through their sergeant hetold them to shoot at the front and center of the oncoming Romans. Henoticed that the voices of Count Charles and his antagonists had fallensilent.
_They are watching me_, he thought, and hoped no one would try to stophim.
When the Englishmen had their arrows nocked and their bows drawn andaimed, Simon shouted, "Tirez!"
They understood that well enough.
The arrows flew in flat curves across the narrowing distance betweenCount Charles's army and the Roman citizens. Simon saw men falling andothers tripping over them.
"Encore!" Simon cried, but then looking back at his little troop ofarchers saw to his surprise that the Englishmen had already loaded andfired a second time. He had not known that the longbow could be firedagain and again so quickly, much more quickly than the crossbow. Screamsof panic and pain arose from the mob before him.
_I am killing poor people who are trying to defend their city._
A pang of shame swept through him, and he hesitated before giving thenext order. But he remembered Roland's advice. The longer it took todrive these Romans back inside their gates, the more blood would beshed, and the more likely that lives would be lost on his side.
"Fire into the midst of the crowd," he told the English sergeant.
The arrows arced high into the overcast sky and fell like dark streaksof rain. The Romans were milling about, some trying to help the wounded,some running away, some shouting orders or pleas, trying to control theconfusion.
Simon rode out in front of the bowmen.
"Advance and keep firing," he called to the sergeant. "Keep it up, keeppushing them back."
He heard an arrow whistle past him. So the Romans also had some archersamong them. He was too excited to feel any fear.
The longbowmen marched out into the field, stopping at intervals to loadand fire, then advancing again. They hardly had to aim. Anywhere thearrows fell in the mob, packed closer together in retreat, they wouldwound or kill. Simon heard shouts and screams of terror from across thefield. The Romans were falling over one another, trying to get away.None of the poor devils was wearing armor.
Where were the professional defenders of the city, Simon wondered.
The great crowd was falling back toward the city's gates. Like thedebris left by a wave receding from shore, bodies, dark clumps, laythick in the stubble of the harvested fields. Simon saw a man throw hisarms around the trunk of an olive tree and slowly slide to the ground.He saw the red and white banner fall, then someone pick it up and runwith it. Three men lay draped over low stone walls, arms and legstwitching.
The farmers' fields between Count Charles's army and the walls of Romewere littered with the dead, the dying, and the struggling wounded.Simon wanted to call back the archers. He felt as if he had loosed agreat rock from the top of a hill and it was rolling downward,unstoppable, destroying everything in its path.
The Romans were running desperately, and the pity he had forced himselfnot to feel while he was fighting them rose up to overwhelm him. Hisheart lodged in his throat like a rock, and tears crept out of thecorners of his eyes.
_In God's name, what have I done?_
"Magnificent, Simon! You did admirably."
Charles d'Anjou had ridden up beside him and was grinning out at thecarnage in the fields of stubble. His dark eyes were alight withpleasure. He struck Simon on his mailed back, one of those hard blows hewas fond of.
"What presence of mind! What initiative!" He lowered his voice. "Youcould not have done better if we had planned it ahead of time. You savedme a fortune in gold."
He spurred his black and white charger closer to Simon's mare and leanedover to kiss him emphatically on the cheek, his stubble scratchingSimon's face.
"I don't understand," said Simon.
Charles drew back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You don't?Well, you did the right thing. We'll talk about it later."
He turned and shouted at his three commanders. "You see, idiots! OneFrench knight with his head on his shoulders can do what all of you andall your knights could not."
"We were not attempting to do anything," du Mont said sourly, pushinghis helmet back off his bowl-shaped hair.
"Those were the bowmen I brought from Lincoln you used, Monseigneur deGobignon," said FitzTrinian. "You did not have my permission."
In his present mood, Simon wished the pock-marked knight would make anissue of it.
"Do not make yourself more ridiculous than you already are, SireAlistair," said Charles.
"We still have not settled this question of pay," said Dietrich ofRegensburg.
"Go pick the purses of those dead men out there," said Charles with ascornful laugh.
Again Simon was sickened by Charles's manner. He had expected that thecount would punish his rebellious commanders. Hanging would be anexcellent idea. Flog them out of the army, at least. Instead, hecontinued to argue with them, even banter with them, as if they wereall a pack of merchants in a money changer's shop.
To get away from the wretched business, Simon kicked his dark brown mareinto motion and, followed by Thierry, rode out toward the city. Hewished desperately that he were back in Perugia with Sophia.
