LIX
Cold and steady, the rain drummed on Simon's wide-brimmed leather hat.His wool cloak had been soaking up water all day, and lay heavy as aniron plate on his body. It was not yet sunset, he knew, but the rain sodarkened the streets of Perugia that he despaired of finding hisdestination.
He rode along the wide main street hunched over against the chill rain,Sordello and Thierry on either side, their two spare horses and theirbaggage mule trailing behind. People hurried past without looking up.
"There it is!" Sordello shouted through the rain.
Simon's first thought on seeing the Baglioni palace was, _If only we hadbeen in a place like that when the Filippeschi attacked_.
Rain and darkness made it hard for him to see it in detail, but lightedtorches and candles glowing inside the windows limned its general shape.The square central tower loomed high above the surrounding city, itsstone face ruddy in the glow from the upper windows of four cylindricalcorner turrets. The palace was surrounded by a high outer wall, andSimon supposed there was an expanse of bare ground between the wall andthe main building. To him, the palace looked more like a great Frenchcountry chateau than a noble Italian family's town house.
Streamers of purple cloth, betokening mourning, were draped from oneturret of the gatehouse to the other, the rain-soaked ends flappingacross the arch of the gateway.
The tall wooden gate, sheltered from the rain by a pointed arch, wasadorned with painted carvings of the lion, symbol of the Guelfi, and thegriffin, symbol of the city of Perugia. Simon and Sordello pounded onthe gate, and men-at-arms admitted them. Simon unstrapped a flat leathercase from his saddle and then left Thierry to unload and stable theanimals. He and Sordello hurried through the rain to the front door ofthe palace.
Simon identified himself to the steward, who conducted him, with muchsolicitude about the bad weather, to the sala maggiore of the palace.In the great hall, Simon was glad to see a fire of logs burning on astone hearth under a chimney opening. He headed for it, throwing hissopping cloak and leather hat to the stone floor. Let the servants pickthem up. Riding all day in the rain had made him irritable.
"Simon!" Friar Mathieu was shuffling toward him, leaning heavily on awalking stick. The old Franciscan's painfully slow movements alarmedhim. Simon put his arms about him, but gently.
"Are you feeling worse, Father?"
"The weather is reminding my bones that they were cracked not long ago.I have a fire on the hearth in my room upstairs. Come up with me and youcan get out of those wet clothes."
Simon sent Sordello to the kitchen and, still carrying the leather case,followed Friar Mathieu up a long flight of stone steps.
Wrapped in a blanket, seated on a bench before the fire in FriarMathieu's chamber with a cup of hot spiced wine in his hand, he began tofeel more comfortable, and he told the old priest about his journey backto Italy from Avignon.
"King Louis dismissed me on the twentieth of September. I paid fiftylivres for a fast galley to Livorno. Then we rode our horses almost todeath through the hills to get here. It took us less than two weeks.Very good time, but not good enough."
Simon paused. He remembered the old pope so vividly, writing lettersfuriously and dispatching them hither and yon, feeling surrounded byenemies on all sides and knowing he was going to die. He had so wantedto bring the Holy Father good news. Now Pope Urban was no more, andSimon was deeply disappointed.
_But surely he is happier out of all this turmoil. He is with God and atpeace now._
"And what news do you bring?" said Friar Mathieu.
Simon leaned toward him enthusiastically. "The pope's last wish has beengranted! King Louis has agreed to let his brother Charles make war onKing Manfred."
Instead of looking delighted as Simon had expected, Friar Mathieusurprised him by sighing and staring into the fire.
"Are you not pleased?" Simon prodded him.
"Pleased about a war?" Friar Mathieu's eyes were sad under hissnow-white brows.
Simon felt as if his chair had been pulled out from under him and he hadbeen dumped on the floor. His whole being had been focused on bringinggood news to Perugia.
"But Father Mathieu, this means that the alliance of Tartars andChristians is approved. By Pope Urban, anyway."
Now that Pope Urban was dead, did that mean anything? He hesitated,confused.
Friar Mathieu sighed again. "I want the Tartars to embrace Christianity.I want the holy places liberated. But this warfare in Italy seems to mea false turning in the road. However--neither you nor I can stop themarch of events. What is it you are carrying?"
