s supposedly helping him win
back his honor, and yet was proposing that he betray the king's trust.
He had admired Uncle Charles all his life because he seemed to be
everything a great baron should--commanding, strong, warlike,
victorious, loyal to the king, the Church, and the pope. But he had
always had the uneasy feeling that Charles d'Anjou was not a _good_ man
in the sense that King Louis was. And he had always kept in the back of
his mind his mother's warning, _He uses people_. He had felt that unease
strongly over a year ago, the day Charles asked him to lead the Tartars'
military escort. Now he knew there was good reason for that uneasiness.

"Yes, uncle." Simon had no intention of obeying, but since Charles had
no right to ask such a thing, there was no harm in misleading him. After
a year in Italy and all he had been through, Simon found he feared his
Uncle Charles less than he had. And trusted him less.

And now, he thought, it would be back to Italy. Back to see his efforts
bear fruit, as the alliance of Christians and Tartars became a reality.
Perhaps he would escort the Tartars to France, to King Louis, so they
could draw up their war plans together.

But, best of all, he would seek out Sophia in Perugia. He would propose
marriage to her again. Now she would believe him, now that she'd had
time to think about everything he had said to her. Sophia. Seeing her in
his mind, he felt as if he walked among the angels.

LVIII

Manfred von Hohenstaufen sat at a table at the far end of the colonnaded
audience chamber, his pale blond hair gleaming in the candlelight.

"Come forward," he called to Daoud and Lorenzo. He beckoned to them, the
wide sleeve of his green tunic falling away from his arm.

Their booted feet echoed on the long floor of polished pink marble.
Daoud's stomach felt hollow. He _must_ persuade Manfred to carry the war
into the north at once.

A dark green velvet cloth, hanging to the floor, covered the table at
which the king of southern Italy and Sicily sat. The tabletop was strewn
with pens and open rolls of parchment. Two chamberlains in dark brown
tunics hovered at Manfred's back. He wrote quickly on one parchment
after another, and handed them to his two assistants. Even though it was
a sunny morning outside, this chamber had few windows, and Manfred, to
see his work, needed candelabra at each end of the table.

When Daoud and Lorenzo reached his table, he waved in dismissal t