He had seen enough killing in Orvieto, especially the night of theattack on the Palazzo Monaldeschi, to harden him. Still, it made hisheart feel heavy as stone in his chest to see so many lives cut short.And by his command.
What pain it must be to die. To have your life stopped, forever.
He recalled the arrow that had whizzed past him. He could easily havebeen killed.
He rode toward the walls of Rome until they towered over him. The crowdof citizens who had come out to stop Count Charles was gone--those ableto flee. There were only the dead and dying scattered in the stubblefield around him. Simon tried to avoid looking at the wounded. If it hadbeen one or two men, as it had been that day at Orvieto when de Verceuilordered the crossbowmen to fire into the crowd, he would have tried tohelp them. But there were too many here.
His contingent of English archers marched past him on their way back tothe main army, their work done. They gave him a cheer, and he, in spiteof his heavy heart, did as a good leader should and smiled and waved.
"Good work, my friends! Well done."
He looked ahead again, and saw that the nearest gate, the one throughwhich most of the retreating citizens had run, hung open. He pulled hishorse to a stop.
_I am not going to be the first of these invaders to enter Rome. I haveno right to be here._
Five horsemen appeared suddenly in the gateway. More resistance?
These men were richly dressed, their scarlet capes billowing as theyrode toward him. Their hands were empty of weapons.
The rider in the lead was a man with a glossy black beard and a sharplyhooked nose. He reminded Simon a little of the Contessa di Monaldeschi.
"I am Duke Gaetano Orsini," said the bearded man.
"These gentlemenrepresent the families of Colonna, Frangipani, Papareschi, and Caetani.We have come to greet Count Charles, and to welcome him to Rome." Thesemen, Simon thought, must come from some of the families whose fortifiedtowers loomed over the city.
Their sudden appearance made Simon angry. It was all happening backward.They should have come out first and made peace with Count Charles, andthen there would have been no need for all this butchery.
Simon identified himself. "I will take you to Count Charles." The Romannobles doffed their velvet caps to Simon, and he touched the brim of hishelmet.
As their horses trotted across the field, Simon observed Orsini's gazetraveling coldly over the bodies of the fallen Romans. Some of them,still alive, called out to him pleadingly. He ignored them.
Simon could not resist saying, "If you had come out to welcome CountCharles before these others did, much bloodshed might have beenprevented."
Orsini shrugged. "Necessary bloodshed. The mob that threatened CountCharles was incited by the Ghibellino faction in Rome. They tried to getthe city militia to join them, but we held the professionals back.Indeed, we have heard you killed one of the leaders of the popolominuto, the lower orders, Leone Pedulla. That was well done. His losswill be a blessing to this city, as will the loss of these othertroublemakers."
Simon felt as disgusted with this man as he had with Charles's marshals.Unable to keep order in their own city, the nobility of Rome approvedthe slaughter of their people by foreign invaders. It was despicable.Count Charles would have to deal with them, but he himself would speakno more to these poltroons who called themselves gentlemen.
They rode in silence toward the advancing Angevin army of Count Charles.The count's black and red lion banner fluttered over his steel coronet.He was riding toward Rome again with his commanders behind him as if alltheir differences were settled.
Charles and his leaders reined up before the new delegation from Rome.The Count of Anjou greeted these representatives of the great familiesof Rome with courtesy, dismounting and embracing Gaetano Orsini. Heassured each Roman nobleman, Simon interpreting, how happy he was to seehim.
"I believe it would be best if my men and I were to camp outside thecity walls for tonight," he said, looking down his large nose at Orsini.
"I was just about to suggest that," said Orsini. "The city is quitecrowded."
"Perhaps less crowded now." Charles laughed, with a nod at the fieldswhere wailing men and women were walking, trying to find their dead andbear them away for burial. "At any rate, I will enter the citytomorrow."
"All will be prepared for Your Signory. The loyal supporters of theParte Guelfo are eager to greet you. You will be made an honorarypatrician. There will be banners, cheering crowds, music. The militiawill parade for you. It will be a true Roman triumph." Orsini was allsmiles and flourishes.
Charles smiled. "A triumph. Yes, and I assume that a triumph willinclude tribute?"
Orsini's smile faded. "Tribute?"
Charles nodded slowly. "To be exact, I will require three thousandflorins to be delivered to me tomorrow morning before I enter the city,to compensate my men, whose pay is in arrears. I will have furtherrequirements, but I will not press you for all at once. Three thousandflorins will be enough for tomorrow."
