as shaped like an axe blade; hers
was small and turned up at the end. Her single yellow-gold braid, which
circled round from under her blue hood and hung down between her high
breasts, seemed to glow in the gathering dusk.

Simon remembered dancing in a ring that included her at last Midsummer's
Eve feast. She had worn a woven wreath of white daisies in her hair.

"Barbara insisted on accompanying me to our meeting," said de Marion
with an indulgent grin. "I could not persuade her to bid me farewell
from our castle."

Barbara's smile was wide and frank, like her father's. "In truth,
Monseigneur, I had to see all the knights and men you have gathered. I
knew it would be a brave sight, such as I have never seen the like of.
God grant you a glorious victory. Will you take wine?"

She held up an oval wineskin, and at Simon's nod and murmur of thanks
she worked her horse over to his with a click of her tongue and a pat on
the neck. She rode like one born to it, thought Simon. Which she was.

She squirted the wine into his open mouth. It was red and strong, and it
lit a welcome little fire in his belly.

As they rode deeper into the valley, Simon asked himself, where had
Barbara de Marion been when he had been earnestly searching for a wife?
She had been a child, and his eyes had passed right over her. How
different his life might have been if she had been a little older two
years ago. Seigneur Claudius was one of his chief vassals and a good
friend, and would doubtless have had no objection to a marriage. Simon
might never have gone to Italy.

But there was room in this heart for only one love. And there was only
one course his life could take now.

Somehow, with the sight of this maiden and the realization that he might
have fallen in love with her once but never could now, a door closed in
Simon's mind. His destiny lay in Italy. He could no more forget Sophia
and return to Chateau Gobignon like a snail crawling into its shell than
he could spit himself on his own sword.

As for these men, they were going to Italy for their own gain, not to
help Simon find Sophia, nor yet to help Charles d'Anjou become King of
Sicily. Or even to protect the pope from his Hohenstaufen enemies. He
had not had to appeal to their feudal obligations in summoning them to
war. As Count Charles had predicted, they all _wanted_ to come. All they
cared about was a chance for riches and land and glory after years of
doing nothing but managin