Simon unbuckled the fastenings of the leather case and took out apackage wrapped in silk. "Two letters written by King Louis. One was forPope Urban. The other is for de Verceuil if Pope Urban should die."
"You will have trouble delivering either one."
"The one for Pope Urban I will keep as the king ordered me, until a newpope is elected. But the other one--why? Where is de Verceuil?"
"Locked away with the other cardinals in the Cathedral of Perugia,trying to make himself pope."
The thought of Paulus de Verceuil as supreme head of the Church madeSimon's lip curl. "Pope? Not him!"
"He has the support of about half the French cardinals," Friar Mathieusaid, shaking his white beard. "The cardinals are supposed to be inabsolute seclusion, with no messages going in or out, but the servantswho bring them their meals report things in both directions. The othercardinals lean to Gerard de Tracey, cardinal-bishop of Soissons. Aformer inquisitor." Friar Mathieu made a sour face.
"What of the Italians?"
"Amazingly, despite the rumors about his heresy and sorcery, Ugolini hasfour Italian cardinals voting for him. The servants say he has promisedlarge sums of money to those four. The other three Italian votes aregoing to Piacenza. That must include Ugolini's vote, since the rulesforbid a cardinal to vote for himself. Voting for old Piacenza is just agesture, of course. He probably has less than a year of life left tohim. But until one or two Italians can be persuaded to vote for a Frenchcandidate, no Frenchman can get the necessary two thirds."
"Are there not fourteen French cardinals to seven Italians?" Simonasked.
"Yes, but right now there are only twenty cardinals in conclavealtogether. One of the French cardinals is in England on a diplomaticmission, sent by Pope Urban before his death. So, even united, thethirteen French would be one short of two thirds. And they are far fromunited. It could take years to elect a new pope."
Years! Simon was horrified. What a disaster! Without a pope, thequestion of the alliance would languish. The Tartar ambassadors mightyet be assassinated, or just die. Hulagu Khan might die. Even KingLouis, God forbid, might die, and the next king would probably not beinterested in crusading.
Simon, for his part, had pinned his hopes for the restoration of hisfamily honor on the success of the Tartar alliance. A new pope must beelected, and soon.
He carefully took the two scrolls out of their silk wrappings. Both weretied with red ribbons and sealed with blobs of red wax which King Louishad stamped with his personal seal, a shield bearing fleurs-de-lis.Simon held up the one addressed "His Eminence, Cardinal Paulus deVerceuil."
"We must try to get this letter to de Verceuil at once. It names KingLouis's choice for the next pope. It could end the deadlock."
Father Mathieu stroked his white beard thoughtfully. "Exactly the sortof letter the rule against messages was instituted to keep out. A kingattempting to influence a papal election." The old Franciscan took thescroll in one hand and tapped it against the palm of the other. "But Ithink for the good of the Church and for the success of our own missionwe had better get this letter to de Verceuil at once. King Louis'schoice cannot be worse than de Verceuil, de Tracey, or Ugolini."
"Yes!" said Simon eagerly. "But how do we get the letter to him?"
The old Franciscan pushed himself to his feet. It hurt Simon to see howslow and painful his movements were. Damn that devil in black who hadtried to
kill the Tartars!
The Tartars! He had thought they were well guarded enough, and that itwas safe to leave them while he carried Urban's letter and the king'sreply. But if the question of the alliance were to drag on, the foes ofthe alliance would try again to strike at them. Fear clutched at hisheart.
"Are the Tartars here in this palace?" he called after Friar Mathieu,who was hobbling out of the room holding King Louis's scroll.
"Oh, yes. The Baglioni family have given them a whole quarter of thepalace. They are well enough, though they hate being trapped indoors bythe weather and by the need to keep them under guard. John Chagan haswith him a young Jewish girl named Rachel, whom he kidnapped from abrothel in Orvieto. The girl was an orphan, and she has been terriblyabused. She is virtually their prisoner."
Simon's mouth twisted. "And we want to ally ourselves with such men.How can such things go on in the same city with the Sacred College?"