Simon saw von Regensburg and FitzTrinian grinning at each other.
Orsini's mouth worked several times after Simon translated Charles'sdemand for three thousand florins. "But, Your Signory, we welcome you asour protector, not as one who comes to--to take from us."
Charles laughed and threw his arms wide. "Protectors cost money, my dearOrsini. I am sure the great city of Rome can scrape together threethousand florins by tomorrow. It will not be necessary for me to send myarmy into the city to help you find the money, will it?"
"Not at all necessary, Your Signory," said Orsini, bowing, his faceflushed to the roots of his black beard.
These Guelfo nobles apparently had thought that the count of Anjou hadcome to Rome purely out of some high-minded desire to serve the pope andthe Church, Simon thought. They were starting to learn what Simonhimself had gradually come to realize: that Count Charles did nothingthat did not first and foremost benefit himself.
As for himself, Simon's deepest wish was to get away from all thisslaughter and pillage and dishonor, and the sooner the better.
* * * * *
"Rome is an old whore who lies down for every strong man who comesalong," said Count Charles. "All we needed was to show our resolutionwhen that mob came at us, and Rome fell over backward."
The two men sat across from each other at a small camp table inCharles's tent, sharing wine and succulent roast pork killed and cookedby Anjou's equerries. Simon stared into the flames of a six-branchedcandlestick standing on Charles's armor chest at the side of the tent,and thought that he would far rather be exploring the wonders of Rome hehad heard so much about--the Colosseum, the Lateran Palace, the Forum,the catacombs.
Simon remembered his mother's warning of years ago: _Charles d'Anjouuses people._ How often, with Charles, had he suspected, feared, thatshe was right? But those boyhood years in Charles's household, Simon'sweapons training under Charles, his feeling that King Louis was a sortof father to him and Count Charles a sort of uncle, all made him want totrust Charles. But it was becoming impossible to do that, especiallysince Avignon, when Charles asked him to betray the king's confidence.Even now, though he wished they could get back on their old footing, hefound himself wondering whether that old footing had been an illusion.Perhaps all along Charles had been kind to him only the better to usehim.
He was terribly afraid that he knew what Charles wanted to talk to himabout tonight. He had seen the sorry quality of Charles's army, and hehad been impelled, almost against his will, to take the lead when theRoman mob was attacking. If Simon were in Charles's position, he knewwhat he would want.
"You did just the right thing today, Simon," Charles said. "Those threecutthroats would never have let themselves be overrun, nor would I. ButI hadn't paid them in a while, no fault of mine, and they saw that as anexcuse to try to extract a promise from me of an additional monthly fiveflorins per knight and increases for the common soldiers as well. Theythought the sight of that mob would force me to yield to them."
_So their refusal to act was a pretense_, Simon thought. But he began tofeel disgusted with himself. Of all of them, he was the only one who hadbeen duped.
Charles went on. "They were testing my courage. They did not know mewell. They know me better now. I would have stood my ground until theywere forced to turn and defend themselves. But you settled things bytaking those archers out into the field and driving the rabble off. Anda good thing you did, because the situation _was_ risky. They might havewaited too long to attack, and we might have lost lives unnecessarily.It was a dangerous game they were playing."
_And a dangerous game you were playing_, Simon thought. He leanedforward, resting his elbows on the table. Charles had used him, just asMother had warned, and he felt angry enough to speak frankly.
"It was mutiny. In my opinion you should have hanged those men. They arelittle better than routiers. But all you did was haggle with them."
Sipping from his goblet, Charles lounged back on his cot and laughed."Ah, Simon, I forget sometimes that you have never been in a war. Thisis the way it always is. Especially at the beginning. These men--duMont, FitzTrinian, von Regensburg, and their followers--are hirelings,and when one goes shopping for an army, one buys, not the best there is,but only the best that is on the market."
Simon wanted to lean back as Charles had done, but there was no back tothe stool he sat on. Charles's furnishings were as meager as everythingelse about his army.
"I fear for you, uncle, I really do. Not only are your knightsundisciplined, but you are so few in number." He instantly regrettedsaying that. It would give Charles an opening to ask him for help.
Charles smiled complacently. "And you think Manfred von Hohenst
aufen,with his host of Saracens and Sicilians, will march up here and chew meup, is that it?"
"Well--perhaps."
