Friar Mathieu shook his head sadly. "She must be with Ugolini. They are
probably both in Manfred's kingdom."

Simon fell back against the plaster wall, gasping. "But--a
message--there must have been a message for me. She must have left some
word."

"With whom?" Friar Mathieu spread his hands. "She knows I am your
friend, but I heard nothing from her."

In all the time since he left Perugia, Simon's vision of Sophia, his
dreams of their life together, had sustained him. He thought constantly
of her during those dreary weeks while Count Charles was parading around
Rome, giving orders to sullen Italians, exercising his troops, arguing
with his captains, and hanging those who made difficulties.

On a loggia much like this one, at Ugolini's Perugia mansion, Sophia had
made the promise that had given him hope. All he needed, he was sure,
was to know what stood between them, and he would be able to overcome
it.

And now, as suddenly as if Sophia had been on a ship and a wave had
swept her overboard, she was gone.

He felt himself getting angry at Friar Mathieu. He could not believe
what the old priest was telling him.

"She promised me!" he blurted out.

"Promised you what?" said Friar Mathieu softly.

"That she would tell me why she could not marry me."

There was a long silence, while Simon stared at the rooftops of Viterbo,
silhouetted against a golden sky.

"You wanted to marry her?" Friar Mathieu asked in a soft voice.

"I _want_ to marry her," said Simon, his voice sullen.

After another long pause he added, "I was hoping you would marry us."

"Simon," said Friar Mathieu quietly. "How much do you really know about
Sophia?" Simon thought he heard pity in the old man's voice.

He felt a twinge of fear, and inched away from the Franciscan. Almost
against his will, his head turned toward Friar Mathieu. He felt himself
forced to repeat the little that Sophia had told him about herself since
they met. The thought of that afternoon by the lake came to him,
stabbing him like a spear. He would not tell Friar Mathieu about that,
not yet. This was not confession.

Friar Mathieu did not meet Simon's intent gaze, but looked downward, and
Simon saw deep, shadowed pouches under his eyes.

"Simon--you recall the girl Rachel."

_What of her?_ Simon wondered, annoyed at the change of subject. Then he
remembered.

"It was Sophia who asked me to speak to you about Rachel."

"Just so. I had already tried everythin