Friar Mathieu shook his head grimly. "Nothing I have said has made anydifference. De Verceuil insists that the Tartars must have whatever theywant, even though it will damn their souls. They are Christians, afterall. If John dies with this girl on his conscience, he will go straightto hell."
Simon sighed. "Little de Verceuil cares about that."
"Quite so," said Friar Mathieu. "Well, we must get the king's letter tohim."
He hailed a passing servant. "Tell the cook I want Cardinal deVerceuil's supper sent up to me before it is brought around to him atthe cathedral. Tell him to be sure there is bread with the cardinal'smeal. The cardinal wants plenty of bread. And"--he turned toSimon--"what is your equerry's name?"
"Thierry d'Hauteville." What on earth was Friar Mathieu planning? Simonprayed that, whatever it was, it would work and get the letter through.
"Find Thierry d'Hauteville and have him bring the tray up to me."
Thierry had borrowed a fresh tunic and hose from one of the Baglionifamily servants. His dark hair, which usually hung in neat waves, waswild and tangled from being rubbed dry.
He carried Verceuil's dinner, a mixture of pieces of lobster andvenison, with bread and fruit, on a circular wooden tray with adome-shaped iron cover. Friar Mathieu took a knife and sliced lengthwisethrough the hard crust of a long loaf of bread. Using his fingers, hehollowed out the bread, giving chunks of it to Simon and Thierry andeating the rest of it himself.
"The Lord hates waste," he said with a chuckle. "This is white bread,too, such as only the nobility enjoy."
As Simon watched, holding his breath, Friar Mathieu laid King Louis'sscroll lengthwise in the bread and closed it up carefully. The line ofthe slicing was barely visible. To secure the package, he took a loosethread from one of his blankets, tied it around the loaf, and coveredthe thread with a bunch of grapes.
"Now, Thierry. Normally one of the cardinal's servants takes his mealsto him, but tonight you will. We want as few people as possible to knowabout this letter. If Cardinal Ugolini found out about it, he would makesuch a scandal of it that he might even end up being elected pope!"
"Might not Ugolini see de Verceuil reading the letter?" Simon asked.
"No," said Friar Mathieu. "Each cardinal eats and sleeps in acurtained-off cell built along the sides of the cathedral's nave. DeVerceuil and King Louis will be quite alone together."
* * * * *
The following afternoon the sky was heavily overcast, but the rain hadstopped. From the northwest tower of the Palazzo Baglioni, Simon couldsee that Perugia was a much bigger city than Orvieto. Like most Italiancities, it was built on a hilltop. But while Orvieto was flat on top ofits great rock, Perugia stood on sloping ground, and the town hadseveral levels.
"Simon!"
Simon turned to see Friar Mathieu's white head emerge from the trapdooropening to the tower roof. As he hurried over to give the old man a handup, his heartbeat speeded up. The wait for news must be at an end. Whenhe saw Friar Mathieu smiling, he started grinning himself.
"The letter did it," the priest said cheerfully. "We have a pope, and itis neither de Verceuil nor de Tracey nor Ugolini."
Simon felt like shouting for joy.
"Who, then?"
"Why, the person named in the letter you brought, of course," said FriarMathieu teasingly.
"Spare me this riddling, Father," Simon begged. "Not now. This means toomuch to me."
"All right, all right." Friar Mathieu patted Simon on the shoulder."This morning at Tierce I joined the crowd at the cathedral to see thecolor of the smoke of the burning ballots from the chimney of thebishop's palace. If the king's letter had its effect, the smoke shouldbe white, but it was not."
Simon's heart sank. Had he misunderstood Friar Mathieu?
"Black smoke, then? But you said they did elect a pope."
"No smoke at all. The people were puzzled, and so was I, and we allwaited to see if anything would happen. I was about to give up and leavewhen the doors of the cathedral opened, and there stood little CardinalUgolini, with most of the Sacred College behind him. He looked as if hehad been eating rotten figs. When I saw that, I knew the news must begood. As cardinal camerlengo, he announced, 'We _believe_ we have apope.' Well, you can imagine, that took everyone aback. He explainedthat the one elected was not present, and his name could not beannounced until he had come to Perugia and had officially accepted. Thenthe cardinals came down the steps one by one. Most of them looked happyto be out of the cathedral after a week of imprisonment, but deVerceuil and de Tracey looked as ill as Ugolini. De Verceuil has comeback to the palace now, so you had better walk carefully."