Charles swirled his wine cup and drank from it. "A bigger army wouldhave cost me far more to ship and far more to pay, feed, and quarterwhile I am here. I needed this much of an army to establish myself inRome. I do not need more until I actually make war on Manfred, and thatmay be as much as a year from now. Tomorrow I will enter Rome intriumph, and I will have myself declared chief senator of Rome.Eventually Guy le Gros--Pope Clement, he is calling himself--will crownme king of southern Italy and Sicily. As my renown spreads, fighting menwill come flocking from all over to join my cause. And they will have tocome in on my terms. Then I will be ready to march south."
The whole reason Charles had first sent Simon to Italy--to engineer theconquest of the Saracens by Christians and Tartars--was that no longerimportant to him? Charles had said nothing about the Tartars since Simonarrived in Ostia last night.
"The new Holy Father has already proclaimed his approval of the Tartaralliance," Simon ventured.
"Excellent," said Charles, nodding. He stood up and poured more wine forhimself and Simon.
Sitting down again on his camp bed, he went on. "Your guardianship ofthe Tartars, too, has been superb, Simon. You proved that I judgedwisely in picking you for that task. I am delighted."
Feeling pleased with himself, Simon took a long drink of the heavy redRoman wine. "Then, since the pope has publicly given his approval, shallI escort the Tartars to your brother the king, so they can plan thecrusade?"
"The crusade?" Charles lay back on his cot, propped up on one elbow, andstared into his wine cup and said nothing further.
"Would it not be safest to conduct them to the king at once?" Simonpressed him. "Our enemies may still try to kill them, even though thealliance is proclaimed."
Charles shook his head. "The last attempt to kill them was many monthsago."
True, Simon thought. The stalker in black seemed to have given up ordisappeared.
"Yes, but that Sienese attack on Orvieto--"
Charles interrupted. "De Verceuil got the Tartars out of Orvieto safely.And that attack was aimed at the pope, not the Tartars. After all, whohas been trying to kill the Tartars, and why? Manfred's agents, becausethey knew that if the pope approved the Tartar alliance, my brotherwould then give me permission to march against Manfred."
Simon remembered King Louis saying he wanted to be ready to launch hiscrusade by 1270, now only five years away.
"But preparations for a crusade take many years," Simon said. "Shouldnot the Tartars go to the king now, so they can begin to plan?"
"I do not think they should visit my brother just yet," said Charles."His mind so easily fills up with dreams of recapturing Jerusalem."Simon caught a faint note of mockery in Charles's voice. "The presenceof the Tartars at his court might distract him from his more immediateresponsibilities."
"Then what will we do with the Tartars?" Simon asked, nettled.
"Let them remain with le Gros's court in Viterbo. It honors the pope tohave those strange men from the unknown East at his coronation. Then,when he comes here to present me with the crown, let them come, too, asmy guests. Indeed, they can stay with me after that. They will be saferwith me than they would be anywhere else in Italy. And it might interestthem to see how Christians make war."
_They would be safer still in France._
He could have taken Sophia and the Tartars to France together, leavingthe Tartars safe and well guarded with King Louis, and then going onwith Sophia to Gobignon. And getting away from Charles and his war.
"How many more months will I have to stay in Viterbo guarding theTartars?" he said with some irritation.
Charles put down his wine goblet suddenly and stood up. He seemed tofill the tent. The candles on the chest lit his face from below, castingghastly shadows over his olive complexion.
"Simon, I feel I can speak more frankly to you than I ever have. It isnearly two years since I asked you to undertake the guarding of theTartars. The way you acted today showed me that you've learned a greatdeal in that time. You have seen the world. You have seen combat. Youhave learned to lead."
_He praises me because I was so quick to mow down a hundred or socommoners_, thought Simon.
"Thank you, uncle," he said tonelessly.
"I did not summon you from Viterbo just so you could accompany me fromOstia to Rome, Simon. You saw what my routiers--as you called them--arelike. And when I am inside the city I will be in much greater dangerfrom that Roman canaille than I was in the field today. I need a goodleader with me whom I can trust. I want you to stay here in Rome withme."
Simon's chest ached as if chains were wrapped around it.
"How long?"
"At least two months. By then Sire Adam Fourre, my chief vassal fromAnjou, will be here with seventy knights and three hundred men. A smallforce, but one I can depend on. I will feel more in control of thesebrigands then."
"But who will guard the Tartars while I am here?" he asked, desperatelytrying to think of an excuse that would get him back to Sophia.
