ower in Pisa and Lucca. It
appears the Ghibellini have decided to seize all of Italy before the
French come in and take it."

_But we are French_, thought Simon, _and we have no ambitions in Italy_.

_Uncle Charles does._

In this quiet garden it was hard to believe that an army could be
preparing to march against Orvieto. Or even that the attack on the
Palazzo Monaldeschi had happened in the same city. Simon watched a friar
in his brown robe serenely weeding. The rows of plants were already tall
and thick--peas, haricots, lettuce, cabbage, carrots. At Gobignon this
time of year the seedlings would not be half as high.

"Will the Sienese besiege Orvieto?" he asked.

_Another battle? And another attempt on the Tartars?_

"Pope Urban will not wait to see what they do," said Friar Mathieu. "He
feels threatened from both north and south, and intends to move away
from here as soon as possible. There is a rumor that Manfred of Sicily
himself may invade the Papal States this summer."

Simon sprang to his feet and threw his arms wide in astonishment. "And
what about the Tartars?"

"They will certainly go where His Holiness goes."

"God's blood!" Simon struck his forehead with his hand. "Forgive me,
Father. But if the pope has not enough troops to keep him safe in
Orvieto, surely he is in even more danger on the road. And if the
Tartars are with him, we could lose everything."

Friar Mathieu shook his head, absently rubbing his bound right arm with
his left hand. "We can gain everything. His Holiness needs help
desperately. Now he can be persuaded to give King Louis permission to
join with the Tartars." The old Franciscan's eyes fixed on Simon's. "You
must go to the pope."

Simon felt the palms of his hands grow cold. "The pope will not listen
to me, Father."

Friar Mathieu chuckled. "Is he more likely to listen to that fool--God
forgive me--de Verceuil?"

"Yes," said Simon after a moment's thought. "De Verceuil is a cardinal.
And is it not his task to treat with the pope? Mine is to guard the
ambassadors."

"Are you not close to King Louis, Simon? Almost a foster son?"

Simon hesitated. "That is putting it a bit strongly. But he knows me
well."

Friar Mathieu gestured with his left hand. "Then you are the person to
carry His Holiness's appeal for help to King Louis."

The suggestion dismayed Simon. It meant he would have to leave the
Tartars for months. And just when they would be much more vulnerable to