Simon remembered that Friar Mathieu had said the cardinals had electedthe man named in King Louis's letter. But apparently the man was _not_yet elected. Simon felt uneasy. The chosen one was not even in Perugia.Too much could go wrong. He searched his brain. Friar Mathieu had saidsomething last night about one of the cardinals being absent. Which one?
"Who is the man they elected?" Simon cried. The way Friar Mathieu wastelling this was maddening.
Smiling, Friar Mathieu said, "That is why I did not come to you at once.A priest in de Verceuil's entourage is an old friend of mine, and Iwaited until I could get the rest of the story from him."
"Could the letter I brought make such a difference?" Simon exclaimed.
"Well, de Verceuil sent Thierry away before looking inside that loaf ofbread. His servant and his secretary, who were living with him, stoodoutside his cell and heard groans and cries of rage from within. DeVerceuil threw his dinner on the floor and stamped out of his cell.While the servant cleaned the cell, de Verceuil visited and spokesecretly with each of the other French cardinals in turn.
"This morning, when it came time for them to vote, de Verceuil rose andsaid, 'Ego eligo Guy le Gros'--I elect Guy le Gros. Then each of theother French cardinals said the same thing after him."
_Le Gros!_ Simon thought. _Le Gros is the cardinal who is not here._
So, that was who King Louis wanted. Simon remembered meeting him at PopeUrban's council a year ago, a stout, genial man with a long black beard.De Verceuil had mocked him because he had once been married and haddaughters. De Verceuil would have to eat that mockery now.
What did this mean for the alliance? Le Gros must be favorable. Why elsewould King Louis have chosen him?
"But why no smoke?" Simon asked.
"When a cardinal acclaims a candidate orally after a deadlock, and theothers follow suit, it is called election by quasi-inspiratio. Becauseit is as if the cardinals have been divinely inspired. No ballots areneeded, so there is nothing to burn. In this case they were inspired byKing Louis, with some help from you and me.
"When two Italian cardinals--Piacenza, who knew he was too old to bepope for long, and Marchetti, who was always opposed to Ugolini--joinedthe cry for le Gros, it was all over. Ugolini collapsed in tears, but hewas revived enough to make the arrangements to send to England for leGros to come in haste. Everybody was sworn to silence, and Ugolini wentout to make the public anno
uncement. Of course, despite the secrecy, allPerugia knows it will be le Gros."
"But the alliance?" Simon asked anxiously.
Friar Mathieu reached out and took his hand. "We will have to wait untille Gros is officially crowned. But we can count on one of his first actsbeing a call for an alliance between the princes of Christendom and thekhans of Tartary. And right after that will follow a declaration thatManfred von Hohenstaufen is deposed and Charles d'Anjou is the rightfulking of southern Italy and Sicily."
A feeling of triumph swept Simon.
"Once the alliance is secured," he said, "I can really believe that Ihave the right to be the Count de Gobignon."
"Oh?" said Friar Mathieu. "Is that the assurance you need?" He spoke ina dubious tone that made Simon uneasy. "Well, then, I hope for your sakele Gros gets here from England all the sooner. Even though I do not lookforward to the war he will unleash."
_I care nothing about this war between Charles d'Anjou and Manfred vonHohenstaufen_, Simon thought. His work would be done when he deliveredthe Tartars, with the pope's blessing, to King Louis.
And at the same time, he thought, he might bring Sophia to France. Inhis present happy mood, the thought of her was like a sunrise. If therewas to be war in Italy, if Charles d'Anjou was to invade her homeland ofSicily, she might be all the more grateful to him for offering her amarriage that would take her away from all that.
He must arrange a rendezvous with her at once.
* * * * *
Luckily, Simon thought, the rain that plagued Umbria this time of yearhad let up for three days, and the roads leading out of Perugia into thecountryside were fairly dry. He would have braved a flood or a blizzardto see Sophia again, but it pleased him that there were blue breaks inthe gray dome of cloud overhead. After meeting on a road northwest ofPerugia, Simon and Sophia had ridden to a woodland lake that reflectedthe blue in a darker tone on its rippling surface.
