Simon was surprised to see the king
unhappy about the pope's message to him. He had expected Louis to be
overjoyed at getting permission to deal with the Tartars.

A sudden worry struck him. What if the king and the pope could not
agree? All his work would have been for nothing--over a year of his
life, all the fighting and dying--to say nothing of the personal expense
of paying forty Venetian crossbowmen for over a year and maintaining six
knights--

Now five, a grief-laden thought reminded him.

Yes, and what about Alain? Was his death to be for nothing?

Worst of all, the accomplishment he had hoped would put him on the road
to redeeming his family's honor would be no accomplishment at all. The
year wasted, lives wasted, the shadow of treason still lying upon his
name and title.

What joy he had felt only a little earlier this morning, knowing he
would accompany King Louis on his morning walk after Mass. Now his eager
anticipation seemed like so much foolishness.

_But, of all the men in the world, this is the one I would never want to
disappoint._

Whatever Louis decided _must_ be right. But, dear God, let him not
decide to cast away the alliance.

Louis said, "Urban grants the thing I want most in the world, but only
if I agree to that which I desire least. And I do not want to give in to
him."

_Oh, God!_ The sky seemed to darken.

"What does he ask you to do, Sire?"

Louis sighed, a deep, tremulous expulsion of breath. "He asks that the
might of France should be diverted into a squabble among petty princes
in Italy, when Jerusalem is at stake!"

_It seems more than a squabble when you are in the thick of it_, thought
Simon, remembering the night the Filippeschi had attacked the
Monaldeschi palace.

"I cannot wait any longer to begin preparing for a crusade," Louis said.
"I want to return to Outremer in six years, in 1270. That may seem to
you a long time away, but for such a great undertaking as this it is
barely enough. It took me four years to get ready for the last crusade,
to gather the men and supplies, and it will be harder this time."

"Why 1270, Sire?" said Simon.

Louis's head drooped and his eyes fell. "To win my freedom I promised
Baibars, the Mameluke leader who is now Sultan of Cairo, that I would
not wage war on Islam for twenty years."

"An oath to an unbeliever--" said Simon.

"My royal word!" said Louis fiercely. "And besides that, France needed
twenty years to recover from