Charles shrugged. "De Verceuil can look after them."
For over a year now he had been guarding the Tartars with his life, atCharles's request. Now Charles hardly seemed concerned about them. Itwas bewildering.
_And when will I see Sophia again?_ he cried inwardly.
He could simply refuse to stay in Italy a moment longer. He could justget up right now and leave, go to Viterbo and find Sophia.
No, he could not do that. He had come to Italy to _redeem_ the name ofthe house of Gobignon, not besmirch it further. What a scandal if theking's brother were to charge that Simon de Gobignon turned his back onhim when he was in peril. What would the king and the nobles say of himthen in France? He must see this through, at least until Charles wassecurely established in Rome.
But pray God Charles did not ask him to stay with him beyond that.
"You do not need to go back to the Tartars at all," Charles said. "Itseems to me that phase of things is settled. I think it would be moreimportant for you to go home, this summer, to Gobignon."
Simon's heart leapt with amazement and joy as the words sank in. "Yes!Yes--I want to--very much," he blurted out. "I want that more thananything else."
_If I can take Sophia with me._
Charles came around the table and laid a heavy hand on Simon's shoulder.Simon, still seated, had to twist his neck to look up at him.
"Do you remember when we first spoke of your guarding the Tartars Ipromised even greater opportunities for glory? I said that you wouldride in triumph through fallen cities."
"Yes," said Simon after hesitating a moment. He knew where Charles wasleading this, and felt a hollow of dread growing in his stomach.
Charles bent down, bringing his face close to Simon's, his hand stillpressing on Simon's shoulder. The Count of Anjou's eyes glowed green inthe candlelight, and Simon felt paralyzed by his gaze, as if Charleswere a basilisk.
"Simon de Gobignon," Charles said solemnly. "I invite you to join me inthe conquest of Sicily, and to share with me in the spoils. I ask you tobring the army of Gobignon to this war."
_God's blood, protect me!_
"I cannot make my vassals come here," Simon ventured. His voice soundedweak in his ears.
Charles's face came closer still.
"_Make_ them come? They will beg you to _let_ them come. This will bethe greatest war since you were a child."
Simon gathered his thoughts. "Their obligations to me are limited. Manyowe me only thirty days' service. Some are not required to serve outsideGobignon boundaries, need only fight if we are invaded."
"Your father brought four hundred knights and two thousand men-at-armswith him on the crusade my brother and I led into Egypt."
_Yes, and lost them all._
"But that was a crusade, and the ordinary obligations did not apply,"Simon said.
"This will be a crusade. The pope is go
ing to declare Manfred aninfidel, an enemy of the Church, and proclaim a crusade against him. Butthis will not be like crusading in Outremer, where there is nothing tobe gained but sand and palm trees and--spiritual benefits." Again Simonheard that hint of mockery in Charles's voice. "Southern Italy andSicily are the wealthiest lands in Europe. Riches for everybody! Just goback and tell your seigneurs and knights about that. They will pleadwith you to lead them hither." He smiled sarcastically. "I know what adedicated farmer you are. So get the harvest in--and then bring yourarmy south for the real harvest. The prospect of wintering in Italyinstead of in the north should delight them."
In all his life, Simon thought, he had never wanted anything less thanto lead the knights and men of Gobignon to Charles's war. He thought ofGobignon, so far away in the northeast corner of France. What businessdid his people have in Italy? Inevitably, many Gobignon men would die,and how would Simon face their families?
But, sadly, he realized Charles was right in his prediction. Simon couldthink of dozens of young barons and knights in the Gobignon domain whowould ride singing to a war waged for glory and riches.
He chose his words carefully, not wanting to offend Charles. "Thisquestion of the crown of Sicily--it does not touch Gobignon in any waythat I can see. It would not be right for me to lead my people to warover it."
Surprisingly, Charles smiled. "I understand, Simon." He patted Simon'sback. He straightened up and strode back to the other side of the tableand sat again.
"You do see my point, uncle?" Simon said nervously.
Charles nodded, still smiling. "Why, indeed, should the Count deGobignon come to the aid of the Count d'Anjou? I am glad to see a bit ofshrewdness in you. It means you are growing up. But I will answer you inone word. Apulia."
Simon hunched forward. "Apulia?"
"The southeast of Italy. The richest of Manfred's provinces. Where hehas always chosen to live, and his father Frederic before him. Simon,Count de Gobignon, Duke of Apulia. How does that sound? In one short waryou would double your land holdings and triple your wealth. Now do yousee how this war touches you?"