Simon felt himself breathing rapidly with excitement as he surveyed thelake shore. It seemed almost miraculous that Sophia was standing besidehim.
They were at the bottom of a bowl of land. Big rocks that looked as ifthey might have rolled down the surrounding hillsides lay on the shoreof the small lake. The floor of the wood was thick with brown leaves.This forest, Simon thought, probably belonged to some local nobleman.Most of the countryside around here was farmland.
Even though denuded by autumn, the masses of trees on the opposite shorelooked impenetrable, ramparts of gray spikes frequently interrupted bythe dark green of pines. The place had all the privacy he had hoped for.He prayed that this time alone together would not end in disaster astheir last meeting outside Orvieto had.
Holding Sophia's arm and guiding her down to the edge of the lake gaveSimon a warm, pleasant feeling. A tremor ran through his hands when hegrasped her slender waist and lifted her--how light she felt!--to perchon a big black boulder.
She laughed gaily, and her laughter was like church bells at Easter.
He scooped up leaves and piled them at the base of the rock. When he hada pile big enough for two people to sit on, he spread his cloak over it.He held out his hand, and she slid from the boulder to the leaves.
He went foraging in the wood and quickly gathered an armload of brokenbranches and a few heavy sticks. He made a ring of stones near thewater's edge and piled the branches within it, putting leaves and smalltwigs that would catch fire easily under the larger pieces of wood. Headded some dried moss and took flint and steel out of a pouch at hisbelt, struck sparks several times, and got the moss to smoke. He blew onthe glowing spots till a bright orange flame appeared. In a moment thepile of branches was afire.
Sophia crawled to the fire and held her hands out to its warmth. Simonsat beside her, so close their shoulders touched. He felt a pang ofdisappointment when she moved just a bit away from him.
"How comfortable you've made us!" she said, sounding a little surprised.She was very much a city woman, Simon thought. She seemed to know littleabout the country, and he had noticed that she never looked entirelyrelaxed on horseback.
"Are you surprised that I know how to make a fire in the woods?" He feltinordinate pride at being able to show off this small skill to her.
"I did think you relied on servants to do that sort of thing for you."
"A knight may not always have equerries or servants to help him. I knowdozens of useful things that might surprise you. I can even cook and sewfor myself."
"Marvelous! The woman you marry will be fortunate indeed."
As soon as she said it, the light went out of her eyes and she lookedquickly away. An uneasy silence fell over them. Her obvious dismay threwhim into despair. Again he remembered their struggles and her tears--andhis own--that morning in the pine forest outside Orvieto.
After a pause, with an obviousness that sunk him into an even deepergloom, she changed the subject. "Uncle told me all about what they didwhen the pope died. He was with the Holy Father right to the end. Justbefore he died, Pope Urban said, 'Beware the Tartars, Adelberto.' Iwould have thought Uncle made that up, but he says all the pope'sattendant priests and servants heard it. Uncle says it proves Pope Urbanhad changed his mind at the end about that alliance you are all soworried about."
"Maybe the pope was warning your uncle that the Tartars are angry at himfor all the trouble he has caused them," said Simon, forcing himself tocomment on something that, at the moment, did not interest him.
He refused to worry about whether Pope Urban had a deathbed change ofheart. How beautiful her eyes were, such a warm brown color! He hadeverything planned out for both of them. She had only to agree. He wouldpresent her first to King Louis. How could the king disapprove hismarriage to a cardinal's niece? And with the king's support, no one elsecould object. Besides, Nicolette and Roland would love her; he was sureof it.
She went on. "Anyway, Uncle said that the pope's chest filled up withblack bile, and that was what killed him. The pope's priest-physicianfelt for a heartbeat, and when there was none, Uncle took a silverhammer and tapped the pope on the forehead with it."
"Really!" Simon had no idea they did that. The strange scene interestedhim in spite of his longing for Sophia.
