d.

"If you have no further need of me--" he said. Lorenzo helped him stand,
and leaning on him, he limped to the door.

"I owe you more than I can say," d'Ucello called after him.

"Pray to God that I do not decide to repay my debt to _you_," Daoud
answered. He did not look back, but he could imagine d'Ucello's small,
grim smile.

LVII

Simon and King Louis stood side by side on the yellow, sandy west bank
of the Rhone River opposite Avignon. They had just crossed over the Pont
d'Avignon, a long, narrow bridge of twenty-two arches. Avignon was a
compact city, encircled by butter-colored walls fortified with red
cone-roofed towers. A prosperous city as well, Simon thought as he
regarded the many church spires rising above the walls. Even during his
brief glimpse of the city upon his arrival late the night before, he had
seen many great houses.

He looked at the tall, gaunt king, whose round eyes stared thoughtfully
off into the cloudy sky.

It was lucky for Simon--if it were proper to think of a man's death as
lucky--that the funeral of Count Raymond of Provence, father of Louis's
Queen Marguerite, had brought the king here, so close to Italy.
Otherwise Simon might still be traveling northward with the pope's
letter. When he landed at Aigues-Mortes he had found the whole port
abuzz with the news of Count Raymond's death and of the coming of the
French royal family to bury him in state and settle the future of the
county of Provence.

A traveler from a foreign land looking at Louis would never imagine that
he was a king, Simon thought. A plain brown felt cap covered Louis's
thinning gray hair, draping down one side of his head. His robe and a
cloak of thin, cheap wool, dyed black, were not warm enough for this
chill September morning. Perhaps, Simon thought, the penitential shirt
of woven horsehair he wore next to his skin warmed Louis even as it
discomforted him. He carried no weapon at his dull leather belt, only
the parchment scroll, the pope's letter, which Simon had given him the
night before. Louis's shoes were of the same sort of leather as his
belt, and the points of their toes were far too short to be fashionable.

Simon felt overdressed beside the king, and resolved that from now on he
would try to dress more plainly.

With his long fingers, King Louis tapped the scroll tucked into his
belt. "He afflicts me sorely, this Jacques Pantaleone, this Pope Urban."

"The pope afflicts you, Sire?"