Now Simon's heart beat faster as he moved the pope's chair so that it
faced his desk. Urban took a gleaming blank sheet of parchment from the
pile on his desk, dipped a quill, shook it, and began to write.
Simon stood by the wall, his heart pounding with exhilaration. Could it
actually be that his words had moved the pope himself? It seemed
impossible, as if he had stood in the path of a mighty river and
diverted its course.
"The Tartars," the old man said with a sigh sometime later, when he had
covered two sheets of parchment. "I hope I am not making a terrible
mistake. I still think Fra Tomasso was right in what he first said about
them." He dropped wax at the bottom of the letter, stamped it with his
ring, and blew on the wax to cool it. Then he folded the parchment and
sealed it again.
"Ride to King Louis as quickly as possible." Urban turned, again half
rising from his chair, and handed Simon the letter.
"Shall I carry the king's answer to Perugia, Holy Father?"
Urban shrugged. "Oh, yes, I shall surely be in Perugia by the time you
come back. But God will take me before the first of Charles d'Anjou's
knights sets foot in Italy." He raised a pale hand to silence Simon's
polite protest, and there was actually a twinkle in his eye. "Whatever
my successor thinks, he will have a hard time undoing the decisions I
have made today. By the time the next pope is elected, he will have a
French army to help him destroy the Hohenstaufen. Whether he wants to or
not."
"What of the Tartar ambassadors, Your Holiness?" Simon asked, thinking
that it would be best to hasten those negotiations, too, lest the next
pope disapprove of them. "Should I take them with me to the king?"
"No," said Urban firmly. "Then you would have to take a troop with you
to guard them. You may have to travel far to find King Louis. He is
setting out on a royal progress through his kingdom. I had a report of
him just two days ago. That is one great benefit of this office--" His
gray beard twitched again, and Simon knew that he was smiling. "News
comes to us from everywhere." Then his eyelids lowered. "That is also
what makes being the Holy Father so wearisome."
Yes, of course, King Louis made a journey of inspection through some
portion of his realm nearly every summer. It might be months, Simon
thought with a sinking heart, before he could find the king, deliver the
pope's letter, and get back to the papal court. So much could happen.
_But the most important thing of all has already happened. We have won.
We have the alliance!_
Triumph rang like cathedral bells in his ears. He was bringing victory
to the king and to Count Charles. And his success would restore honor to
the house of Gobignon.
Simon knelt once again, kissing the Fisherman's Ring and thinking that
the hand that wore it would soon be cold.
But as he hurried down a corridor in the Palazzo Papale, already
planning his route to France, the bells of triumph stopped ringing and
in the silence a face appeared before his mind's eye. Amber eyes, olive
skin, and wine-colored lips.
_Sophia! By all the angels and saints, I may never see her again!_
For a moment he felt torn. Duty and honor demanded that he leave Orvieto
at once. But what of love? Sophia's image smiled, and he decided. He
would need at least a day to prepare for his journey anyway. Before he
left Orvieto he must see Sophia and make sure that the meeting would not
be their last.