"To make sure he was dead. And then Uncle called his name--his baptismalname, not his name as pope--'Jacques, are you dead?' He did this threetimes. And when the pope did not answer, he said, 'Pope Urban is trulydead.' And he took the Fisherman's Ring off the Pope's finger and cut itto bits with silver shears. And with the hammer he broke the pope'sseal. So they must make a new ring for the new pope."
"When Cardinal le Gros is made pope, he will confirm the alliance ofChristians and Tartars," said Simon, eager to put a finish to the topicand bring the conversation back to the two of them.
Sophia, her hands folded in her lap, lovely hands with long slenderfingers, looked sadly toward the lake. "I suppose that pleases you."
"Why not be happy for me? My work is nearly done."
_And_, he wanted to add but dared not, _we can be married_.
She turned to look at him, her eyes troubled. "Uncle says the new popewill call Charles d'Anjou to invade Italy and make war on King Manfred.Will you be with the invaders?"
_Count Charles will surely expect me to join him_, Simon thought. Well,he would simply tell Uncle Charles that he had no wish to spend any moretime in Italy.
"When the alliance with the Tartars is settled, I mean to go home."
He was about to tell her again that he wanted her to come with him, butshe spoke first. "You know this Count Charles well, do you not? How soondo you think he will march into Italy?"
Simon wanted to talk about their future, not about Charles d'Anjou'splans for war with Manfred. But he tried to answer her question.
"He is pressing his people for money now. Then he must gather his army.And it can take months to move an army from the south of France tosouthern Italy. With winter coming on, he will probably wait until nextyear to cross the Alps. My guess
is he'll be here in Italy next summer."
She was about to speak again, probably to ask another question aboutCount Charles. He quickly broke in.
"What I told you last time--that I am a bastard and that the last Countde Gobignon was not my real father--does that make you less willing tomarry me?"
Her face squeezed together, as if a sharp pain had struck her. "You arenot going to start talking about marriage again, Simon?"
Her words were like a knife wound in his chest. While he searched forwords, his eyes explored the steep brown hills that surrounded thissecluded lake. Their tops were veiled in mist, like his past.
"I have never stopped thinking about marrying you. Sophia, you are theone person in the world who can make me happy." He reached over into herlap and took her hand. It felt cool and smooth.
"I could never, never make you happy," she said. "You know nothing aboutme."
Why was she always saying that? What was there to know about a woman whohad lived a quiet life in Sicily, was widowed at an early age, and hadcome to live with her cardinal uncle?
"I know enough." His eyes felt on fire with longing. "And you knowenough about me to see that the differences between our families do notmatter. You know what I am. And we care more about each other than we doabout your uncle opposing what my king wants."
"Oh, Simon!" Now there were tears running down her cheeks, but she didnot try to pull her hand away. It pained him to see how this was hurtingher, though he did not understand why it should.
She said, "You are telling tales to yourself if you imagine we couldever marry. You should not even think of it. Whatever your mother did,you are still the Count de Gobignon. You are almost a member of theFrench royal family."
"I am sure Cardinal Ugolini does not agree that your family is soobscure," Simon said. "It is time I talked to him about this. Then youwill believe I mean it."
She struck her hands against his chest. "No, no! You must not do that.Do you not realize how upset he is about this war, and how he feelstoward the French? If he even knew that I had been alone with you today,he would force me to go back to Siracusa at once."
The feel of her hands on him, even to hit him in reproof, excited him.
"I would not let that happen," he said gravely.
He heard wild geese flying southward calling in the distance. Theircries made this place seem terribly lonely. Even though the little lakewas only a short ride from Perugia, he had seen no sign of a human beinganywhere.
The fire was burning low. He went to gather more wood.
Sophia frowned at him when he came back. "What did you mean, you wouldnot allow my uncle to send me away?"
He leaned closer, seizing both of her hands in his. The pleasure ofholding her hands rippled through him like a fluttering of angels'wings. In his exalted state he was moved to utter extravagant words.
"I mean that if you were to leave Perugia, I would ride after you. Iwould fight any men your uncle had set to guard you. I would take youback to Gobignon with me, and there with you inside my castle I woulddefy the world."
"Oh, Simon!"
