"Yes, we did," she said, thinking, _Now he is going to draw that
scimitar and kill me_.
But the only movement he made was a slight wave of his hand, telling her
to go on.
"I must tell you, Simon, that it was I who first fell in love with
Daoud. There were moments when I hated him--when he killed your friend,
for instance--but as I got to know him better and better I could not
help loving him. I had been loved by an emperor and a king, but I had
never met a man like Daoud. He had begun as a slave, and he became
warrior, philosopher, poet, even a kind of priest, all in one
magnificent person. You probably have no idea what I am talking about.
You knew him only as the merchant David of Trebizond."
"I knew you only as Sophia Orfali."
"You may despise me now that you have learned so much about me, but the
more you knew of him, the more you would have had to admire him."
"How insignificant I must have seemed to you beside such grandeur." She
could hear him breathing heavily in the darkness, sounding like a man
struggling under a weight he could not bear.
"I did love you, Simon. That was why I cried when you said you wanted to
marry me. The word love has many meanings. And your French troubadours
may call it blasphemy, but it _is_ possible for a woman to love more
than one man."
"Not blasphemy. Trahison. Treachery."
"As you wish. But in that moment you and I shared by the lake near
Perugia, I was altogether yours. That, too, is why I fled from you. I
could not stand being torn in two."
"Why torn in two, if you find you can love more than one man?" The hate
in his voice made her want to throw herself from the balcony, but she
told herself it would ease his suffering for him to feel that way.
"I said it was possible. I did not say it was easy. Especially when the
two men are at war with each other."
"And did Daoud know about me? Did you tell him what you and I did that
day?"
"No," she said, finding it almost impossible to force the words through
her constricted throat. "I could never tell him."
"So you could not admit to this _magnificent_ man, this philosopher,
this priest, that you had betrayed him with me."
"No," she whispered. "He was jealous, as you are. At first he wanted me
to seduce you. But as he came to love me--I saw it happening and I saw
him fighting it--he came to hate the idea of letting you make love to
me. He came to hate you, because of that, and because he envied you."
"Envied me?"
"Yes. He saw you as one who had all that he never had--a home, a
family."
Simon stepped forward and brought his face close to hers. "Did you tell
him about my parentage?"
"No, never."
"Why not?" His voice was bitter. "Was that not the sort of thing you
were expected to find out? Could he not have found a way to use it? Were
you not betraying your war against us--what do you Byzantines call us,
Franks?--by withholding it?"
"I told you that loving you both was tearing me apart," she said
helplessly.
"But you loved him more--that is clear."
"Yes. I loved him more because he knew me as I was, and loved me as I
was. You loved me, and it broke my heart to see how much you loved me.
But you loved the woman I was pretending to be. Now that you really know
me, you hate me."
"Should I not? How can you tell me all this without shame?"
"I am not ashamed. I am sorry. More sorry than I can ever say. But what
have I to be ashamed of? I am a woman of Byzantium. I was fighting for
my people. Surely you know what your Franks did to Constantinople. Look
and listen to what Anjou's army is doing tonight to Benevento."
"Daoud spoke that way as he lay dying," Simon said slowly.
A sob convulsed Sophia. It was a moment before she could speak again.
"I hope, at least, you understand us--Daoud and me--a little better,"
said Sophia. "Kill me now, or hang me or burn me tomorrow. As I feel
now, death would be a relief."
"I know how you feel," said Simon. "I, too, have lost the one I loved."
"Oh, Simon." She felt herself starting to weep again, for Simon and
Daoud both.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"What does it matter? I am your prisoner. And Rachel. And Tilia and
Ugolini. All of us."
She remembered the hope she had been harboring these past few weeks. If
she died now, would another life within her die? If she lived, how would
she care for that life?
He sighed. "For me this is all over. If I hurt you, what good would that
do me now? It would be just one more unbearable memory to carry with me
through life. One more reason to hate myself. I want to know, if you
were free to do as you wish, what would you do?"
Her mind, numbed with sorrow, was a blank. With Daoud dead, the
remainder of her life seemed worthless to her. Even the thought that she
might be carrying Daoud's child seemed only added reason for sorrow.
"Now that all of Italy is in the hands of Manfred's enemies, I suppose I
would go back to Constantinople," she said. The thought of returning
home to the city she loved was a faint light in the blackness of her
despair.
"For my part, I would not stop you from going," he said. The weary
sadness in his voice stung her.
If he meant it--and he seemed to--she should be relieved. Overjoyed,
even. But all she felt was the weight of her grief, pressing pain into
the very marrow of her bones.
"What do you mean to do about Tilia Caballo and Ugolini?" she asked.
"I am sure King Charles wants them, but I do not care to be the one who
dooms them by turning them over to him."
_King Charles._ The title sounded so strange. That was how the ones who
supported him must speak of him, of course. And her heart wept a little
for Manfred, whom she had not thought of in her agony over Daoud's
death.
She heard the note of disdain toward Charles in Simon's voice and
wondered at it.
"You will not deliver Charles's enemies to him? After coming here and
helping him win his war? Have you turned against him?"
"Gradually--too gradually, I am sorry to say--I have come to see that
Charles d'Anjou was not the great man I once thought him to be. When I
learned that John and Philip were killed, that killed any remaining
feeling I have for Charles. So I will help you if I can. But where can
you all go? All of southern Italy and Sicily will be overrun with
Anjou's men. I cannot keep you, and you cannot safely leave me."
"Let us go back to the others," said Sophia. "It will be best if we talk
together about this."
She could hardly believe he was serious about letting her escape. Her
pain-wracked mind was unable to come to grips with what was happening to
her. How she needed Daoud! He would know what to do. As she entered the
firelit room her eyes blurred with tears.
But she saw at once that there were more people in the room than when
she had gone out on the balcony with Simon.
One of them was holding a crossbow leveled at Simon. Her heart stopped.
Then she recognized him, and she let her breath out in relief. Black and
white curly hair, graying mustache, broad shoulders. Lorenzo.
She heard a growling. Scipio stood there, held tightly on a leash by
Tilia. Ugolini was beside her.
Rachel hurried to Sophia and took her hand. "I'm glad you are back. I
was frightened for you."
"Simon wants to help us," said Sophia, taking Rachel's hand. She could
not give up in despair, she thought, while she had Rachel to care for.
"You took long enough to come in off that balcony, Count," Lorenzo said.
"Put down your crossbow," Sophia said. "Count Simon has decided to be a
friend to us."
"I would not regret giving our new friend just what _my_ friend Daoud
got today from his man Sordello," Lorenzo said.