Across the valley the silhouette of Orvieto loomed like an enchanted
castle against the moonlit sky. The yellow squares of candlelit windows
glowed among the dark turrets and terraces. The tall, narrow windows of
the cathedral church of San Giovenale were multicolored ribbons of
light. Simon found himself wondering where Sophia, the cardinal's niece,
was right now, and what she was doing.
When they were stopped by the shrine of San Sebastian, Simon took the
lantern and peered down at the Tartars. The stench of wine and vomit
hung heavily over their bed of straw, and both of them were snoring
loudly. Aside from being in a stupor, they seemed well enough. The
stringy black beard of the younger one, Philip, was clotted with bits of
half-digested food. Friar Mathieu produced a comb from his robe and
cleaned the beard. Simon rode to the head of the party.
"What are you and the old monk gabbling about back there?" asked Alain.
"He is hearing my confession," said Simon lightly.
Alain laughed. "If you have done anything you need to confess, you've
been clever about hiding it from me."
When they were back on the road, Simon and Friar Mathieu took up their
position at the end of the line.
"How did you know there was more, Father?"
"You asked me to keep what you have told me secret under the seal of the
confessional," said Friar Mathieu. "But you have told me nothing that is
a sin on your part."
Guilt pierced Simon's heart like a sword, twisting in the wound as he
thought how he was betraying his true father and his mother.
_I have sworn to Nicolette and Roland never to tell this to anyone._
He took a deep breath.
_But I may never again have a chance to talk about it with a wise person
I can trust._
Another deep breath.