What Simon realized, with a clarity that chilled him, as if he hadsuddenly seen in Uncle Charles the mark of some dread disease, was thathe and Charles d'Anjou were utterly different kinds of men. As Count ofAnjou and Seigneur of Arles, Charles already ruled a domain bigger thanGobignon, and he thought it the most natural thing in the world to wantmore.
_Why do I not want more? Should I? Is something wrong with me?_
It was all too much for Simon to think through now, while Charles waspressing so. He had to get away from him. It occurred to him that hecould agree now to join forces with Charles, then go back to Gobignonand renege on his promise. Charles would be far too busy fighting inItaly to try to force him to bring troops from Gobignon.
No, that probably would not work. It would be stupid to think he couldoutwit a man as experienced in statecraft as the Count of Anjou. OnceSimon promised, Charles would no doubt find a way to force him to makegood.
"Uncle Charles, I cannot decide in one evening the future of thousandsof people whose lives and souls I am responsible for."
Charles shook his head. His face was darkening; he was getting angry.
"You sound like my brother, talking about the difficulty of making royaldecisions. God's bowels, boy! Deciding what's best for our subjects iswhat we were born to do. Where is the Gobignon in you? Your father,Count Amalric, for all he went wrong at the end of his life, would haveknown how to seize a moment like this. How do you think that splendiddomain you've inherited was built up? Empires must grow, or they witherand die. It is a law of life."
Simon was never more glad he was not Amalric's son.
"I must go back and look at the old agreements and treaties, UncleCharles. I must see what kind of service each baron and each knight owesme, and for how long and under what conditions I can call on them. Letme see what my rights are as seigneur. Then I will be able to tell youhow many knights and men I can bring to you."
"Suit yourself, but I will wager few of them will hold you to the letterof their obligations. As I said, when they see the chances for gain,they will want to come. If need be, pay them. Your treasury is fat. Youhave had no wars to pay for for many years. Whatever you spend, you willmake back a hundredfold when we take Manfred's kingdom."
_He did not notice that I did not actually promise to bring any men backwith me._
To seem to promise and yet not to promise--Simon felt rather proud ofhimself for finding a way out. He felt like a fox who had thrown a packof slavering hounds off the scent. He had freed himself from the trapAnjou had built for him. Perhaps the count was right. Perhaps this timein Italy _had_ done him some good, made him a cleverer man. He drankdeeply of the red Roman wine and secretly toasted himself.
He would honor Charles's request to remain at his side in Rome for atime, fighting for him if need be. Then to Viterbo.
Over a year ago he had agreed to care for the Tartars, and he would bejudged, and would judge himself, on how well he had done that. He didnot like leaving it to de Verceuil. Even if Papa le Gros, as theItalians called him, were all in favor of the alliance, the Tartarsstill had many points to settle before the war--the final war--on theSaracens became a reality.
"Before I return to Gobignon," Simon said, "I must go to Viterbo andmake sure that the Tartars are well guarded."
"Suit yourself." Charles waved a large hand in acquiescence.
To Viterbo and Sophia.
He felt again the ecstasy of that day by the lake, the closeness, theunion of their flesh. How beautiful it had been! Even here, in Charlesd'Anjou's tent outside the walls of Rome, he felt a hot stirring in hisbody at the remembrance of their afternoon of love.
How could she not want that again? She must. He was sure of it. Shewanted, as he did, a lifetime of love. That was why she wept whenever hetried to convince her that he meant to marry her.
She had promised him faithfully that the next time they met she wouldtell him what the obstacle was to their marrying. Whatever the reasonwas, he would sweep it aside and carry her off to Gobignon with him.
Friar Mathieu could marry them before they even left Viterbo. Then ifGrandmere or his sisters had any objections, they would have to swallowthem. They could be together in his castle this summer, when the riverswere flowing fast, when the trees were heavy with fruit and the fieldswere green and the forest was full of fleet deer and clever foxes. Howshe would love it!
Sophia. A thousand visions of her cascaded through his mind, of her darkred lips smiling, her eyes glowing like precious stones, her proudcarriage. And he remembered the feel of her limbs tangled with his, herpassion the proof, despite her fears, of the depth of her love for him.
It would be maddening to stay away from her for the two months Charleshad asked of him, but after that they would have the whole of theirlives together.