certain. If she were working with her uncle to
block the alliance, she would not have let him learn so much.

XXXIII

A hand shook Simon's shoulder. His whole right side ached. He fought
wakefulness, trying to plunge deeper into sleep. He was in a cool blue
lake surrounded by dark masses of spruce. He had just seen a wolf with a
silver-white coat drinking from the lake on the opposite shore and he
was trying to swim to it.

"Simon. You must wake up."

He opened his eyes. Right before his face was a twisting streak of
orange against a royal blue background, and he realized he was lying on
his side on the Persian carpet in Sophia's bedchamber. He rolled over on
his back and rubbed his aching side. He saw Sophia's face just above
him.

He could not help himself. He reached up with both arms and pulled her
down to him and kissed her. Her lips felt cool and dry, and he had a
sudden fear that his breath must be sour from sleep. She pushed herself
away from him and he did not try to hold her.

"There is light coming through the window, and I hear birds singing,"
she said. "You must go now. Many of my uncle's servants get up at dawn."

He sat up. She was kneeling beside him, still wearing the same
cream-colored gown. He remembered now that they had talked of courtly
love, and a little about her childhood in Sicily. To his disappointment,
she had not said that she loved him.

The necessities of nature had forced on them an intimacy of one
sort--while each had pretended not to notice, the other had used the
chamber pot discreetly placed behind the red and green diamonds of a
screen.

She had been the first to fall asleep. Sleep had overtaken him, too, but
each time he dozed off he started to topple off the small straight chair
he was sitting on. The fourth or fifth time this had happened he gave up
sitting and stretched out on the carpet.

"Quickly, Simon, please. If my uncle ever finds out you were here, he
will send me back to Siracusa."

_God forfend!_ The habits of his knightly training took over, and he
strode quickly to the corner, where he had left his sword and belt
leaning against the wall, and buckled them on.

He remembered that Alain was supposed to sing an aubade, a dawn song, in
the street below to warn and rouse him. An old troubadour custom.
Perhaps he had sung, and Simon, sleeping so soundly, had not heard.

"Did you hear anyone singing out in the street?" he asked.

Sophia smiled and sh