Simon shook his head. "From what I know of Rachel, not at all. But there
are many who would."
Knowing Lorenzo Celino, Sophia thought warmly, she was not surprised
that he did not feel as many other people would.
"Rachel is brave, intelligent, and beautiful," said Lorenzo. "What
happened to her was not her fault. And now she knows infinitely more of
the world than most women. If she should take an interest in Orlando,
he would be lucky to have her. And then Rachel will be your cousin,
Count Simon. She will surely be the only Jewish girl in all Europe who
is related--if only by marriage--to a great baron of France."
Sophia frowned at Lorenzo. Cousin? What was the man talking about?
Raising his head from his scroll, Simon saw her look and smiled. "I have
just discovered, Sophia, that Lorenzo Celino here is my uncle."
Sophia felt somewhat irritated. Were the two of them playing a sort of
joke on her?
"No, it's true, Sophia," said Lorenzo. "My wife came from Languedoc
years ago as a refugee from the war that was being fought there at the
time. Her maiden name was Fiorela de Vency. And her older brother,
Roland de Vency, went back to France and eventually married Simon's
mother, making him Simon's stepfather. So you see, I am Simon's uncle by
marriage."
Simon smiled broadly. "Roland told me long ago that he had a sister
Fiorela who was married to a high official of Manfred's. I would far,
far rather have you for an uncle, Lorenzo, than Charles d'Anjou, whom I
have often called Uncle." He gave Sophia a meaningful look.
She understood. Simon might like Lorenzo, but not well enough to tell
him that Roland de Vency was more than a stepfather to him, and
therefore Lorenzo's wife more than an aunt by marriage.
_Only his mother and father and his confessor know that, he once said._
_And I._
Weighed down with grief though she was, she managed to smile back.
Simon put down his quill, closed the lid on the ink pot, and blew on the
parchment to dry it. He poured red wax at the bottom of the sheet, took
a heavy ring off his finger, and pressed it into the blob. He handed the
document to Lorenzo to read.
"You have been well educated," said Lorenzo. "You write as handsomely as
a monk."
"Charles will have his men out looking for you, as one of Manfred's
ministers," said Simon. "I advise you not to wait for them to catch up
with you in Palermo. Of course, Charles may offer you a chance to work
for him. The help of men acquainted with Manfred's regime will make it
much easier for him to take over."
Lorenzo's mustache twitched as he smiled sourly. "Work for him? I know
you do not know me well, but I hope you jest. Otherwise I would have to
consider myself insulted. Manfred and his father, Emperor Frederic,
built a fair and civilized land here. Learning and the arts of peace
flourished, unchecked by superstition. Charles will doubtless destroy
all that. I propose to make it very hard for him to hold on to what he
has conquered this day. Anjou will not thank you if he learns it was you
who turned me loose."
"See that he does not learn it, then."
Lorenzo frowned. "You won the battle for Charles. Now you seem willing
to do him all sorts of mischief." He leaned across the table and fixed
Simon with his piercing, dark eyes. "Why?"
Sophia leaned forward, too, eager to hear Simon's answer.
Simon sighed and smiled. "Because today at last I saw through Charles's
double-dealing with me in the matter of the Tartars." His smile was a
very sad one. "And I want to help you, out of what I still feel for
Sophia."
Sophia felt the tide of sorrow rise again within her. Her mouth trembled
and her eyes burned. Simon was looking down at the table now, to her
relief, and did not see her response to his words. He might have been
looking away, she thought, to hide the tears in his own eyes.
Lorenzo stood up briskly. "I am going to try to find an empty bed or a
soft carpet for a few hours' sleep. Tomorrow we leave early, and we
travel far."
After he and Scipio had gone, Simon said, "I loved you. At least, I
loved a woman who had your face and form, but did not really exist.
Against my will, I have asked myself, since I saw you again tonight, if
there is any way that dream of mine could be salvaged. Have you thought
about that?"
Sophia shook her head. In her heart there was room for nothing but pain.
She said, "Just as you wish you had not been the cause of Daoud's death,
so I wish I had not hurt you so. But that is all I can say. Simon, a
dream may be very beautiful, but it is still only a dream."
"I suppose we are lucky that we can sit here and talk about it, you and
I, and that we are not trying to kill each other."
"That is not luck, that is because of who we are. Simon, one thing hurts
me very much. I do not know what happened to Daoud after he died. Is
there any way I could--see him?"
His eyes big and dark with sadness, he shook his head. "Even if you
could, the body of a man dead many hours, of wounds, is a terrible
sight. And then that would be your last memory of him. You would not
want that. _He_ would not want that. And if you went near the bodies of
Manfred's dead, you would be in great danger. Someone might recognize
you. Remember that many who served Manfred will be eager to get into
Charles's good graces. You must protect yourself."
She did not care about protecting herself.
"What will happen to Daoud? What will they do to him?"
She realized she was still talking of Daoud as if he were alive. She
could not bear to speak of "Daoud's body."
"The men who died fighting for Manfred will be buried on the
battlefield," said Simon. "They cannot be buried in consecrated ground
because those who were Christians were excommunicated under the pope's
interdict. And many, like Daoud, were Saracens. I believe King Charles
is planning some special honor for Manfred's body."
Manfred's body. Hearing those words, the enormity of what had been lost,
beyond her own sorrow, came home to her.
And what of Daoud's spirit, she wondered. Did she believe that a part of
him was still alive? Had he gone to his Muslim warrior's paradise? If
she were carrying his child, would he want her to raise it as her own?
She realized that she was crying again. How could her eyes produce so
great a flood of tears?
She heard footsteps and felt Simon's hand resting lightly but firmly on
her shoulder. She dropped her head to her arms, folded on the table, and
gave herself up to sobbing.