His words sounded foolish to him after he spoke them aloud. Yet men, heknew, had done such things--Lancelot--Tristan--if the old songs were tobe believed. How better to prove his love than to commit crimes and riskdisgrace for her?
She was crying again. She put her hands over her face. Why, he wondered,when he declared his love for her and told her he wanted to marry her,did it make her so unhappy? If she did not care for him, she should beindifferent or angry. Why, instead, did she cry so hard?
_It must be that she wants me but cannot believe it is possible._
The sight of her slender body shaking with sobs tore at his heart. Hecould not hold himself back; even if she fought him again, he must puthis arms around her. He reached out to hold her. She fell against him.She felt wonderful in his arms, solid enough to assure him that this wasno dream, yet light enough to allow him to feel that he could doanything he wanted with her.
He remembered how angry she had been in the pine forest outside Orvietowhen he had tried to make love to her. Though he might be eaten up withlonging for her, he must just hold her and be glad she allowed him to dothat.
She raised her tear-streaked face and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The soft pressure of her lips on his made his arms ache to hold hertighter. But he fought the feeling down.
"Why do you cry so hard when I speak to you of love?" he whispered.
"Because no one has ever loved me as you do," she said. She rested herhead against his chest, and he stroked her hair. His eyes lingered overthe curves of her breasts. He wanted to drop his hand from her hair toher breast. He felt the yearning to touch her breast as a pain in thepalm of his hand.
"But you have been married," he said. "Did not your husband love you?"
He felt her head shaking. His heart was beating so hard he was sure shemust hear it.
"We were little more than children."
"I am not a child, and neither are you. Believe me when I say I want tomarry you."
"Oh, Simon, I do believe you!" she cried, and she broke out in a freshstorm of sobs.
Now he could not help himself; he had to hold her tight. She leanedagainst him, and they slipped back until they were both lying down, heon his back and she on top of him. His hand felt the small of her back.How narrow her waist was!
He felt her move against him in a new way.
Her arms slid around him, her hands on his neck. Her lips were on hisagain, but this time pressing hard, ferocious, devouring. He felt herteeth and tongue, her breath hot in his mouth.
She was suddenly a different woman, not the shy cardinal's niece. Shewas demanding, brimming over with a need to match his. Their handshurried over each other's bodies, touching through their clothes andthen under their clothes. Simon had no time to be surprised at thechange that had come over her.
She was undoing the laces down the front of her gown, then taking hishands and holding them against her naked breasts. He nearly fainted withthe wonder of it.
And while he held her breasts, unable to take his hands away, her handsmoved downward, fumbling at his clothing and at her own, her bodysliding against him, her hand seizing his manhood, her legs opening toreceive him.
He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, and she cried out with delight ashe entered her. She pushed herself upward, pressing her hands againsthis shoulders, arching her back. His hands moved in gentle circles overher breasts, her hard nipples pressing into his palms. Her hips thrustagainst him furiously. He felt waves of pleasure rising to a crest inhis loins. His eyes came open and he saw, under the olive skin of herface and neck and bosom, a deep crimson flush.
Her joyous scream echoed cross the lake.
* * * * *
"You shall come with me to Gobignon," he whispered in her ear. They laywrapped in his cloak, legs entangled, clothing in disarray, the windrattling the bare branches overhead. He heard his palfrey and her horsein the brush nearby stamping and snorting restlessly. The horses must behungry.
"You shall marry me," he said.
She lay motionless, her head under his, resting on his arm. "I will not.I cannot." Her tone was leaden, despairing.
After what had just happened, how could she still refuse him? Was sheashamed? Did she feel she had sinned?
"We are as good as married now."
"Oh, Simon." She sounded as if she were talking to a hopelessly innocentboy.
"There will be a new pope, and the alliance will be sealed, and my workwill be done," he said. "I agreed to do this, and I will see it through.But I do not have to be a part of the war between Count Charles and theking of Sicily, and neither do you. All I want is to go home and to takeyou with me. With you beside me, my home will be all of the world that Iwant."
Her arms were tight around him, but she was silent. It did not matter ifshe did not answer him. After what had just happened between them, hefelt as if he
knew her mind as fully as he knew her body. She loved himand would marry him. He was sure of it.
Overhead, wild geese called.