the loss of thousands of men, men _I_ lost,
to raise up a new generation of knights like yourself to take the cross
again."

Many times during his boyhood years of living with the royal family,
Simon had observed that the queen, or the king's brothers or his sons
would burst out in exasperation over Louis's insistence on adherence to
some principle, regardless of inconvenience or discomfort. In Simon's
eyes this had always meant that the king was a better Christian than the
other members of his family. Now, seeing all his work and his hopes
possibly ruined by the king's refusal to come to the pope's aid against
the Ghibellini, Simon was disturbed to feel a similar anger at Louis
arise within him.

Simon stared at the man he loved so well, and saw that even though the
king was talking of war, his thin, pale face was raised to heaven in an
exalted, almost angelic look.

"But only the pope can proclaim a crusade," Louis said. "Unless he does
so, I cannot raise an army. And if we attack the Saracens in Egypt while
the Tartars strike through Syria, we will be invincible. But without the
pope's permission I cannot make a pact with the Tartars. In this letter
he gives that permission, but he makes it conditional on my involving
France in his struggle with Manfred von Hohenstaufen."

Simon was in despair. Louis would refuse, and the alliance would go
a-glimmering.

Louis put a hand on Simon's shoulder. "Be patient awhile, Simon. My
queen and my brother, Count Charles, will join us at breakfast. We will
talk together of all this."

The weight of Louis's hand sent a warmth all through him. But how could
the king expect him to be patient when he had so much to lose?

"Count Charles meets with you this morning?" Simon asked. He had known
that Charles d'Anjou was in Avignon, but thought it his duty to carry
the pope's letter straight to the king, without first taking the time to
seek out his mentor, the king's brother.

"Yes," sighed Louis, "we meet for another petty squabble. My queen was
the only heir of her father, the Count of Provence, and now the county
is ours to dispose of. Marguerite wants to keep it in my immediate
family, giving it to our son Tristan. But Charles wants it for himself.
He already holds Anjou, Aquitaine, and Arles. Add Provence to that, and
he would have a domain stretching from the Pyrenees to Italy. Whatever I
decide, I will offend either my brother or my wife." He shook his head.
"That is why